A friend in need (2)
On the next day I prepared myself in the exquisite mood to the trip to San Diego. Barcelo's lie solved most of my current problems. The lancers must have already started to whisper, that el Zorro might have got caught in the fire… that he might be wounded… or even dead… They will find my rapier in the ashes and it will strengthen the rumors. No one will know anything for sure, but the gossips should be enough. Rosa will tell the magistrado she couldn't contact the Fox, she doesn't know what happened to him, just as anyone else. Not being sure if I am dead or alive he will have no reason to execute his threat.
As for Barcelo… unfortunately I couldn't predict his next move. If he would chose to pretend that el Zorro is dead, I will not disturb him. He could now announce the success of his mission… yet somehow I found it hard to believe, that our dashing capitán will take an easy way. However, his hesitation gained me a few days… a few days I was going to spend in the cattle market in San Diego – thank God there is always some cattle market in the neighborhood here – waiting for the scars on my hand to heal.
In the morning, my father and Bernardo went to the pueblo to check, if the rumors about Zorro's accident were already spreading among the people… Rosa was visiting some of her friends with the same purpose. As soon as they confirm hearing the gossips, I will leave.
I treated my hand with the ointments Rosa left me, trying to remember the proper order. Sometimes it is easier to be the Fox if you are married… Bernardo was very good in pulling out the bullets or sewing the wounds, but unfortunately neither of us knew anything about avoiding the scars. Now I had at my disposal at least six little jars about which content I preferred not to ask, but Rosa assured me that they will make all the scars disappear without the trail.
When I was done I sat comfortably on the couch, with the glass of Madeira at hand, and once again reached for Altamirano's book. Yesterday I had no occasion to continue the lecture, so I opened it once more at the first page.
Theory of the Earth; or an Investigation of the Laws observable…
Once again I wasn't meant to read anything more, as in that moment Bernardo burst into the library and started to sign something so hectically, that I couldn't understand a word. Luckily, my father entered just behind him, so I waved for Bernardo to stop and turned to him:
"You have returned? Some news? Father, can you tell me shortly what happened – Bernardo uses too many adjectives," I asked merrily.
Yet my smile disappeared when I noticed that my father didn't share my cheerful mood, only looked at me in utmost commotion.
"Shortly?" he repeated after me and took deep breath. "All right. Sergeant Garcia searched the ashes, found there a body of the Fox, buried it and then reported to Barcelo. The Capitán arrested him for treason and ordered the… exhumation."
"Buried and then reported?" I asked blankly.
"Exactly."
"Madre de Dios…" I groaned hiding the face in my hands.
"Diego, have you got any idea…" started my father but I interrupted him with desperation.
"Of course I do! Barcelo didn't confide to anyone that Zorro got out of the fire… So, that idiot, I mean Garcia, announced he had found the body of the Fox, to make Barcelo finish his hunt and leave…"
Bernardo slowly sat on the couch looking very weak, but my father remained staying in the middle of the room, staring at me in disbelief;
"But how could he…"
"I don't know how!" I said impatiently, "maybe he put some stones into the coffin, or something… He indeed spent too much time with Monastario!" I laughed bitterly.
"Garcia? To put the false report, cheat his superior? It is not possible, he is too stupid for it!" my father stated unsurely, but I only shook my head, rubbing my temple.
"Oh, Father, you must have noticed that the proofs of the sergeant's fondness for the Fox were quite ostensive recently! He hid Monastario's reports, did his best to secure Zorro's escape from each trap and finally this! I am not saying it was wise, on the contrary, it was stupid, incredibly stupid!"
I couldn't sit any longer so I started to stride up and down through the room. My father still looked at me incredulously, not convinced by my words. How blind can he sometimes be!
"Father, can't you see he did it for me? He suspects me from God knows how long, and he made sure all he could that Barcelo didn't get me!" I hit with irritation the piano and the strings replied with the hollow moan. The sound and the pain brought me back to my senses. I looked at my father apologetically.
