Well, the next to last post for STF 11! Wow. It only took a year and a half. Thanks for hanging in there.

January 18, 1816
Thursday
Felipe

Town was so crowded it might have been market day, except everyone was dressed in their very best clothing. The gentlemen were in bright jackets so stiff with embroidery it was a wonder any of them could move. The ladies wore brocade and lace and lifted their skirts out of the dust.

It was afternoon, and—although the chance to stand around gossiping was an unusual treat – people were getting restive. They all wanted to see the new alcalde. They were all half afraid he would show up and start jailing people immediately.

The long wait had taken the edge off both the excitement and the fear. People had finished their picnic lunches, and some were resting on blankets in the shade of the parish orchard. The de le Vegas were gathered at the newspaper office. Don Alejandro had packed his things and cleaned out the alcalde's office. He and Diego were sitting peacefully while Gilberto and Sir Edmund played whist.

Waiting for the new alaclde felt like waiting for rain.

When, finally, Felix raced through town shouting that the coach had been spotted on the King's Road, the quiet, crowded town rippled with both relief and nervousness.

The coach came tearing in right after Tomas. There was barely time for the lancers to line up and for the crowd to find places in the plaza before the lathered horses were reined in before the cuertel.

There was an expectant silence.

Felipe, standing beside Gilberto and Diego on the Tavern porch, found he was holding his breath.

Don Alejandro stepped forward. Mendoza rushed up and opened the coach door. To his confusion, an elderly, shabbily dressed man stepped out and shuffled in embarrassment. Frowning, Don Alejandro peered into the coach, but it seemed to be empty now. Into the confused silence, Victoria called out, "That is not our new alcalde! That is Jorge the coachman!"

And yes, that almost made sense, except—Gasping, Felipe looked up. There was a man in the driver's seat holding the reins, a man with his head lowered and a tattered blanked pulled over his shoulders. And then the 'coach driver' laughed and threw the blanket aside. He jumped to his feet and looked down at the Los Angeles, grinning. "He was the coach driver. He should have been pensioned off years ago. After we were passed by a burro and two tortoises, I decided to take the reins myself. But. I am your new alcalde."

There were murmurs of amusement. Flustered, Mendoza saluted upwards.

"Ignacio?" Diego said, too loudly and at the wrong moment –

"Who?" Gilberto asked. "No. Oh. Yes!"

The splendidly dressed, dashing figure turned from his examination of Mendoza, his eyes ranging the tavern porch.

"Ignacio de Soto?" Gilberto called out.

The new alcalde grinned broadly and bowed toward him, then swung lithely down from his perch atop the coach. "Senor De le Vega, perhaps you will be kind enough to make introductions?"

Gilberto – with Diego following more slowly – hurried over to clasp the new alcalde's hand. "Ignacio. What a surprise!"

"Gilberto. It is very good to see you again. But why do you say 'surprise?' Wouldn't you expect me to be running the largest pueblo in Upper California?"

Gilberto smiled. "I would expect you to be anywhere more interesting." He clapped the new alcalde on the shoulder and turned to Don Alejandro. "Father, this is Ignacio de Soto! He was in his final year when Diego and I started at the university. He could always find the best parties, the most fashionable salons, the most…interesting card games. Ignacio, this is my Father, Don Alejandro De le Vega. He has been filling in for you these last few months. "

"Don Alejandro. It is a great pleasure to finally meet you. Fully half Madrid sends its regards."

"You exaggerate."

De Soto smiled warmly. "No, Sir."

"Well, thank you. Welcome to the Pueblo of our Lady, the Queen of the Angels."

"Quite a mouthful, isn't it?" de Soto agreed.

"I hope you don't find it too dull," Gilberto added.

"There is a time and a place for distraction," de Soto said piously.

"What, you've gotten serious now?" Diego said, speaking to de Soto for the first time. "You always managed to get excellent marks without ever seeming to study. We were all a little envious of you." He glanced pointedly at Gilberto. "Those of us who were actually paying attention. I still have no idea how you did it."

De Soto turned to face him fully and took his hand. "I cheated, of course. It is good to see you, Diego."

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then de Soto burst out laughing again. The press of people laughed in return, completely charmed.

