Saving the Fox III: Scachki, fokuchik, i rebyenka
For reasons that are not even egregiously ahistoric, the title this time is in Russian. (And, okay, yes, I admit it. My Russian is bad, but I don't speak Spanish at all.)
As always, thank you Martha, for taking this odd ride with me.
May 14, 1813
Felipe couldn't remember Jose Macias's father. He'd died about a year after Diego brought Felipe home, but he'd been the foreman of the de le Vega copper mine over near the Puente Hills, and so he hadn't come to the house often. He'd been killed in the mine collapse along with two of the miners. Don Alejandro had been so upset that he'd closed the mine and settled a small farmhold on Macias' wife and son.
Jose Macias was the same age as the twins. He was a hard worker, but there wasn't much choice in that, since farming in a colony was hard work. He was enthusiastic and optimistic, as well, though, and the de le Vegas had always approved of him.
Right now...as far as Felipe could tell, Diego still approved of him. Certainly, he seemed sympathetic. He'd bought wine and was listening patiently as Macias complained about his terrible luck, his unhappy fate. Gilberto, however, sat back in his chair with his arms folded. He refused to touch the wine and occasionally cast his eyes impatiently skyward.
"A miracle dropped in my hands, and look how I've squandered it. What an idiot I was."
Gilberto looked ready to agree.
Diego shook his head sadly.
"How am I going to tell my wife? All the time I spent on that horse, and nothing to show for it."
"Well," Gilberto drawled, "since he's been taken in lieu of taxes, I'd say you're paid up with the government for the next several years. That's not nothing, exactly..."
Diego gave him a look that said don't be unkind. As usual, Gilberto ignored it.
Macias drained his cup. "I want to see Zeus," he said glumly.
"Yes, well. He's in the cuartel," Gilberto pointed out unsympathetically.
Diego drummed his fingers on the table and cast a thoughtful look at the garrison sergeant who was sitting a few tables away. "Give me a moment," he said. "I think I know someone who can help us."
The sergeant offered him a seat at once. Felipe couldn't see their faces, but he could well imagine the gist of the conversation as Diego leaned forward, serious and hopeful in his request...and the sergeant shifted nervously...and glanced around...and sighed...and stood up. Diego signaled Macias and his brother to follow them. Felipe, sitting discreetly in the corner, rose and followed as well.
Diego's lancer friend was alternately reassuring and nervous as they crossed the plaza to the cuartel. "It doesn't do any harm to look at a horse." He chuckled. "I see them all the time. But the alcalde...he is, well, so grumpy sometimes."
The guard at the gate gave Macias a dark look, but Felipe was sure that was for losing the race (the lancers had lost money-not a lot, but then, they hadn't had a lot to start with) not for trespassing on the fort.
Mendoza hustled them around into the barn. "If the alcalde finds us here, I'll be saluting corporals."
Zeus was lying down in his stall, snorting, skittish. Not good. Macias froze in drunken horror. "Surprise, surprise," Gilberto said and rolled his eyes.
Diego knelt in the straw and laid his hands on the shining brown flank. "What happened? He's sick." He pressed his hands flat against Zeus' neck, then his belly. He glanced at Gilberto. "Something he's eaten, I think. Or something that's been given to him."
Gilberto snorted and turned on his heel, storming out impatiently.
Diego looked up at Sergeant Mendoza. "Go call the garrison blacksmith."
Stepping carefully around the downed horse, Felipe crouched down where Diego could see him. "What's going on?" he signed.
Diego made the sign for cheating. He added, "Say nothing."
Say nothing? About cheating? Diego saw his surprise. He rose and drew Felipe aside. "Without proof, to mention it would be simply insulting, not a matter of law."
Oh. And Macias couldn't fight. He was just a farmer, he didn't even own a sword. And Diego was too ill to fight. And Gilberto obviously didn't want to, and that only left Don Alejandro, who was just adequate with a sword and an old man besides...
No, they couldn't afford to toss around unsubstantiated accusations here.
The sergeant came running back with another man. Diego watched them go into the stall, then collected Macias and returned to the tavern. Felipe was curious-he would have stayed to watch the blacksmith, but of course it was better to be out of the garrison.
Gilberto was waiting at their table. Victoria was sitting with him and they were talking amiably enough about the year's orange crop, but his eyes glittered in irritation. He poured a cup of water from a pitcher for Diego, but he said nothing at all in greeting. Macias sat glumly with his elbows resting on the table. Diego sipped his water and ignored Gilberto's ire and chatted about oranges and beans and rain. After about twenty minutes, the sergeant returned.