"I am sorry, Father, I shouldn't have shouted. I am not angry at you, only at myself. I have seen his suspicions, I should have reacted earlier… but I only eagerly used his help…"
"But Diego, if you are right… what he did… it is a treason," stuttered my father in scary voice.
"It is," I nodded sadly.
"He will hang for it…" suddenly the realization hit him and he turned to me with the fear in his eyes: "Diego, we cannot allow…"
Maybe my father was never especially befriended with Garcia, but now he suddenly looked ten years older, as he imagined the execution of the jovial sergeant who tried to help his son…
"No, we cannot and we will not," I assured him, yet the fake optimism in my voice didn't manage to delude even him.
"Diego, have you got any idea…" he started for the second time, hesitated and finished rather helpless: "…what to do?"
"No. No I don't," I admitted in the same way.
Well, one thing was certain. We will not save the sergeant by sitting in the hacienda. I rise and took my hat and gloves.
"As for now, Father, I am going to the graveyard, too see how Barcelo reacts. Please, wait here with Bernardo for Rosa, tell her what happened and meet me later at the pueblo, then we will discuss what to do next."
When I rode to the cemetery my all thought, my all emotions were pure despair. What that idiot, my stupid friend had done? I really didn't know how help him this time.
The problem was that the sergeant was guilty. Oh, I would have no problem with breaking all of Zorro's codes and getting him out of prison, but even if Zorro frees him, what shall he do next? Lead the life of the outlaw in the mountains? It would mean certain death for him. He is a soldier, in his each inch, he wouldn't be able to survive outside the military, not mentioning the community, pueblo, his friends…
The magistrado was a clever man… Maybe if I go to him, beg him, humiliate myself as he wishes, he would find some way to defend the sergeant… but the most Peraza could achieve would be saving Garcia's life, definitely not freedom… The sergeant was guilty, guilty of treason, and nothing the Fox with all his skills and cunning or Diego with his persuasion could do, will change it…
I saw that the lancers were already at the cemetery, shoveling the soil from the fresh grave near the wall. I quickly passed the gate, but as soon as I made the first step in their direction, Barcelo stopped me grabbing my arm:
"What are you doing here, Don Diego? It is not a place for a civilian now," he asked sharply. I could see he was shaken too, shaken and very angry.
"I heard you arrested Sergeant Garcia. He is my friend, I want to see what happens here," I replied not bothering with courtesies.
"The sergeant was my friend too, but I will not tolerate treason," he cut me off, but did not stop me from entering anymore.
I stood behind the soldiers, watching their work. The hole quickly deepened. Soon their shovels will clatter at the lid of the coffin… and then we will all see the proof of my friend's guilt…
No wonder Barcelo is furious. He might have for a moment considered silently accepting Zorro's mission, but he would never accept such an open lie of his subordinate. Man of duty, man of honor like he cannot bear betrayal, especially not among his fellow soldiers… He won't even listen to my persuasion.
Yet, the only way to save Garcia is making Barcelo withdraw his accusation and return the sergeant into service… And I found the way how to achieve it.
El Zorro will offer to the capitán to give up himself in exchange for the exoneration of the sergeant. Barcelo should agree for such gambit. Isn't it what he wants the most? He will have to resign from punishing the weak-willed sergeant, but instead he will convict the most elusive bandit in the whole of California… He will agree.
First shovels knocked at the wooden board. The lancers put them aside and started to lever up the lid.
There are still almost four months till the child is born. Maybe it is a boy… or maybe a little niña, lovely as her mother. Even if I don't say it too often, I would very much like to… No matter. Four months - no trial will last that long. Of course, providing that there will be a trial.
Yet, my friend put his life at risk for me. Such debts must be repaid.
The wood cracked and the lid gave in. All lancers crowded around it, curiously looking inside. Only Barcelo and I stood behind, as both knew well, what we may see there. Or rather – what we may not.