That was only the beginning. There were introductions. The new alcalde had a speech for the lancers and one for the people – both were short which charmed everyone even more. After the formalities, de Soto took a couple of hours to settle into his new quarters and rest. Most of the people who had crowded the plaza left after that, their curiosity satisfied for now. The town council and the great ranch and plantation owners stayed, waiting for the gathering Don Alejandro was sponsoring at the tavern.

Felipe, usually required to eat with Diego, had been relieved to find out he was excused from that obviously awful event. He was in his best clothing, so he couldn't retreat to the paper and clean the press. Instead he made himself comfortable (as much as possible in his stiff but very stylish boots) on the tavern porch and tried to work his way through the latest French novel that constituted his school work. He would much rather have been training Angel to the saddle.

Just before sunset the ladies – sedate and elegant like swans – left the party and crossed to the church. As they disappeared inside, Sir Edmund appeared. He was wearing an apron and carrying two plates. He set one down in front of Felipe and took a seat across from him. "Everything quiet out here?"

Felipe nodded. The plate held tamales! Maria only made them for special occasions, so he rarely got them at home. Delighted, he had two forkfuls in before he remembered to make polite conversation and ask how the party was going.

Sir Edmund looked smug. "Smoothly. Exotic and rustic, of course. But I saw your new alcalde's face and this was more social grace than he was expecting. It is a good impression we have made."

Felipe motioned to the apron and signed a question. "Why aren't you at the party?" He had helped Victoria with the planning, but he was a knight and an important man, not a servant or a woman.

"Oh, I am finished with politics," Sir Edmund answered vehemently. "I didn't realize how much I hated Alejandro being involved in all this until I saw Don Ignacio's stage arrive. How relieved I am that he is out of that. Hm. And it is a lot of work, a soiree like this put together in under two weeks." He sighed and stretched.

"Did you know him at the university? What is he like?"

"He only read with me once. He was to philosophy what Gilberto was to swordsmanship." He sounded very dismissive, and Felipe protested, "'Berto is very good!"

Sir Edmund shook his head. "Gilberto was 'very good' then. Now he is extraordinary. Don Ignacio was very intelligent, but he did not care. Or he did not let himself care. He did what was required of him – and very well—but no more." He Sighed. "Los Angeles has refined Gilberto wonderfully. Perhaps Don Ignacio will grow as well."

Felipe was still trying to make sense of all that when Sir Edmund finished and excused himself to go keep an eye on the kitchen.

Felipe was just scraping the last bits from his plate when Diego came out a few minutes later and took the seat Sir Edmund had vacated. He glanced at the empty plate. "Oh, good. You got something."

"Are you all right?"

Diego smiled reassuringly. "I am fine. It is only time for my medicine, and I didn't want to do this inside." He withdrew the small, brown bottle from his pocked and held it up to the fading light.

"Will it go on long?"

Diego unstopped the bottle and took a careful sip before answering. "The party? Not much longer. They have finished with the business and have moved on to little conversations." He slipped the little bottle back into his pocket and stretched. "How is it going with Madame de Staël?" He nodded toward the dreadful collection of letters-that-weren't-really-letters in French.

Before he could answer the new alcalde himself stepped out on the porch. "Ah. Diego. May I join you? I thought I might get some air."

Deigo stood up immediately. "Certainly, Alcalde. It is a beautiful evening."

"I've been meaning to congratulate you on your newspaper. There were a few copies in Monterrey. I must admit I never expected to find anything even remotely professional in the colonies."

"Thank you. But I am aware of the shortcomings."

"Don't be modest. It is quite an accomplishment." He was standing in the light of the door, and while Felipe could hear the sincerity and admiration in his voice, he could not see it in his eyes. He recalled that Diego had warned him about flattery and felt a little shiver.

"You are aware," Diego said, shifting the subject slightly, "that the government owns the press. I have a very favorable lease—with the exception that if the government should need to print something, it would be made available."

"Really?" de Soto said. "I did not know that. Have the former alcaldes done much printing?"

"Actually, no. They have published the occasional notice in the newspaper, of course."

"I hadn't thought to print anything," he said thoughtfully. "Still, I suppose all the typesetters work for you."

Diego laughed. "I have some influence with them. I think I can promise they won't charge you more per line inch than they do me."

