Chapter Nine
December 20th, 1824
Los Angeles, California
The room in the mission was small, but it was large enough to fit the dons and a few others. Alejandro could sense how angry the dons were. He could feel the very air crackling. He almost pitied de Soto and watched him shift from foot to foot slightly. "Are you saying that Risendo, the governor, all the others… they're not even from Spain?" asked Don Emilio, as he jumped up from his chair and it fell to the side. "To whom have we been paying taxes? Not Mexico, because they had no idea. How many years have we been in this limbo?"
There were grumbles of agreement and de Soto held up his hand to hold back the worst of their anger. "It was necessary to maintain some illusion of control before things fell to complete and total anarchy."
"And how long did you think you could keep this from us?" asked another don.
"So long as we could keep things paid with the tax money brought in…" de Soto bit his lip as their expressions darkened. "Fair tax money—I don't mean excessive taxes. So long as we didn't overspend and kept up the necessities, as long as was necessary until Mexico officially stepped in and brought us the necessary support."
Alejandro fought to keep himself from shaking his head. It always came down to the taxes, but this time the Alcalde had a point. It wasn't the right time to fight about it, though. Not with Diego tortured to the point of screaming not fifty feet away from where they all stood.
"That has taken years, though," said Don Emilio. "In the mean time, we've been slowly overrun by bandits. If not for Zorro, you'd have lost the pueblo a long time ago."
With that, de Soto sighed. "All right, I admit. We would have been lost, if not for Zorro."
"Now then, was that so hard?" asked Don Alejandro, stepping forward now that de Soto had finished speaking. "Now, since you've admitted that the government is all but broke and that Luis Ramon didn't have the authority to issue the bounty in the first place, especially not in the name of the King who relinquished control years before… perhaps you can quietly tear up those wanted posters and that warrant? Not that it was ever legal to begin with."
"I have already taken the liberty of doing so. The Lancers will no longer hunt him," said de Soto. "But we have a larger issue right now than Zorro. That man was a Left Hand of the King, and who ever killed him committed an act of war on Spain."
The other dons stared at de Soto, horror—yet confusion—on their faces. "Forgive the ignorance… I am familiar with a King's Hand, but not a Left."
"A Left Hand is the same as a normal Hand, but for one large difference," explained de Soto. "A normal hand is like a right hand. What the King needs done gets done, and the Hand does it. However, it is a public office. People know of the hand—he is the King's trusted general and advisor. A Left Hand also does what the King needs done, by any means necessary… but unlike the advisor their job is done in the shadows."
"Tales to scare children," said one of the dons. "They don't exist."
"I can personally tell you that they do," said de Soto. "When I was in Madrid, at University, the King sent recruiters to pick those they felt would best fit. Swordsmen, those with cunning, charm, and intelligence. Man or woman. I was picked but didn't make the final cut, so to speak. My sword skills were lacking, and my loyalty found wanting."
"Good heavens," breathed Don Emilio. "Did anyone pass?"
"I heard, through rumour, that five did indeed pass all the tests and then were sent immediately into the field. One man managed to do what the others could not… and he alone became the Left Hand while the others worked for him," said de Soto. "From then on, I could guess what happened from there, but I don't actually know."
"Why was a Left Hand here?" asked Alejandro.
"He had a missive on him," answered de Soto, and he leaned back. "It wasn't even a coded message."
"Can you say, or do you want to?"
"I think I have to. I don't know where to find him, so I have no idea how hand the missive to him. With it not being coded but obviously from the King personally, I should think the message should get through," pointed out de Soto.
"And that is?"
"For the Fox to return to Spain."
Silence met him, as a room of horrified men stared at him.
Alejandro sat down heavily in the chair after straightening it back up. The Fox could only mean Zorro, and if he was being told to return to Spain then he had been working for the King the entire time.
His son, Diego.
Alejandro had left the military to keep his sons, if he'd ever had more than Diego, from the same fate as his. The same fate as his own brother who had been killed in the line of duty.
But, as usual, Diego had done exactly the opposite as Alejandro would have expected him to.
Oh, Diego, why? He wondered. I would have understood that more than being an outlaw. I understand duty. I understand that. Dios, son, why hide it?
"Madre de Dios," murmured one of the dons, giving voice to what Alejandro felt. "The whole time?"
De Soto nodded slowly.
"Frightening thought isn't it?" asked Alejandro. "Knowing that the one you've hunted was your ticket back to Spain the whole time."