Definitely not the body of the Fox.
The lancers of course gasped with surprise and I for a moment closed my eyes, wishing I would be anywhere but here. Finally, Barcelo reluctantly moved forward and peeked into the coffin and... almost jumped back with face so changed with bewilderment than I instinctively leant and looked into the grave.
And I almost fell on my knees.
There were no stones in the coffin. There was a body.
Burnt, distorted but definitely human remains. There could be no doubts that they belonged to the man, the man who died in the fire.
So there was someone else in that shed.
Someone died in the fire I set.
"Don Diego? Diego, drink it," I saw the worried face of Barcelo over me and I realized that I am leaning inertly on the graveyard's wall, hiding the face in my hands.
Unconsciously I took the flask he gave me and drank something sharp and burning.
"I am sorry, Don Diego, but I was sure that there will be only stones. Otherwise I would never allow you to see it," Barcelo looked at me apologetically.
For a moment I couldn't understand what he was talking about. Then I realized, that he thought it was a view of the remains that knocked me down.
"You were right, Capitán, it was not a view for a civilian." I forced myself to say blankly.
A bit waveringly I straightened, not being able to suppress the shiver when my eyes fell once more at the coffin.
Barcelo seemed to be equally moved:
"There was someone else in that shed," he said quietly mirroring my thoughts.
I felt so tired, tired with the game I played with him. This is where it has led me, to the body of innocent man who died because of me. I just have no strength to play it any longer.
So when he looked at me, I wanted to say simply 'yes, someone else was there'. I wanted to say 'I am sorry, I didn't know. Help me to find out who it was.'
But the fox in me whispered: not yet.
So I replied:
"Someone else? What do you mean, Capitán? Aren't these the remains of el Zorro?"
Good, commented the fox.
Right now I hated him.
"No, it is not el Zorro. I know it," said Barcelo in dead voice.
Mí Capitán, you do not have to worry yourself so much. It was my trap, my idea, it is my guilt.
I reminded myself why I came here and turned to him:
"I understand that the sergeant is free now?"
"Oh yes. Yes, he is," nodded Barcelo, "It was natural for him to think that he found the Fox..."
Well, now that is exactly what all the lancers think. I can hear their excited whispers, while they are burying back the coffin - in spite of Barcelo's gloomy glance, the soldiers cannot resist commenting on the events.
So the Fox is dead, really dead!
Now we never learn who he was…
No one will never learn who lies in that grave, neither the lancers, nor me. I will never learn the name of this man.
Oh, I checked the building. I can remember how I ran through the room, looked into the corners… yet now I remember also the piles of boards, old sacks, some rubbish, broken barrels, the small closet – so many places I didn't search exactly enough, where someone could hide…
A traveler who didn't manage to get to the pueblo before sundown, a vagabond, a drunkard - anyway, someone was staying in this shed for the night.
Maybe he was sleeping in a drunken sleep, so that he even didn't hear me and Barcelo, maybe the fight awoke him, yet was afraid to go out into the blades of two fighters…
Doesn't matter. He was there and got caught in the fire I set.
It is so obvious. Why didn't I think about it before it happened? Why didn't I move the barrels, step into the closet? I have checked the house, why couldn't I have done it more precisely?
I didn't want to go to the plaza with the lancers, right now I couldn't bear the company. I went to the church and, not daring to go inside, sat on the doorstep, trying to calm my mind. Yet the more I considered what happened, the worse I felt.
That is all wrong. I donned the mask to protect the weakest, these who cannot protect themselves. I was prepared to kill people in the fight, people who wanted to kill me… But now I caused a death of a helpless man in an attempt to protect my skin. It was so… wrong. There was no better word for it.