De Soto smiled. "Excellent. Excellent. Of course there is a great deal of work to be done immediately. There are a monstrous pile of records to look over in the office. And the aqueduct that is nearly done—I should take a look at that myself. And then, of course," and here his voice dropped considerably and all traces of amusement and charm vanished. "There are more serious matters that I should attend to without delay."

"More serious matters, Ignacio?" Diego asked guardedly.

"There is a rumor that Los Angeles is concealing a foreign spy, a British agent wanted by the crown."

"Surely not!" Did Felipe imagine the slight hesitation before Diego's shocked reply? "The English have been our allies in all this terrible business with the French. There must be some mistake."

De Soto looked slightly pleased, even as he shook his head regretfully. "It is no mistake, although I admit it is very puzzling. A difficult business all round, Diego. One of the professors at Madrid University. I think you might have known him—Edmund Kendall."

"Surely not." Diego said very softly.

De Soto shook his head sadly again. "It is entirely possible the rumors aren't true, but investigating is a duty I am not looking forward to." He sighed. "Well. It is getting late and I must be polite to the company your father has so generously gathered. We will speak again soon? Your father has invited me to a more formal party at your hacienda on Saturday. I hate to lose a day of work, of course, so soon after getting started, but I am looking forward to visiting your home." He bowed slightly, apparently not noticing that Diego had nothing to say.

Diego took two careful steps backward and stretched out a hand to grasp the table. "Felipe." He turned around slowly and let go of the table to sign with both hands. "Fetch Sir Edmund. Take him home now. Keep him in the house. Tell him what you heard. Send the coach back for us at once."

Felipe spun around and leapt off the porch in to the growing darkness. He ran all the way to the kitchen door at the rear of the inn.

Diego

He had plenty of experience staying calm. If he appeared pale or a little unsteady, no one would think it was unusual. Diego reentered the tavern and joined the nearest conversation – the price of hides or rainfall or cattle breeding, he never remembered the topic afterwards. Several times Gilberto tried to meet his eyes, but Diego diligently avoided him. If Gilberto picked up on Diego's alarm, he might do or say something that would be noticed.

It was a long hour before Ignacio said a polite good night to everyone and withdrew. The caballeros left soon after, going to collect their wives for the long trip home. Then, finally, the local businessmen took their leave. Soon the De le Vegas were alone with Victoria and her staff, watching the dining room be set into order.

Diego remained calm.

When, finally, Father finished with Victoria, he collected Gilberto and Diego and headed for the door. "Where is Edmund, do you think?" he asked.

"I sent him home with Felipe." It did not sound as casual as he had wished.

"Oh? Was something wrong? One of them wasn't ill-?"

Old Juan was just returning the carriage. Diego nodded toward it. "I'll explain later. I would rather not talk about it in the open with so many people on the road."

Father frowned. "Do we have a problem?"

Diego nodded.

"Not our new alcalde?"

Diego hesitated. "Father. Not here. Please trust me."

The ride home was tense and quiet.

*z*

"Well? What is going on?" Gilberto burst out as the door shut behind them.

Felipe was pacing the hall, and he rushed forward, his hands nearly a blur of jumbled words. "Where is Sir Edmund?" Diego asked him.

"In his room! Packing!"

"Best go get him."

"Diego, for the love of - "

"Be still, 'Berto," Father said. "Diego, go into the library and sit down."

Diego bit back a protest that he was fine and complied. As he sat down Sir Edmund joined them. He started to say something but stopped. Father set his feet and folded his arms. Gilberto was grinding his teeth.

Diego swallowed hard. "Tonight…Ignacio made a point of telling me that he was aware that Sir Edmund is here in the pueblo and that he is still wanted by the Crown. He implied that he intended to make an arrest as soon as he had the opportunity."

Gilberto removed the decorative sword he was wearing and tossed it onto the couch as he reached with his other hand for one of the more substantial weapons hanging on the wall. "Well, that didn't last long. We'll have to send for another replacement."

"What are you going to do?" Father asked in alarm.

"What Sir Edmund can't do this time."

Father headed him off and caught him at the wrist. "Absolutely not. You are not challenging de Soto."

"I can take care of this, Father."

"Gilberto. No." Sir Edmund boxed him in on the other side. "You will not force a challenge in order to kill this man. That is not a fair fight."