Gilberto ignored him. Diego offered him a seat and filled his cup from the wine pitcher.
"It was something he ate. The blacksmith gave him some herbs to calm his stomach. He's going to be fine."
Macias groaned. "Oh, thank God."
Gilberto sighed, but Victoria and Diego murmured their support.
Macias glanced around and said softly, "Do you really think that Senor Herrera would poison my horse?"
Diego glanced at the bar, where Herrera was trying to charm Luisa, who was serving. "We don't know one way or the other," he answered.
One of the local men, a young caballero, stepped between Herrera and the tavern maid. "You could boast a little less loudly," Felipe saw him say. Oh, boy. This might well be the fight Diego had been so carefully avoiding...
"If only you had the sense to bet on my horse instead. Well..." Herrera shrugged, his gesture taking in the entire room of disgruntled Angelenos. "Live and learn, hm?"
The caballero opened his mouth to respond when Senorita Victoria stood up. "You don't have the fastest horse in California, you know." Felipe wondered if she was attacking on purpose, since Herrera could hardly find offense and challenge a woman to a duel. And if he were rude in response, well, then he would be rude to his hostess (since it was her tavern) and she could shame him and ask him to leave.
Herrera just chuckled. "Really? Then who does, Senorita? If there is a better horse, I have yet to see him."
"Zorro has a better horse," she said it almost casually, as though the fact was obvious, but Diego nearly dropped his glass.
"Zorro? Oh, that bandit they're talking about in the presidios."
"He has an amazing horse. Incredible. Huge-nineteen hands-at least-and as fast as the wind."
Diego rested his elbows on the table and hid his face behind his folded hands. He was trying very hard not to laugh.
Several people put in, now, to add bits of description or opinion. The black horse was a demon with four legs. The black horse was the most perfect in the New World.
"And nearly as smart as a man," the sergeant added.
Senorita Victoria laughed, "And smarter than some." She was looking at Sergeant Mendoza when she said it, and he winced and looked away. Felipe wondered what he (or one of his men or the alcalde) had done to irritate her this time.
Herrera looked around interestedly. "Then where is he? This legend and his wonder horse?"
Diego had gotten his face under control. When he shook his head and sighed he actually looked a little disapproving. "Zorro is a terribly unpredictable character."
Mendoza nodded. "It's true. He has a price on his head and he only comes out with good reason."
Herrera smiled. It was the sort of smile that set Felipe's teeth on edge. He drained his glass, set it aside, and sauntered over. His gaze lingered on Mendoza and Macias. "Then let's give him a good reason. Another race. If I lose, I return all that money."
"And if you win?" Diego asked.
"My winnings so far against this 'incredible' horse of Zorro's. If the horse is as good as you say...then surely he will accept my challenge. If not, perhaps it is not so special after all, and Zorro is not such a hero."
Senorita Victoria snorted inelegantly. "Why would Zorro risk his freedom to race you?"
Herrera shrugged. "Put the word out. I hereby challenge Zorro to a match race tomorrow at noon." He smiled at Luisa. "Barmaid, drinks for everyone."
Mendoza leaned over and said something-his voice was too quiet to hear and the angle was wrong to see-to Diego.
Diego sat back. "Why should he?"
"Because we lost our money unfairly," Mendoza answered earnestly. "Macias's horse was drugged."
Macias looked up from his drunken slump to nod at this. "That's true...my poor Zeus."
Senorita Victoria shifted uncertainly. "Was the horse drugged, Diego?"
"There is no proof," Diego answered in a tone that meant "yes."
The sergeant looked around and then leaned over the table to confide, "The money the Alcalde lost was from the governor's tax fund. He'll do anything to get it back."
Gilberto cursed and looked about to laugh. Diego kicked him under the table, and Gilberto begged the senorita's pardon.
Diego set his glass aside and rose slowly, like an old man. "Well. It's been a rather exciting day. I believe it's time to go home."
Gilberto gave him a thoroughly mutinous look. But he stood up and followed his brother to the door.
Don Alejandro was sitting on the porch of the tavern with a thoroughly glum and somewhat intoxicated Don Carlos. He had lost money, again. Gilberto looked frankly disapproving as he paused to explain that Diego was tired and wanted to go home.
"Shall I come with you?"
Gilberto looked about to say yes, but Diego interrupted quietly: "There is no need. Why don't you see him safely home, Father? We'll see you at supper."