I reminded myself that my father and Bernardo should be waiting for me, so finally I slowly rise and walked to the plaza. I wasn't sure how much time passed, but it must have been a while, as my father welcomed me with anxious question:
"Diego, what happened at the cemetery? The sergeant has been just freed and all the people say el Zorro is dead?"
When he stood there and looked at me so worried and unsure, I would give anything not to reply to him. My father, always so responsible, so protective about the others, how shaken he will be… I would prefer to keep this burden for myself. Yet I couldn't. I forced myself to keep his sight.
"There was a body in the grave. There was someone else in this shed," I confessed quietly.
My father's eyes widened with horror.
"So we…"
"Not we. Me," I interrupt him angrily but then all anger left me and I felt only grief, heartbreaking grief.
"Papá, I have checked this shed" I whispered.
"I know, Diego, I know," he replied softly.
For a moment he said nothing, only stood by my side. Then he looked around and gently touched my arm:
"Listen Diego, we will deal with it… but right now you have to go to the tavern. Sergeant Garcia and all his friend are there. Since you are already at the pueblo, you must go too, even if only for a moment... Otherwise it would seem too strange. I saw Barcelo returning from the graveyard. He looked like… not himself. We must be very careful with him now."
"I will come," I nodded. "Just leave me alone here for a few minutes. Go first, I will come soon. You too," I added gently to Bernardo, who eyed me very worried, but left with my father.
They left and I leant myself on the wall, feeling the warm sun rays over my skin. I reminded myself the heat of fire burning my skin, the lack of air, the pain in the lungs… only this time I thought about the unknown man, who must have felt the same only much longer. Till the death. How long it took before he loses his conscious? Did he even try to escape? Why did neither Barcelo nor me notice him in this burning hell?…
"I have heard that you have been at the graveyard, Don Diego. Is it true? The Fox is really dead?"
I opened my eyes and noticed Damián Peraza in front of me.
"I saw the body," I replied only.
"Pity," he commented and there was a real pity in his voice. "So, who was he?"
"It was not possible to see. The fire…" I didn't finish, I really didn't feel like discussing it with him right now.
"So it could have been anyone," Peraza shrugged his shoulders not explaining whether he meant Zorro, or the corpse, and left without further questions, only throwing a mocking remark in my direction:
"Just do not faint here, de la Vega!"
I didn't bother to reply. He was even right. I shouldn't stay here like a weeper. It is too late for remorse.
If only I could do something, anything…
I cannot help that man, but maybe he had family. I could find them and help them somehow. I caught this thought like the life belt. I had an aim, something to do… The first thing would be to talk in private with the sergeant. Maybe that man had something with him, any item that withstood the fire and will lead me to his identity.
I had some luck as in this moment I saw Sergeant Garcia exciting the tavern and looking around the plaza. Well, at least he was safe. I wonder what he felt when he found that body in the ashes while being so sure that I am el Zorro – and he saw me sitting safely at the hacienda… He must have been shocked and surprised too.
Well, right now he seemed to be rather… serene. When he saw me he became even more joyous and approached me quickly.
"Don Diego, I came to take you to the tavern. Will you come for a moment? It is now rather the funeral feast for the Fox, but… all the pueblo is here and…"
It was the best moment to get some information from him, so I didn't reply, only asked him trying not to sound as impatient as I felt:
"Sergeant, when you found, that body… Zorro's body… Have you seen anything particular? Do you remember where exactly it laid? How did it lay? Were there any items near it?"
The sergeant looked at the toes of his shoes, than at the geranium pot hanging above us, finally at me…
"Don Diego, may I confide you a secret?" he whispered.
I am so tired with secrets… But if I wanted my answers, I had to let him speak, so I nodded and looked at him questioningly.
"It is not the Fox lying in this grave."
I know that much, what I would like to know, is who is laying there. I almost bridled impatiently, but suddenly I realized that… that it shouldn't be so obvious to him…
"How do you know, Sergeant? What exactly have you found in this shed?" I asked sharply.