"I will not let him arrest you."

"And I am grateful for your intent. But I will not let you stop him that way." He took the sword away and passed it to Father.

"Well, what else?" Gilberto demanded. "We cannot hide you in the root cellar like a turnip!"

"No," Sir Edmund said sadly. "I have thought of it. But no."

Overcome, Gilberto spun around and stalked away. He pounded both fists against the wall. "Damn de Soto anyway!" he roared.

"Stop it!" Father shouted back. "We don't have time for this. De Soto has saved us."

"He threatened-!"

"He warned us! We have time. We have time, Gilberto, if you will stop this nonsense and think!"

"Time for what?" Gilberto groaned. "If Ignacio knows to look for him, there will be others. If California is not far enough, nowhere in Spanish territory—"

Sir Edmund nodded sadly. "It is a very large world. It seems I am destined to see more of it. "

"Not Europe," Father said immediately. "Well, not the continent. England, perhaps, but…."

Sir Edmund sighed and sat heavily on the settee. "No. Not England."

"Boston," Diego said. "No. Philadelphia. The most civilized city in the world. You could walk the streets that Franklin walked. Or Priestly."

"Oh." Sir Edmond closed his eyes. "I could."

"There is still the question of getting there," Father said heavily.

"Going directly east would take me out of Spanish jurisdiction soonest," Sir Edmund began.

"And into the mountains, the desert, the Indians...?" Father interrupted. "Out of the question."

Diego had been thinking about that. "It seems Ensenada gets more shipping traffic than Monterrey. I think he must travel south rather than north."

"Dangerous," Father sighed. "It is days away. He might be stopped. He is a wanted man."

"No…the Englishman Edmund Kendall is wanted," Gilberto said softly. "He will be traveling as a Russian; Ivan Grozni, perhaps."

"What?" Father and Sir Edmund asked at the same time.

"You speak a little Russian, you must! All those years with Master Nurgaliev, he must have taught you something."

Sir Edmund snorted, "Enough to know I am not traveling as Ivan the Terrible! 'Berto, I would need papers, evidence—"

"It will take me a few hours," Gilberto said. "I can…I can get you enough to fool anyone between here and Ensenada who might ask. My Russian is quite good." He smiled ruefully. "My talent for forgery even better."

"Oh, well, then," Father said faintly.

Gilberto sagged slightly. "I only ever used it for pranks. And only against people who deserved it."

"Just now," Sir Edmund said carefully, "You will be using it in the aid of a wanted criminal."

Gilberto's brief softness vanished at once. "Don't," he snapped. "Do not."

Sir Edmund rose and went to him, laid a hand on his arm. "'Berto. I am sorry. I would….I would give anything to stay." He broke off and stepped back, his British standoffishness at odds with the devastation of this separation. Gilberto, not afflicted with British reserve, gathered the smaller man into his arms and hugged him very hard.

Diego realized he was near to tears himself and dragged his gaze away. He could not afford more emotion then his body could bear. This was the worst possible time for the others to be distracted with Diego's health. He took deep breaths and forced his hands to uncoil. His nails, he realized, had bitten ugly, purple crescents into his palms.

Felipe tapped his foot to get their attention. "How can he travel? He hates horses?" His eyes were red, and seeing his sadness was another stab of grief in Diego's soul.

"He can take my new gig," Gilberto offered at once. "It won't be quite as fast, but -"

"Not over those roads," Father said. "It isn't built for that. He would never make it."

"It's all right, Felipe. There are worse things than the back of a horse. I'll be fine."

Gilberto straightened and blew his nose noisily in his handkerchief. "You need to pack. Get rid of anything that could identify you. I'd better….I'd better get started."

Everyone else was very busy. There was a great deal to do, at least for everyone but Diego. The best contribution he could make was to stay out of the way. He settled there in the library: he laid a fire in the fireplace and set his feet on a stool and tried not to dwell on either the loss the family was facing or the danger and privation that waited in Edmund's immediate future.

Around midnight, Maria brought everyone cups of warm atole. Don Alejandro sent her on to bed. She didn't ask any questions, though she could surely tell something dreadful was happening.

Diego must have dozed in the chair because he woke with Sir Edmund sitting beside him, a light hand on his arm.