Because the morning had started with Gilberto challenging Herrera to a race against Don Alejandro's precious Dulcinea, Gilberto had come into town in the open carriage with Diego and Felipe. Now he consigned them both to the back and took the reins himself.
Seeing Gilberto in such a black mood made Felipe nervous. It was hard to predict what he'd do. Or say. Or to whom, since he had never seen the necessity of sparing someone from his ire just because he hadn't been the original cause of it. Diego patted Felipe's hand, signed "relax," and leaned back in the seat with his eyes closed. Felipe watched him for a while: it wasn't entirely clear how much their sudden exit was due to Diego's need to get his brother out of town before he exploded and how much was due Diego's limited strength.
When they were about halfway home, Diego leaned forward and touched Gilbert's shoulder. "Let's pause here a moment. If we're going to argue, it's better to do it out here than at home with the servants about."
"We're not going to argue," his brother said. He didn't slow the horses.
"Talk, then. Seriously. If I have to shout at you from behind, I will."
With a curse, Gilberto reined the team and hopped down to pace beside the carriage for a moment. Diego waited placidly until he paused and looked up. "Fine. What would you like to say?"
Diego leaned forward. "What I want to know is why you're so angry. It isn't the gambling you disapprove of. I remember your Classical History examination our first year." He turned to Felipe. "He stayed up all night playing cards and showed up at the oral exam wearing the same clothes he'd worn to the party..."
"Of course I don't disapprove of gambling. With friends. Using money one can afford to lose! But this...rank stupidity! To gamble with a stranger-no, with a man who is obviously hustler and likely a cheat as well-and then to be surprised when he takes every last peso! To complain and piss and moan about it! God in Heaven, what were those men using for brains, goose shit?"
"Language," Diego murmured.
"If you don't want me to talk, don't ask me questions!" He turned away and breathed deeply. "Every last one of them deserves to lose his money. Frankly, given the vast scope of their stupidity, poverty is the least of what they deserve. And on top of that, drunk in public-"
"Jose Macias-"
Gilberto fairly spun around and all but shouted up at Diego's face. "Could have waited a month and made his money at the Corpus Christi fiesta. There are always races. Or he could have taken it up to Monterrey for the festival of San Juan. But no. He was greedy. He was impatient. He was so amazingly stupid-"
"It is so very easy to condemn others for 'greed' when we've never wanted for anything," Diego said mildly.
"I'm not going to do it, Diego! Saving people from their own foolishness is not Zorro's job."
"A predator came into your town, preyed on your people. Fooled them, yes. Played on their weaknesses, yes. Manipulated them and made a game of poison and cheated them. Your neighbors. Your friends...right here, in your pueblo."
"Perhaps they'll learn a valuable-"
"Right or wrong, they are your neighbors," Diego shouted.
Gilberto opened his mouth. Shut it abruptly. Turned away.
"Think of the goodwill it will engender with the townspeople. Just for tactical reasons, it is an opportunity too good to ignore."
Gilberto folded his arms. Felipe suspected he'd already conceded the argument and anything from here forward was just for the appearance of things.
"Think of what it will do for Ramone's morale-having to come begging to Zorro for the tax money. One more little sign of his own powerlessness..."
"Yes, I know. All right?"
"And it will be fun. Tell me you weren't disappointed when he pulled up and threw the race with Dulcinea."
"Enough, Diego."
Diego stopped talking.
Gilberto said heavily, "I always liked Macias."
"Is that who has disappointed you?"
"Everyone has disappointed me," he snapped. "Where shall I start? Don Carlos? Father needs to hit that man about the head with a board! Maybe that will bring him to his senses. And every last lancer was taken in-I suppose I should be pleased that they are uniformly stupid?"
"Very funny."
"Would they have kept their money in their pockets if Herrera had been wearing a sign that said 'swindler'?"
Diego sighed tiredly. "You will have to go in tonight and have a word with the alcalde."
Gilberto turned around, smiling wolfishly. "Well, that part I'll enjoy."
"Keep your temper, for pity sake!"
His eyes rested on Diego's face for a moment and something in Gilberto softened. "Such a mother hen. Yes. I will remember that I am in control of the situation. No, I won't get ahead of myself. Yes, I know how to play the game-and I know it's not a game."
"My. Have I started repeating myself?" Diego didn't look entirely convinced, though.
"Endlessly." He climbed back onto the drive's seat. "But I have resigned myself to it."
Felipe could see one more issue that they hadn't addressed. He tapped Diego's hand. "Can he win?"
Diego laughed aloud.
"What?" Gilberto asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"He brings up a good point. Can Toronado beat Herrera's horse?"