I expected many reactions from him, but definitely not… the giggle.
"We haven't even been in this shed, Don Diego… And in the grave is – well, either Jacinto or Pico, it was impossible to tell them apart. Anyway, one of these vagabonds that died at rancho la Resca last week. We just took one coffin out and buried it in a new grave, to prove to the capitán that el Zorro is really dead," he finished looking at me very proudly.
For a moment I just struggled to understand what he just said.
"It is the profanation of the corpse," I stated weakly.
"Oh, no, we did it with all due respect…" the sergeant assured me very seriously, "Padre Benitez was there too and approved… He even said that finally Jacinto – or Pico – will finally serve to something useful. Hardly appropriate words for the clergyman," the sergeant added with pensiveness, shaking his head, "but considering the circumstances…"
Padre Benitez! Could anyone possibly introduce me in these plans of saving the Fox, that apparently half of the pueblo is in? Please?
Sergeant Garcia must have read some of my feelings in my face, as he patted calmingly my arm:
"When the things quiet down, we will return the coffin to its previous place. Or maybe," he corrected himself after the moment of consideration, "we will just replace the crosses. It will be much easier."
I guess I was still speechless as he looked at me more carefully and spread his arm with a very content smile:
"Oh come on, Don Diego, you didn't possibly think I would just put some stones into the coffin, just like Monastario once did? I am not that stupid!"
He did spend too much time with Monastario. He even managed to learn something on commandante's mistakes…
"No, Sergeant. I thought you put there Zorro's body you found in the ashes," I replied rather coldly.
"Of course, Don Diego. Yes, yes. I mean, no, I didn't, but, of course you did… Anyway, would you go now to the tavern?" the sergeant looked at me pleadingly.
I nodded, but as I was slowly regaining my ability to think clearly, before he opened the doors, I grabbed his arm, not caring that he almost jumped, surprised with the strength of my grasp.
"Sergeant – you do understand, that no matter what happens, you cannot possibly let Barcelo know what you did? No matter," I hesitated for a moment and finished straightly, throwing away all the masks, including this of politeness, "no matter how much you drink?"
Garcia kept my glance, seeming to be slightly offended:
"Don Diego, I may drink so much, that I will not be able to find my way to the cuartel, but definitely not that much to get on the way leading me to the gallows. Or leading there anyone else. I never did."
Right now I preferred not to analyze his words more exactly. I consider myself a resilient man, yet this day brought me near the limits of my endurance. I just nodded and meekly followed the sergeant to the tavern.
There was indeed the whole pueblo in the tavern, haciendados, vaqueros, even some natives, crowding around the tables… For many of them lacked the seats, so they were leaning over the walls or sitting on the table-tops. I have never seen so many people there. The mood was rather gloomy and quiet talks silenced when the sergeant entered. He swallowed hardly and looked unsurely in the direction of the other lancers sitting in the corner with uncertain expressions.
"That is all right, Sergeant," said loudly some old vaquero, "at least thanks to you the Fox has a decent grave."
Another person nodded and the sergeant took a relieved breath. He sat among his lancers and I sat near my father, smiling to him calmingly. I couldn't explain to him anything now, but he noticed the change in my disposition and sighed with relief.
The quiet talks slowly filled the sala, yet the mood was still tensed. The lancers turned the mugs in their hands, not daring to drink, and the gathered people cast at them anxious glances not daring to speak louder.
Finally, Private Sanchez stood up, raising the mug.
"To the Fox," he said clearly, though his voice was breaking with tears.
"To the Fox," replied the others after him, not caring that he was the youngest one here.
This toast seemed to break the invisible barrier between the lancers and the others. The conversations became loud and unconstrained, people walked, changed places, talked… yes, they all talked about el Zorro…
Adventures, legends, fairy-tales. True and imagination.
They all mixed here, when people recalled el Zorro.