"Are you all right, Diego?"

"Don't think of me," Diego said at once.

"I will think of you. You must take care, Diego." He sighed and looked away. In the candle light he looked very old.

"Are you ready?"

"We have done all we can just now. Your father and I are going to get a few hours' sleep."

"Father?" Diego repeated, uncertain what he had missed.

"Instead of riding through town, he is going to take me cross-country- at least as far as the Segovia place."

"That is probably best."

"Diego, I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I feel as though I am abandoning you all."

"You will be missed. But you have enough ahead of you that you shouldn't be worrying about us."

"I will be thinking of you, though. I will be thinking of you every day and all you have done to build a fair and just society here at the end of the world."

Diego swallowed hard. "You must…you must write from Ensenada. And again when you reach America. You must…You must tell me all about Philadelphia."

"Everything. I promise, Diego. Oh, my dear boy…."

Diego cleared his throat. "You should get some rest. You have a long ride ahead tomorrow."

*z*

Diego could not face going to his room alone. He went to Gilberto's instead and found his twin bent over the desk, writing what might be a note, except the letters were oddly made and the ink was too thin. Without looking up, Gilberto said, "I have given Sir Edmund your valise. And six of your handkerchiefs."

"He is welcome to them, certainly. But I am puzzled as to why." He removed Gilberto's best jacket from the armchair and sat down.

"I have named him Dimitri Vodenikov."

"Oh. The monogram. Excellent idea."

"I hope it is good enough." Ohh. Diego shuddered. Gilberto was so very angry and so ripped by grief. Diego's own pain seemed small and weak in comparison to his brother's suffering. For a moment the weight of it was more than he could lift, and he had to shut his eyes.

"'Berto," he began gently.

"Diego, I do not have time to discuss it now. Why don't you lie down on the bed. Your feet should be up anyway."

It should have been a disappointment to learn that he had failed to conceal his feet's tendency to swell. It should have been frustrating to learn how completely useless Gilberto had decided he was in a crisis. Diego found he cared about neither. He retreated to his brother's bed, piled the pillows, and lay down.

His dreams – wandering the dim corridors of the Devil's Fortress searching for Victoria—were dreadful. So was the reality he woke to when Gilberto shook his arm just before dawn: "You need to come, Little Brother. They are readying the horses."

Two saddled horses and a lightly laden burrow waited at the front gate. Father was checking the tack Edmund was speaking quietly to Felipe, who stood motionlessly and stared straight ahead.

Father looked up as the twins came out. "If anyone asks, I'm rounding up strays today. I'll be back by sundown."

"Yes, Father," Gilberto said woodenly.

The air was chilly and Diego repressed a shiver. He had forgotten his shoes in 'Berto's room.

Sir Edmund patted Felipe on the shoulder and went to Gilberto. "I wanted to thank you," he whispered, "For the excellent use to which you put my sword. And my teaching. Surely you know, I never used either one half so well myself."

Gilberto's breath caught and his jaw worked silently. Very gently, Sir Edmund drew his head down and kissed him once on each cheek.

Then it was Diego's turn and he had to close his eyes for a moment. He had never, he realized, not in all this months, expected that Sir Edmund would leave. He had assumed that for the rest of his life this durable, practical, loyal presence—

"You gave away my present."

Diego's eyes snapped open.

"And while I wholeheartedly approve, I did mean something for you." He lifted Diego's hand and laid dagger in it. "Keep this to remember me."

"I can't—you'll need it -"

"It isn't my only one. I promise I will not need it."

Diego nodded. "I shall carry it." He took a deep breath. "Go with God."

Smiling slightly, Sir Edmund leaned up to whisper in his ear, "I am going to a land of heretics. Perhaps I shall find Priestly's god." Then he patted Diego on the shoulder, turned, and mounted his horse with a great show of not minding.

They watched Father and Sir Edmund until they disappeared over the hill.

"I haven't slept," Gilberto said shortly. "I'm going to bed."

"Gilberto—"

"Not now, Diego. I am really too tired."

He slammed the door behind him.

Sighing, Diego looked at Felipe. He had his hands tucked under his armpits, which might have been either cold or misery. "Come on, then." Diego put an arm around his shoulders. "I'm sure you haven't had enough sleep, either." The young man allowed himself to be led into the house.