"Well, how nice to be the object of so much faith!" Gilberto laughed.
"He did pull up when you tested him with Dulcinea..." Diego said.
Felipe nodded vigorously. It was no small achievement, to outrace Dulcinea. The name wasn't just a literary reference-it was a very pointed joke. Sweetness? Dulcinea was a demon, a monster. She was fast. She had wind. She didn't mind the roughest terrain...but she often balked and she had a tendency to rear if her rider let her get away with it. Actually, she had improved...she used to bite the stable boys, too. A horse that could outrun her was no easy competition.
"Very funny, both of you."
That night, after supper, Gilberto excused himself to "go for a walk in the garden." Don Alejandro started to head for the barn, as he often before bed, but Diego caught him with a hand on his forearm. "Would you care for a game of chess, Father?"
It was clear to Felipe that he didn't want to...and equally clear that he saw no graceful way to refuse his son's request. Since Diego didn't signal him to leave, Felipe took a book and sat down in the corner.
Diego won the first game in ten minutes. He won the second in fifteen. "You know, Father," he said, resetting the board, "my game hasn't improved this much."
Don Alejandro apologized. "My mind was elsewhere. I'll try a little harder."
His play didn't improve, however, and a few minutes into the third game, Diego suggested, "Perhaps you'd like to talk about what's bothering you."
"It's nothing important," he said quickly. He slid his queen forward. "Check."
If he meant the offense as a distraction, it didn't work. Diego took the queen with a bishop and said casually, "That business with Zeus today...How much did Don Carlos lose?"
Don Alejandro grunted irritably. "Two hundred and fifty pesos! Certainly more than he can afford just now."
"I'm sorry to hear it," Diego answered.
Don Alejandro hesitated, glancing up from the board. "Victoria says you believe the horse was drugged?"
Diego nodded. "I believe so, yes."
"Can you prove it? The alcalde would have the matter before the magistrate if you could give him any evidence at all."
Diego shook his head. "I can prove nothing."
Unhappily, Don Alejandro sat back and regarded his son in uncomfortable silence for a moment. "Diego...you must stay out of this matter."
Diego looked up and Don Alejandro flinched away from his gaze. "You wish I could do something." It was sort of a question.
"No, of course not," he denied quickly. "Accusations...could only lead to a matter of honor. It wouldn't do anything to help Macias or Don Carlos or get our tax money back..."
"But you wish...that I could do...something."
"No. Diego. I promised myself..."
"I wish I could, too. But even if my heart were up to making an issue of this, nothing useful would come of it, as you say..."
Don Alejandro wasn't listening. "I promised myself I would not do this."
Diego frowned. "Do what, Father?" he asked gently. "Ever mention my illness? I have to say, I think that will make living with me rather difficult."
"I promised myself you would never have to comfort me."
"Ah." Diego nodded slowly and motioned to the chess board. "Very well. It's your move, Father."
Don Alejandro pushed back from the table and stood up.
Diego's face fell, but he squared his shoulders and said firmly, "Don't run away. Again."
Don Alejandro only fled as far as the fireplace. He leaned against the mantle and muttered something Felipe couldn't hear.
"Oh," Diego said. His fingers dug into the arm of the chair as he stood up. "No. No."
Don Alejandro turned around, but stepped further away. Retreating, even as he protested, "It should have been me. If I could take your place..."
"I don't need you to face my fate for me! I just wish..."
"Anything. Tell me."
"I wish you would forgive me. I know you had such expectations..."
Diego's sadness broke something in Felipe. It seemed to break something in Don Alejandro as well. He gathered his taller, broader son into his arms and held him tightly for a moment. Speaking very softly, he brought Diego back to his chair and squeezed his shoulder tightly. "You mustn't distress yourself, Diego. You need to stay calm. This isn't good for you."
Diego made a show of leaning back and being placid. If anyone asked, Felipe would have pointed out that he looked deliberately cow-like. But no one asked him and he didn't want to draw attention to himself.
After a few minutes, Don Alejandro drew his own chair closer and sat down. "Until you said it, I didn't realize...You're right, Diego. I'm very angry. And I'm very...afraid." He spoke very reasonably and carefully. "It seems I don't have your strength, or your brother's-even he," his hand swept toward Felipe, "is handling this with more courage than I am."
Felipe didn't know how he should take that statement. He was pretty sure he shouldn't be listening to this conversation, but if Diego was going to get upset...no, he wouldn't leave him.
"But I do need to tell you...this isn't about my 'expectations' for you. I'm not disappointed in you. And my anger-I'm not angry at you."