"Just not the way I thought he was? Trust me when I say that thought definitely crossed my mind," admitted de Soto. "But that neither here nor there. The fact is that Don Diego has no reason to retract his statements or the article in the Guardian because it's true. All of it is true."
"Zorro will save him!" exclaimed one of the other dons.
Alejandro stifled a groan and didn't contradict the man. However, there would be no Zorro this time. "I think it's time that we stopped relying on Zorro," said Alejandro. "He was recalled to Spain and could very well be on his way back there already. We need to stand up for ourselves."
De Soto nodded. "Much as I hate to say it, Zorro always seemed to know what I did before I did. Don Alejandro could very well be right, and even if he should turn back he could very well be too late to help Don Diego. No, this is up to us."
"First things first, we need to get Don Diego out of the jail," said Don Emilio. "If we go up against this pretender, he will use Diego as a shield. The best thing to do would be to remove that shield."
"He's been tortured, though," said Mendoza, shaking his head. "He wouldn't be strong enough to run out on his own. We'd have to sneak him out—and we'd have to carry him to someplace close by for him to recover."
Both de Soto and Alejandro looked at the Sergeant in horror. "They tortured my son?" asked Alejandro, his voice low and even.
Mendoza swallowed nervously. "I am sorry. I couldn't stop them. The best I could do was take care of his wounds the best I could—they even refused to let me get the doctor."
"I'll kill the man," growled Alejandro, standing up, and he gestured with his hands. "With my bare hands."
Emilio stopped him. "Calm down, Alejandro, you charging in there like a bull will get him killed, and you along with him—and then we'd be back to square one. Mendoza is right but we need to do it with a plan."
"I won't let him spend another night in that jail," hissed Alejandro.
"Then we come up with something, tonight, and we get him out quickly," said de Soto, and then he snapped his fingers. "The mission. The construction of the new church gave it many new little nooks and crannies for a man to disappear. I am sure the padre would help us, considering the situation.
Alejandro nodded. "Yes, I imagine he would. But how do we get him from the jail to the mission?"
Mendoza stepped forward. "Leave that to me and Sevapulda. Diego has helped us before. I owe him, and the others are just as angry about being lied to. They don't trust this governor to actually pay us."
Alejandro had no idea how his son had done this over the years. To him, it felt like too much time was spent waiting in the shadows. He saw Mendoza enter the cuartel.
Numerous gun shots sounded outside the pueblo.
Don Emilio and a few others, dressed as bandits, as a distraction.
Alejandro held his breath.
The gates opened, and the guards left. The Governor swore colourfully at the disturbance but returned back to his room in the tavern. Alejandro watched as Pilar looked around, and then moved back within as well.
The jail was left empty.
A few moments later, Mendoza and the few men he felt he could trust came back out, half carrying and half dragging a limp figure between them.
Diego.
Alejandro bit back a cry. To shout his son's name now would undo them all. He opened the mission's doors as Mendoza and his men ran within before letting them fall closed again. Padre Benitez led them down a set of stairs into a basement below, one not part of the crypts but definitely leading to them. He touched a hidden switch and a bookcase swiveled aside to reveal another chamber where they had set up a cot and Dr. Hernandez waited inside with Felipe.
If everything went to plan, Emilio should have disbanded his men and they all disappeared like Zorro into the night.
Diego was laid down on a cot and Alejandro clenched his fists as the well-lit room revealed the extent of his son's injuries. While he had not been stripped of his clothing, the repeated whipping had torn his shirt and back into ribbons and it bled freely despite Mendoza's efforts to bandage and stem the bleeding. His torso was bruised, and the bruises suspiciously shaped like boots.
Mendoza and the other soldiers slipped out and away, back to where they were expected to be by the Governor and the others Mendoza hadn't trusted.
The door closed, as the Padre retreated back upstairs and to his own bed—all to appear as if he had no idea and was innocent of the entire affair himself.
Felipe signed something, but he had to do it twice and then a third time for Alejandro to catch its meaning.
Go back to the hacienda. It will be the first place they look. If you're not there, they'll know for sure.
Alejandro drew a breath to disagree, but he looked from Hernandez to Felipe, and then to his broken son. Now, before it's all undone, signed Felipe.
"Fine," said Alejandro, and he pointed at Felipe. "But I'm taking him home when it's safe, and without it hurting him any worse. And we're not done with this Governor… not by a long shot."
December 21st, 1824
Los Angeles, California
Alejandro watched as de Soto followed the other man out of the caurtel's office and into the street. The first thing Ignacio did was pause, noticing the silence. It was noon on a Tuesday, and it being in the middle of December it wasn't warm enough for people to run and hide from the heat of the sun for siesta… even if it had been near siesta in the first place.
