September 9, 1814
The tavern was crowded. At the back of the room, Don Carlos stood up and waved to Don Alejandro, who waved back and then glanced at the twins. Diego nodded. While Gilberto and Don Alejandro waded through the crowded in one direction, Diego led Felipe up to the bar.
Victoria looked up and smiled when she saw them coming. She set three wine glasses on the bar and one taller one for orange juice.
"Well," Diego said, laying his hand on the bar. "Business is booming this afternoon. It should still be siesta."
"The alcalde should return with 'big news' every day; I will be a rich woman," she laughed. "Everyone is too curious to go home."
"I hope it's not bad news."
She shrugged. "What is bad news to us is often good news to him. But we do have Zorro on our side." She began filling glasses from a pitcher. "Your father is looking well. I did not see him limping at all."
"Yes, he seems to be his old self, finally." Diego shot a grateful look toward the back of the room. The fever had been mild and intermittent, but it had hung on for a month, and even after it had receded he'd been noticeably unwell: grumpy, restless, easily tired. Only in the last week or so had the dark smudges under his eyes finally faded.
"I don't know what we would do without him," she said. "The pueblo, I mean."
"I cannot even think of it," Diego answered. "Thank God we'll have him for a while yet."
Victoria met his eyes for a moment and nodded. Then she lifted a plate from under the counter. "Take this, too. Who knows when the alcalde will show up." Felipe took the plate with smoked fish, cheese and bread and the glass of juice while Diego somehow managed three glasses of wine.
Sitting out in the thick of the crowd, it was impossible to follow a conversation. There was simply too much noise from too many directions. People were generally in a cheerful mood, though. The alcalde had sent word ahead that he was returning with 'good news,' and it might actually be good news. Usually, he didn't want the town full of people if he was going to say something to make them angry: all those people hanging around at once might start a riot of they were upset.
Felipe sat against the wall, sipping his juice and watching the people around him. There were some women in the tavern, too and a guitar player in the far corner, though Felipe couldn't make out the music.
It was late afternoon when one of the young lancers stuck his head in the door and shouted that a party had been sighted on the road. Everyone pushed back their chairs and wandered outside, lining up beside the road to see what was coming. The alcalde had left with a party mounted on horseback with a couple of pack animals, but there was a heavily loaded wagon returning.
The alcalde smiled and waved as he came in to town. There was a little scattered applause in response. If he noticed that there was only enough to be polite, he ignored it. He dismounted and removed his traveling hat with a grand little bow and hopped onto the wagon.
Mendoza, who had been in charge of the garrison in his absence, stepped forward. "Welcome home, Alcalde," he said hopefully.
Acknowledging the greeting with a negligent wave, he looked out over the crowd. "I bring you greetings from your governor. Governor Ontiveros has determined that the free speech we practice here in Los Angeles - "
There was a stutter of confused laughter from the crowd. Free speech?
The alcalde scowled down at them. "The next man who contradicts the governor will be flogged!" he snapped. "That's better. As I was saying, it has been determined that the free speech we practice here in Los Angeles is nothing without a free press. Henceforth, each of the chartered pueblos will have its own newspaper." He looked around hopefully. The crowd stared back in various kinds of confusion and suspicion, except for a few of the caballeros, who looked dumbstruck with astonishment. The alcalde plowed ahead with his speech anyway. "To this end, the governor has given us this: A printing press!" Dramatically, he whipped the tarp off the bulky something in the wagon, revealing an odd contraption built out of polished wood and oiled metal.
It was an impressive sight, although Felipe, who had only seen a diagram in a history book once, could only have guessed what it was, let alone testify that it was a printing press. It did look like something very complicated, though, and several people made murmurs of approval.
The blacksmith, standing a few feet away said, "Well, that looks expensive. I don't know what news we have here, though."
Don Carlos, standing next to him chuckled, "If we have a newspaper we must be a big city. I admit I didn't notice..."