"You can hardly stand to be in the same room with me."
"My own weakness, nothing else... Certainly no fault of yours. I simply cannot bear to face my fear."
"Ah." Diego looked away. "I'm sorry. I should not have pressed you."
"You had the right."
"Father, if it is any comfort at all...it helps. Being home helps. Knowing that you and 'Berto and Felipe are near...that I am not alone...it helps."
"Ah. And knowing that you are dearly, dearly loved?"
Diego nodded and brushed his hands across his eyes. His father hugged him hard. "I forbid you to distress yourself."
"Y-yes, father."
Don Alejandro talked softly, then, his hand on Diego's shoulder. Finally, he pulled back and asked if Diego wanted to finish the chess game.
"If you like," Diego said. But he was tired and pale.
"You could retire. It's been a long day."
Diego glanced at the dark window and then at his father's face. "Soon. Not yet."
Don Alejandro went to the shelf and ran his fingers along the poetry books. "Gongora?" he asked.
"Please, no. Gilberto always chooses Gongora. Something by Calderon?"
Felipe stopped pretending to read, and set aside his book to listen to Don Alejandro. Not for too long; Zorro would be back from the pueblo soon, and Gilberto would be irked if he had to climb the ravine and come in through the garden. Felipe was just beginning to worry about the time when Diego glanced at the moon and said that he was ready to go to bed.
Twenty minutes later Felipe was just putting out the candle when Gilberto poked his head in and reported that all was set for the race the next day.
Z
Don Alejandro spent the morning inspecting the shearing sheds, but an hour before noon he returned to the house and changed clothes to go into town. "Where's Gilberto?" he asked as he met Diego and Felipe in the front hall. "We don't want to be late."
Diego shook his head. "He isn't coming. He disapproves of this whole business."
Don Alejandro froze in confusion. "Gilberto? Disapproves of a horse race?"
Diego made a face. "It's stupidity he disapproves of, betting with a swindler..." He glanced at his father. "He was quite intolerant, actually. We had a little quarrel. He's off sulking, I think."
Don Alejandro's eyes narrowed. "Your brother quarreled with you...and now he's off sulking."
"I'm sure he'll get over it quickly," Diego said easily, picking up his hat and heading for the door. "You know how he is." Felipe followed, carefully failing to meet Don Alejandro's eyes.
The pueblo was crowded, even though it wasn't a market day. The soldiers were out, but not carrying muskets, and most of them were sitting on a bench near the cuartel. Don Sebastian had erected a sunshade near the church so his wife and young daughters could watch in comfort. A couple of Indian boys were wandering through the crowd selling pumpkin seeds and oranges. The race had turned into quite the fiesta.
Don Alejandro found them a place on the tavern porch to watch the excitement. Felipe's palms were sweating. He glanced nervously at Diego who only seemed a little distracted. Felipe wondered if it was an act or if he really were that confident of Gilbert and Toronado.
As noon drew closer, the soldiers cleared the center of the plaza and Herrera rode out to pace back and forth in front of the gathered villagers. "Zorro!" he laughed. "Well, where is he? This so-called man of courage with his horse I've heard so much about? Obviously he has no interest in winning your money back. So-" He caught of something that made him stiffen, his arrogant grin turning into a scowl.
In a moment everyone could see and a scattering of cheers went up: from behind the blacksmith shop came a huge black stallion at an easy canter. His rider was erect and fearless. He bowed jauntily as he passed the alcalde, who bowed back, and then he waved to the crowd and pranced to a halt beside Hererra.
All Felipe could think was where was Gilberto? He knew-knew-that Zorro was Diego's brother, had known him most of his life, had watched him with the care you watched an adversary for most of that and-and-
Who was this man in black? Gilberto-
In the month since the twins came home Gilberto had changed; distracted, sober, worried by his brother's fragile health. He stayed close to home. He didn't bother to argue about very much. He hovered...
Had it been an act?
Hadn't it seemed strange at all that Gilberto had responded to Diego's illness by becoming subdued? Since when had he met a threat to his brother with anything but aggression? Any problem of Diego's-Gilberto was always fierce, certain, eager in support of his brother. Not quiet. Not subdued.
Did it make sense that Diego's illness would make Gilberto any less sure of himself? But Felipe hadn't noticed the subtle changes until now, when he was confronted with Zorro, who seemed nothing like the new Gilberto and only a little bit like the old one.
Zorro inclined his head politely to Herrera while Toronado stamped and danced his impatience. Felipe laughed silently.