As my father listened to them, he seemed to get slightly embarrassed by the descriptions of Zorro's heroics, but the proud grin started slowly to appear on his face. I kicked him under the table signing that he should be more serious, so he just buried his head in his hands. Much better, at least now it looked like an expression of grief.
Oh, yes, not all haciendados here were the friends of the Fox… Yet, all of them seemed now rather despondent.
"He was a scoundrel, but a dashing one. I never wished him such death," muttered Don Juan raising the toast with the others.
Padre Benitez was there too, not drinking, only leaning over the counter with his usual gentle smile.
"Padre, will you celebrate the mass for el Zorro? For the peace of his soul?" asked someone.
"Next Sunday," he replied without a blink.
It seems that there are more people in Los Angeles talented in wearing the mask.
After all today's revelations I thought that nothing is going to surprise me, yet I opened wide my eyes when I noticed that the inn-keeper was offering the free wine for everyone. End of world, really, end of world in Los Angeles!
When everyone had drinks, the inn-keeper came to me with some old guitar he fetched from the back room:
"Would you mind playing something, Don Diego? Something sad?" he asked pleadingly.
That is the rare possibility, to decide what one would like to hear on his own burial ceremony! After a moment of consideration I decided that the Fox would prefer the improvisation played live by Diego de la Vega.
So I took the instrument and started to play a quiet melody.
It was nice and sad, though I couldn't concentrate much neither on the music, nor on the conversations. I wasn't thinking about anything particular, I wasn't analyzing the situation, I wasn't planning the new step. I wasn't even feeling proud with all the praises for the Fox around me. To tell the truth, I hardly listened to them.
I was only so happy that no one died in those flames.
I will never try to do it again. I got my lesson of humility. El Zorro might be a legend, but I am only Diego, fallible as each human. I will remember my limits.
I do not know how much time passed – an hour? two? – while I was sitting in the corner of the crowded sala and playing quietly while the others drank and talked.
The memories seemed to have no end, people talked and talked and no one left the room. All gathered shared their meetings with el Zorro – personally, I couldn't recall half of them and as I enjoy good memory, I believe that wine helped the imagination.
And then this nice, warm and nostalgic mood in the sala was interrupter rather abruptly.
"All right, the mourning is over!" I heard suddenly the angry and loud voice of Barcelo.
All the conversations silenced and everyone in the sala looked at him. The tension immediately returned.
The capitán didn't look well. I had no idea how long exactly he watched us, but obviously he was very, very angry. I would even say… out of control. His usually perfect uniform was now a little battered and he leant over the doorframe in an unusually for him slack pose. Had he been drinking something?
I anxiously measured the distance between him and the crowd. In the mood such as this right now in the tavern, if he says one wrong word… things may easily get out of control. Sergeant Garcia must have drunk less than I thought as he quickly came to the same conclusion and moved toward his superior.
Yet what Barcelo said surprised everyone.
"The mourning's over!" he shouted once again, looking challengingly around. People he looked at lowered their heads, avoiding his glance, yet the others stared at him with obvious dislike. "I do not know who lies in this grave, but it is not the Fox! I talked with him after we got out from that fire and saw him leave. I let him leave… because…" he stammered and rubbed his temple.
The gathered people exchanged surprised glances and I… I felt the wave of anxiety. Yes, he was out of control. The capitán has reached his limits too, right here, standing alone against the whole pueblo he wanted to protect, he was driven to the edge. Now he was lost, desperate and – very dangerous.
"Your Fox is well and healthy," he continued much quieter, "And I am tired," he finished looking straight at me.
I didn't lower my head only kept his sight. I knew what he was going to say.
"I am tired with this game," he almost whispered, yet in the dead silence in the sala everyone heard him, "I want the truth, no matter the consequences. Don Diego," he suddenly raised his head and spoke loud and clear, "show me your hand. The right one."