Felipe glanced up at Diego. He was staring at the contraption in rapt astonishment.
The alcalde waved for quiet. "Now, a newspaper needs an editor. There are educated men among you. In his Excellency's name, I am asking for a volunteer."
Victoria, standing between Don Alejandro and Gilberto, said, "Anyone who did it would have to be mad. The alcalde would whip anyone who criticized him."
"Not mad so much as clever," Gilberto said.
The alcalde was still looking expectantly at the crowd, which was looking back suspiciously. They were trying to puzzle out the catch.
Don Alejandro said, "I know someone who is quite clever. And he has a very nice education which he is currently wasting." He was looking at Diego out of the corner of his eye.
Diego gasped.
"Surely some of you have the vision to see what this will do for our community! The governor's representative will be here in a few weeks to see how we're making use of this generous gift. Let's show him how civic minded we are here in Los Angeles."
"Really, Father?" Diego asked.
"Unless you're content sitting around the house, reading all day."
Diego's hand shot into the air.
"You're volunteering, Don Diego?"
"Yes," Diego said. And then, louder, "Yes, I am."
There was scattered applause, a little relieved laughter, and a lot of speculative looks. Felipe wondered if Victoria had identified the only catch. And he wondered what was in it for the governor. And he wondered if Diego knew what he was doing.
Diego said, "I will publish a newspaper, to be called the. . .'The Los Angeles Guardian'. It will expose what is good in our community and what is bad."
"I commend your public spiritedness, Don Diego," the alcalde said. Felipe couldn't tell if he looked smug or only relieved to be rid of the problem.
The assembly moved on to other business then. The alcalde had gossip and news from Monterrey. When he was done, he climbed down from the wagon bed and came over to the de le Vegas.
"In order to foster the growth of the local newspapers, publishers will have use of the press at no charge for five years, after which you will have the option of buying the machine outright or paying a monthly rent."
"The governor is very generous," Diego said.
The alcalde sighed. "He believes this will make Alta California look very modern and prosperous...He may be right, but frankly I can't imagine who will notice. In any case, I can make room for the press within the cuartel, but I can only let you have the space rent-free for...two months."
Diego shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I plan to rent space in the pueblo."
"As you wish." The alcalde said polite good-byes and turned back to the fort.
Diego watched him go for a moment, then motioned to Felipe. "I need you to run an errand at the house."
Felipe nodded.
Diego signed, "You know where I keep my money?" He fingerspelled 'money' instead of using the sign.
Felipe nodded. Diego kept a small amount of money in his room, and several hundred pesos in Toronado's stable.
"I need you to bring me 100 pesos."
Felipe's jaw dropped. That was a lot of money. "I can't. Diego! There are bandits." Gilberto had been chasing after them for over a month.
"Not between here and home. Never so close to town, and even if there were, they would hardly expose themselves to rob you. You're a child."
"I'm not a child!"
"And you've done things that were actually dangerous."
Felipe threw up his hands. "Yes, fine!"
"What are you thinking, Son?" Don Alejandro asked.
"Senor Estevez has that extra room to rent, but the Munez brothers won't meet his price. I will, and I'll pay three months in advance."
"A bit impolite, stepping in on a negotiation," his father observed. He didn't look disapproving, exactly.
"A bit. Not very. And I am not publishing my newspaper from the store room behind the barracks. Felipe? Hurry back."
By the time he got back to town, the crowds in town had largely cleared out. Diego was sitting in the tavern with Senor Estevez. The only other people there were the lancers who had returned with the alcalde. They were eating dinner, wolfing it down like they hadn't eaten in days, although the returning party must have stayed at the missions and presidios and had regular, hot meals.
Diego and senor Estevez must have come to an agreement before Felipe arrived with the rent, because as soon as Diego counted out a payment, they all headed over to the dry goods store. There was new construction to the side: a store room and two tiny shops. One was filled by a harness maker. He used to just sell his work on market day, but he also made shoes and sandals and leggings, and a lot of the farmers didn't have the skill to do it well or quickly.