Herrera bowed back and said tightly, "My challenge still stands, Senor. My winnings against your horse."
Zorro grinned. "Toronado and I accept."
Herrera turned to offer the money pouch to Victoria. "Senorita, if you would be so kind?" The pouch was heavy. Victoria held it against her chest. Her eyes were on Zorro, though, not the fortune she had in her hands.
Sergeant Mendoza drew a line in the dirt with his heel and stepped to the side. "Riders to your marks!" He glanced around, took a deep breath...
The crowd had gone very quiet. Toronado danced eagerly. The alcalde cleared his throat.
Mendoza lifted his pistol. "Ready!"
Herrera's horse leapt forward just ahead of the "bang" of Mendoza's pistol. Several of the men on the porch muttered in consternation, but Zorro only laughed and kicked Toronado forward.
The race itself wasn't even the best race Felipe had ever seen. Toronado quickly caught up to Herrera, who lashed out with his riding crop, first on his own horse and then at Zorro, who snatched the crop out of his hand and then increased speed and began to leave Herrera behind.
Gilberto-Felipe was laughing now-wasn't even subtle about it. He beat Herrera by at least six lengths and then did a circle around the plaza as Toronado slowed. The crowded cheered, probably as much from relief as from local pride.
Zorro trotted over to the tavern steps, where Senorita Victoria waited with the money. He bowed showily as he took the bag from her hands and lifted the money over his head. "This money was taken from you under false pretenses, and so it will be returned." He hesitated, and for a moment Felipe worried that the pueblo might be in for a lecture on the dangers of gambling with strangers, but Zorro turned to Ramone and inclined his head. "Alcalde, I know you'll be relieved to return this. I leave this matter in your hands."
The alcalde showed the sack of coins to the waiting crowd, which cheered some more. Felipe felt his nervousness like a snake coiling in his chest. The twins had been sure that Ramone would make a move against Zorro as soon as the race was over. The fact that all the lancers were in plain sight and none of them were carrying rifles was only a sign that the plan was 'clever' rather than direct.
Busy expecting an assault by the soldiers, Felipe was taken completely by surprise by what happened next. Herrera galloped at Ramone and snatched the bag from his hands. Cheers turned abruptly to shouts, the loudest of them Ramone himself. He raced into the center of the plaza waving his arms and bellowing, "Now! Lancers, now!"
The lancers scrambled to carts that had been left standing beside the blacksmith shop and near the cuartel. They shoved them forward, blocking the streets...but not quite fast enough to stop Herrera, who slipped through at the last moment. Sergeant Mendoza pulled out his second pistol and shot after him, but pistol shots were hard to make, and it was no surprise when he missed.
Ramone had drawn a pistol as well. He was pointing it as Zorro, rather than pursuing the thief who had just stolen a fortune from the pueblo. He nodded at the loaded wagons that cut off escape. "No horse can clear that, Zorro. Surrender or die."
Furious, frightened, Felipe started forward. Diego snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him back. "It's all right," he said swiftly.
Zorro seemed to think so, too. He ignored the alcalde and trotted to the gates of the cuartel.
Ramone stepped forward, leveling the weapon.
Toronado flashed across the plaza, a blur racing past the fountain. Felipe held his breath. Toronado leapt.
Ramone fired his pistol.
Toronado cleared the cart with over a foot to spare and landed without breaking stride.
The pueblo was pure pandemonium. Cheering and yelling, the crowd streamed into the plaza. Ramone shouted at the lancers, ordering them to move the wagons, get their horses, capture the bandits. "Mendoza! I want Zorro! Obviously they were in league with each other. It was all a trick. Get me a weapon!"
But the lancers were clearly unprepared to chase down their quarry. Two or three minutes must have passed before a mounted volley finally charged out the gate. Many in the crowed walked to the edge of town, trying to see what was happening, but Herrera and Zorro were already out of sight. There was a little muttering and a little yelling and a great deal of uncertainty.
Felipe turned around. Diego's jaw was tight and his eyes were narrow, but he smiled at Felipe. "Don't worry. It's actually going very well."
Oh, well, obviously, Felipe shrugged.
Diego chuckled. "You'll see," Diego said gently. "The advantages..." his eyes strayed to the road leading into the pueblo. "Ah," he said.
Mendoza and three lancers cantered into the center of the village. They were leading a bound prisoner: Herrera, riding backwards on his horse, a large 'Z' cut into the back of his jacket. Mendoza was beaming. He held up a leather pouch. "The money is right here! Zorro sent it back with him."