Which it wasn't.
The market should have been busy, but only empty stalls as if they had set up for market and then abandoned it shortly after. Not even the market's products were on display.
Just as Alejandro and the dons had planned it.
"What in the?" began the Governor. "Where are all the people?"
De Soto shook his head, and Alejandro pelt a small pang of regret that today could be the day that the younger man died.
He had instigated this himself. He had to know what was coming.
Perhaps he just didn't think it would be this soon.
Don Alejandro led the other dons, all armed with swords, pistols… some even with rifles… out into the pueblo's market square.
"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the Governor. "You gentleman are rebelling against the King."
"The King?" said Don Alejandro, as he lifted a brow and looked over at one of the other dons. "He's telling us we're opposing the King. Senor, we know that Spain hasn't held California since at least 1810, since the French imprisoned him. He may be free now, but his authority no longer stretches here—and as someone very loyal to the King and to Spain I find that the lies told to us for years appalling. Insulting. Not only do I demand satisfaction, we all demand satisfaction."
The Governor took a step back and found himself up against a very still de Soto. "Alcalde de Soto arrest these men!" he demanded.
"I think, Senor, that you'll find that I, too, am loyal to the King of Spain. I am a Spaniard. Not a Californian," pointed out de Soto quietly. "And I'm just as angered by the lies as they are. You'll find no back-up from me or my Royal Lancers, who, I remind you, swore fealty and their service to King Ferdinand. Not to you, or any of your other pretenders."
The Governor turned on him, drawing his sword halfway out of the sheath. "You dare!"
De Soto shoved the man's hand down so that the sword was sheathed again. "No, you dare!" shouted de Soto. "I have waited four long years to return to Spain, something you promised to me if I served as the Alcalde here and solved your Zorro problem… only now I find out "the Fox" may have been my ticket home, and into the King's favour, but not as his enemy. Not by capturing or killing him—because to do that would have been the equivalent to striking the King. You, Senor, lied to me as you lied to us all. I should hang you—these people would thank me for it. Hell, Mexico might do the same… and I am sure if I returned to Spain immediately after the King would reward me for it as well."
With each word, the Governor paled and took a step back, but de Soto continued to stalk him until he stood in the middle of the circle of dons. Whirling around, realizing he was trapped, his eyes widened.
"I think that's enough for one day," came a tired voice from outside of the circle.
Alejandro looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of Zorro on the back of Toronado. Only, there was something off. Zorro sounded exhausted—as if he had ridden all day and all night to reach Los Angeles. He also leaned heavily in the saddle, fighting to remain upright.
"What are you doing here?" breathed Don Alejandro, not loud enough for Zorro to hear him but loud enough that de Soto caught it, and he saw the man look at him curiously.
"Hard ride?" asked de Soto.
Zorro inclined his head. "It's always a bit hard to be in two places at once, especially when the King expects to you be in one and you have a sudden need to be in another."
"Then it's true," said Don Emilio. "You always were working for the King."
"You know I can't answer that," pointed out Zorro, and Alejandro heard the regret.
Zorro wanted to answer it. Wanted to confirm it. To admit it would mean the price on his head was false. He would be free, after returning from Spain—if he did ever return from Spain—to live as a normal man and marry Victoria.
Alejandro found that he was hoping Zorro could answer.
"This has gone on long enough," said de Soto. "Lock up the Senor, and Zorro?"
Zorro looked over at him quizzically once he realized the Alcalde had no intention of arresting him.
"Marry the Senorita Escalante," said de Soto. "And then we can return to Spain."
Zorro grinned, and the grin reached his eyes. "Now, that, Alcalde, is indeed a request I can complete… if she'll still have me."
Victoria ran up, and then paused before she walked slowly the rest of the way to prevent spooking Toronado. "I will!" she answered. "I definitely will."
He lowered his hand to help her up, and she climbed up behind him on the saddle. Cheers and shouts went up as he rode around the market, Victoria's arms around his chest as she leaned her head against his back. Alejandro tried not to smile, but he couldn't help it as he watched.
Finally, Zorro returned to where he started in front of the cuartel's office. "You never did catch me."
"Oh?" asked de Soto. "Are you so sure?"
"Are we going to have a chase?"
De Soto laughed. "Senor Zorro define 'catch'. If by catch, you mean bring you before the King, then I have managed to get you to agree that it is time to return to Spain to report to him. Thus, I have indeed caught you."