The second tiny shop was buzzing with activity. Don Alejandro and Gilberto were watching a group of lancers unload the bulky thing from the wagon and carry it inside. In addition to the main piece, there were several boxes of other anonymous things. Some of them rattled.
Diego circled around, inspecting everything, muttering to himself. He frowned quite a bit. He paused now and then to stare at the ceiling. He opened one of the boxes and reverently sighed over the contents. He called Felipe over and laid something tiny and pointed in his palm.
Felipe squinted at it and lifted it into the dimming light. Grey-black and slightly shiny... A backwards lowercase letter 'H' was on one side of it. Movable type. It was so small, so precise. He carefully picked up another. They were identical. "So much power," Diego whispered in his ear. "So much freedom." Felipe glanced up from the clever bits of metal. Diego looked incredibly sentimental.
"Diego," Don Alejandro said softly. "Putting all this together will be a big job. You'll need better light, at the very least. And possibly several hours. Let's come back tomorrow." The words were a suggestion, but the tone was not.
Diego set his shoulders and straightened. "Very well. Did you - "
"Right here." He held out a heavy lock and key. Diego shooed everyone out of the room he had rented and set the lock on the door.
That night Diego was distracted at supper. Four separate times Felipe had to nudge him and point at the plate. After dinner, he read franticly - English and French - until bed time. Even after they had retired, he'd been restless, flipping through books, standing at the window, talking to Felipe in odd half-sentences.
In some ways, it was exciting to see Diego so focused and enthusiastic. He was taking extra breaths, though, and Felipe was pretty sure he was dizzy. Felipe had a long argument with himself, then slipped out to make some of the special bedtime tea. Diego looked at the cup he held out and stilled. "Now, really," he protested.
Felipe couldn't argue. His hands were full. He just shifted the cup a couple of inches closer. He gave Diego a hard look.
Diego seized the cup and drained it in three swallows. He handed it back. "Satisfied?"
Felipe nodded.
Diego sighed at him. "I am not behaving irrationally, you know."
Felipe nodded agreeably.
"Do you even understand what a newspaper means for us?"
Felipe set down the tea cup. "We're a real town, not a backwater."
"Oh, Felipe, more than that. More than that. With a newspaper, the people have a voice and the government has a watchdog. It is...more valuable than I..."
He sighed and sat down. Felipe climbed onto the bed and folded up his legs to listen.
"Running a town or a territory or an empire...is not like running a large ranch. My father knows everyone who works here. If a problem arises, they bring it to him or to Juan... and if something terrible happens - if something nefarious were to happen - it would be impossible to keep it secret. But a government...there are more then six hundred people living in the pueblo or close to it, and that isn't counting two hundred more at the mission or forty more down at San Pedro! How could any alcalde judge the competence and temperament of all those people? And how are the people to defend themselves if the government is unjust? If my father treats a vaquero badly, he can go work for someone else, but the government is the government; it has a monopoly and it is burdensome and inconvenient to find another."
A laugh rippled over Felipe. "Go north, join the Russians."
Diego nodded, "Or go east for a month or two and see if you like the American government better, ay? There has to be a better answer."
Felipe considered this. "You cannot run Upper California like a rancho."
"But the people of California can go a long way to governing and defending themselves if they have access to accurate and relevant information. If corruption is revealed, it will not be tolerated. If problems are publicly discussed, solutions can be found. This is what a newspaper can do."
Well...it was a nice idea if it would work.
Diego smiled tolerantly at the dubious look. "Newspapers do other things as well: wedding announcements, births, eulogies, advertisements...and these do a little to help hold a community together. But the primary duty of the fourth estate is to give people the information they need to defend themselves and make good decisions." Diego yawned. "Come to think of it, I seem to be rather tired. Would you hand me my nightshirt, Felipe?"