Ramone strode forward and all but snatched the bag from Mendoza's hand. "And where is Zorro?"
Mendoza's face fell. "We could not find his trail...the rocks...I have men out looking?"
Ramone's lip curled. He might have begun publicly haranguing Mendoza right then, but Don Alejandro appeared at his side holding the ledger that contained the previous day's wagers. "Shall we, Alcalde?" he asked sweetly.
Ramone ground his teeth, but turned and pointed to one of the tables on the tavern porch. A queue began to form at once.
Diego took Felipe's arm and led him into the tavern. He took a table at the back of the main room and sat down against the wall. Out of the daylight, Felipe couldn't tell if he was pale or not. He nudged Diego's arm. "You all right?" he asked.
"I need a moment," he admitted. "And don't look at me like that. It's as likely to be the standing or the sun as the excitement. It will pass."
Felipe nodded agreeably, then, moving between Diego and the room, checked his pulse. Fast, but not very fast. And strong. And even. So he was mostly all right, then. Felipe sat down to wait.
Hardly anyone came into the tavern at first. All the action was outside, where the alcalde and Don Alejandro were handing out the winnings that Herrera had swindled. They would be watching every centavo and each other, so it wouldn't be quick work. The few customers who did drift in stayed near the bar, clearly planning to celebrate by heartily toasting Zorro and his miraculous horse.
"Toronado is as big a hero," Felipe signed.
"Yes, and you will not gloat about that," Diego commanded. "It is difficult enough to manage his ego without you goading him."
Felipe made a show of looking innocent-which, as intended, made Diego smile a little.
Grinning, practically dancing, Victoria came to their table. "Well? Have you ever seen such a horse race?" She laughed. "And what do you suppose Herrera will get for stealing all of that money right out of our dear alcalde's hands? We don't need to prove he was a cheat when he shows he's a thief in front of three hundred witnesses."
"Very obliging," Diego agreed. "We should thank him."
"And I was right about Zorro's horse. Toronado." She sighed. "Toronado."
"You are completely vindicated," to Felipe, he looked a little amused. "Herrera did not have the fastest horse in California."
"And, I was right about Zorro. Did you see that leap? Amazing."
"Amazing that he chose the tallest cart to leap rather than the one that gave him the best angle of pursuit."
Victoria froze, and then very slowly looked down at him. "Don Diego de le Vega? Did I just hear you criticize a man who risked his safety and freedom to rescue this pueblo from a-a hardship that was none of his affair? A man who is even now being pursued by soldiers? For no crime at all except to inconvenience the local military with the truth of its own corruption?"
"I apologize." Diego dropped his eyes. "You are quite correct. The pueblo is in Zorro's debt. I apologize for my comment." He was absolutely meek and polite, but Felipe was sure that Gilberto would hear about it later at home. He had to turn his head to hide his smile.
She softened slightly. "Never mind. Are you hungry? The stew is only pork-but it's very good."
Diego glanced at Felipe, who realized he was starving. "He'll have the stew. And orange juice. I'm...not very hungry, actually. Just some water."
As soon as she was gone, Felipe turned to ask Diego about the conversation he'd just heard, but just then Sergeant Mendoza came in, and made a point coming over. "I thought you might like to know-your friend? I just returned his horse. Well, he can pay his taxes now." He grinned and clouted Diego companionably across the shoulders. "Quite a day, eh? That Zorro." He leaned down and added, "I suppose he's not a demon, but I don't see how he could be quite human either. Ha." He turned away to join a small group of lancers that was just coming in. "That Zorro."
Diego centered his eyes on the table and managed not to laugh.
Felipe nudged him. "You should write this down. It would make a very funny book."
Diego did laugh at that. "A very incriminating one. It would have to be published posthumously."
When Victoria returned Felipe dove into the bowl of stew. It was only after a few bites that he slowed down enough to realized that a tall mug was sitting in front of Diego beside his water. "What's that?"
"Atole. She's put cream in it, I think. And honey." He looked at the mug thoughtfully. "It's either an apology for our disagreement before or she's trying to fatten me up."
Felipe put his spoon down. "You don't look thin. Just tired."
"Thank you. How reassuring." He took a couple of swallows of the atole, though.
It was another half hour before Don Alejandro joined them. He ordered a bowl of the stew and a glass of wine and then stood and offered a toast to Zorro. This was met with cheers from the room, which was as crowded and happy as Felipe had ever seen it.