I was aware that all the people in the sala were staring at me - all the gossips, all unspoken suspicions rising back, the air in the sala suddenly thick with incoming revelation. I noticed how my father and Bernardo exchanged scared glances in the desperate need to find some way out. Yet it all didn't count right now.
Right now it was only me and Barcelo.
As soon as I noticed him in the tavern I quickly moved my scarred hand under the guitar - now I almost tenderly caressed the wood of the instrument – and smiled. At least we already have the fiesta, I thought preparing to stand up.
"Zorro! Zorro! The Fox is here!" someone shouted behind the window and the breathless lancer burst into the sala, forgetting all the discipline and grabbing Barcelo's arm.
Barcelo turned to him, very slowly and very reluctantly tearing his eyes from me – and through the open doors we all heard the horse galloping on the other side of the plaza.
All the chairs, all the tables fall, pushed aside, as the gathered people started to crowd themselves near the doors and windows.
I forced myself to look at the neck of my guitar. What is all this excitement about? Didn't the capitán just say that el Zorro is alive? So he rides, nothing strange.
My father jumped to his feet with an indignant expression, but I blocked his way.
"Cheerfully, Father. Surprised, but cheerfully," I muttered silently, taking out the cigar from my pocket and lighting it from the candle staying on the table. Only then I walked toward the exit, pushed my way out and stood by Barcelo's side, admiring the black rider.
He must have just pinned some note to the doors of cuartel with his dagger and now danced on his horse just in front of us, rather unhurriedly moving toward street leading out of pueblo.
Maybe there was a grain of truth in the capitán's words. From this point of view it did look a bit arrogant.
Anyway here we are. I and Zorro together, in the distance no longer than fifty yards, for all the pueblo too see.
I took the deep draw of the cigar, to get the capitán's attention – with my left hand of course, as in the right I still keep the guitar.
"I am not sure if I am following today's events, but you were right, Capitán, this man is very much alive," I remarked.
Barcelo almost jumped hearing my voice and moved his eyes from the black rider to me, then back to him, to me and – how close he had been! – to Bernardo, staying silently just behind me. But the masked man galloping along the cuartel's walls was tall and slim, and showed off on his black mount as I usually do… Of course this horse was not Tornado, but from such distance only I could recognize it.
I noticed that Sergeant Garcia was staring at me with open mouth and equal disbelief as Barcelo, which was rather understandable. What I couldn't understand was this expression of disappointment on his face…
The capitán still stood stunned, looking a bit helplessly around. His mouth was moving, but no sound came out.
"After him?..." I suggested quietly.
The capitán shook like the hound getting out of water, returning to his senses.
"After him!" he shouted and the lancers, as if relieved from the spell, started to run to their horses. However, the black rider was already disappearing at the far end of the plaza; by the time the soldiers reach the stables and start the pursuit, there wouldn't be even a trail of him left…
The rest of the gathered people return slowly to the tavern, at first in the surprised silence, but soon in the sala resound the excited comments.
"One toast to the Fox, but it is the last one on house!" announced the inn-keeper, regaining his composure.
I sat calmly by my table, put away the cigar and raised the guitar on my knees:
"Something more cheerful now, I guess?" I proposed and when people around me nodded, started to play again.
My father shifted impatiently near my side seeming to be a little irritated with my nonchalance. Perhaps according to him I should be more concerned with the mysterious imposter…
But it was no mystery for me. I knew who has just been riding through the town in the black attire. I wasn't only sure whether I am more angry or amused.
On the second thought, when I saw through the window Barcelo's detachment starting the pursuit, and then my glance passed unknowingly on my gauntlets lying on the table, I decided that above all I should feel gratitude.
My sight for a moment crossed with Bernardo's and he made the small gesture of scissors behind his ear. I nodded slightly in agreement. I know. Fair hair, so uncommon here, must be cut very shortly, to be hidden under the bandana.
I didn't think I will ever say it, but… Gracias, magistrado. You would never suspect, but you have just saved my life.