Which, admittedly, wasn't saying much. Until the twins had come home, he hadn't spent much time in the pueblo and hardly any in the tavern. Right about now he was remembering why. It was hot and crowded and loud. The voices jangled against each other. It was bad enough that he could only understand about one of every three words Diego said. And the party was clearly only beginning.
Don Alejandro collected them as soon as he was done eating, though. Outside the sun was painfully bright, but the breeze was cool and it was-wonderfully-quiet.
On the way home, they met a few of the returning lancers. It was obvious that they'd had no luck picking up Zorro's trail, but the de le Vegas didn't point this out when they greeted the men politely.
Back at the hacienda they found Gilberto reading in the library. He was clean and tidy and-yes, he even smelled good. Felipe nearly laughed. Gilberto asked politely about the race, muttered something sour about a 'cheat and a thief' when Diego reported that Herrera was now under arrest, and turned back to his book.
Don Alejandro mentioned that it was very warm for so early in the year and suggested that Diego lie down for a while. To Felipe's surprise, Diego agreed without protest. He collected Felipe and withdrew to his room. When Felipe reached to help Diego with his jacket however, Diego gave him a surprised look and shook his head. "Go find them. They're probably in the barn. I need to know how bad this is."
Surprised, Felipe looked Diego up and down, hoping for some hint. "How bad what is?"
"'Berto is about to get terrible scolding. I need to know how badly I miscalculated. And stay out of sight. I can't get you both in trouble today." Felipe hesitated. "Well, go on. I'm fine."
So he hurried out. Sure enough, the library was empty. Felipe went around and slipped into the barn through the side door, the one through the tack room. He was too busy cringing at the sound of the quarrel to congratulate himself on his cleverness, however.
"-as much luck stopping the sun shining as stopping the two of you arguing. He wouldn't enjoy it if I did stop you. But I do expect you to show a little sense! My God, 'Berto! To go so far over something so trivial-over anything at all? You know better than anyone not to strain your brother's heart."
Felipe cringed. He wondered if Gilberto even knew exactly what he was being reprimanded for.
Apparently so. "Father, I assure you, while I was very adamant, Diego was not. If anything, he was provoking me, not the other way around. I certainly...I never..."
"You let your temper get away from you, I know that much. And that is not a luxury any of us have any more."
"And yet, here you are," Gilberto snapped.
There was a short, shocked silence. Felipe held his breath.
"I withdraw the comment, Father. Please forgive me."
So softly Felipe could barely hear it, Don Alejandro said, "I withdraw the accusation."
Gilberto sighed. Felipe could hear him walking across the floor. "This is going to sound very odd," he said. "I mean, it is strange that I would mention it."
"I am listening."
"Just this: he is still Diego. For months he...wasn't. Two? Three? I don't know...it was terrible. All his strength went to living. And just living took everything." He paused for a long time, but when he continued, he seemed to have collected himself. "But now, although he is ill, he is again Diego. He is always the smartest man in the room. He is interested in everything. He has mercy on everyone-even those whose suffering is entirely their own fault. He understands his illness and his limitations better than the most expensive doctors I could find. And he knows us very, very well."
"I see."
"No, I don't think so. Would you like to take a bet with me? I can offer an honest wager-two to one odds that his minion is here right now."
Oh. No. No, no, no.
"What are you talking about."
"Felipe?" And then "Don't make me ask again."
Trying not to cringe too obviously, Felipe crept around the door and onto the main floor.
Don Alejandro stared at him in astonishment. "How long has he been there?"
Gilberto snorted and rolled his eyes. "I expect he arrived at a run. No, you can't yell at him. You told him to give Diego anything he wanted, you can't complain that they took you up on it."
"And Diego...wanted to check on us. He was worried. ."
"Of course he was. He will argue with us when he thinks it's necessary. Or set his spy on us. Or try to protect us...we shouldn't expect anything else. Frankly, the alternative is much worse." He turned to Felipe. "Go tell him that Father and I have made peace and there is nothing to worry about. Hmmm? And that we don't need to do this again."
Felipe nodded. and with a desperate, apologetic look at Don Alejandro, fled. He was grateful to get away so easily.
He was also a little surprised-there was a time when he could have crept up on Gilberto. He seemed to have gotten smarter. Felipe wasn't sure how well he knew him any more.
When he reached Diego's room, however, he stumbled to a halt. The report would have to wait. Diego was asleep. Well. At least he was on the bed rather than the chair. That was a good sign, even if he was using three pillows. And the window was closed, a very good sign. Felipe pulled the coverlet over him and sat down to read.
~The end of Part One, Scachki (The Races)