January 19, 1816

Alejandro

For two such old men traveling such rough ground, they had made excellent time. From the top of the ridge they could see the King's Road below, broad here and in good repair. For a long time they sat in silence, looking down on it.

"You are Dimitri, now," Alejandro said. "And for the next several months."

"An adventure," Edmund said, his voice thick with irony.

"I am sorry -"

"No, don't. Please, old friend. What your family has given me, I can never repay. I am only sorry to leave, however grateful I am that de Soto's warning saved me from leaving quite another way."

Alejandro heaved a great sigh and wiped his face with his handkerchief.

"Listen, Alejandro. Gilberto is very upset at my leaving. You must make sure he doesn't do anything rash."

"Rash? No, I think we are past the time when I have to worry about Gilberto being 'rash.' He has been very responsible…." When had that started? The return from the Devil's Fortress? No, earlier. Since Ramone died at least…. "Gilberto finally seems to have…." what, though? There was, now that he looked back, a change in his son. But when had it happened? What did it mean? "Perhaps it was your influence. Another good turn you have done us…. There is so much I want to say to you, Edmund. And now here we are and I have no words."

Edmund looked back to check the burrow. "Perhaps we have said everything. Perhaps I will ride down this hill and head south."

"Get far away from here, Edmund. Go as quickly as you can. I will pray for your safety."

He watched the mare and burrow pick their way down the rough slope and turn onto the road. Edmund looked back once, and waved.

-z-

He arrived home well before sundown – riding slowly had left too much time to think and even though a canter left his bad leg throbbing he had very nearly raced home. Again he was impatient with being an old man.

The boys had met him at the door, but they asked no questions when they saw that nothing dire had happened. Dinner was quiet, too. Afterwards, Diego played the piano for a while, but Gilberto withdrew sullenly to his room. For a few moments, Alejandro wondered if Edmund had been right and he should worry….

Maria and Juan appeared then, asking if they might have a word. He nodded and led them into his office.

They glanced at each other and Maria said, "Patron, we could not help but notice that your houseguest left somewhat...suddenly."

Oh. "You are asking if something is amiss?" He forced himself to look very mild. "If, perhaps, there is an answer I would like you to give if anyone should ask any questions?" They nodded, and he felt a warmth at their loyalty. "Nothing is amiss. Our houseguest has left. They eventually do. If anyone should happen to ask about it, tell the truth." Heaven knew there was no way to conceal it anyway. Everyone in town knew Edmund had been here….

Oh, damn it all….He excused Maria and Juan. What a horrible end this had come to. But it could have been worse. He must remember that. Edmund could be in a cell right now.

Tired, sore, and hard put to remember how fortunate they all were, he gave up and retired to bed.

Ignacio

It had been a busy day. He had risen before dawn to inspect the garrison. A surprise inspection, obviously, but Mendoza had been canny enough to see it coming so it wasn't a disaster. No worse than Ignacio had expected for a frontier fort.

He had inspected the barracks and the men, then the store room, the yard, and the kitchen. He found no surprises until he came to the tiny jail and its lone, rather pathetic occupant.

"Why is he here?" he asked Mendoza.

"Interfering with a government official, Alcalde."

"Hm. How long is his sentence?"

"It is…indefinite, Alcalde?"

Even if that answer made sense, it should not have been a question.

"What did he do?"

Mendoza had to think about that, apparently. It was several seconds before he answered, "He threatened the acting alcalde with a pistol?"

"Did he?"

"Yes."

"I would think flogging would be a more expedient punishment," Ignacio mused. "Still. Indefinite imprisonment seems a bit extreme. How long has he been here?"

"About a month, alcalde?"

Another question. "Is it a month or not? Yes? Well, can you think of a reason not to let him go now?"

"Um, well…he has no place to go. And he is not quite recovered. He lost two fingers when the pistol exploded."

"Will you repeat that, please, Sergeant?" But no, it sounded every bit as insane the second time. "Are you saying he is in jail…as some sort of charity….?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't say that. He did commit a crime. And he has started earning his keep. We put him to work. He fetches wood for the kitchen and the laundry. And helps out with the cooking."

Surely, in his condition, the man could hardly 'help out' very much! What an odd situation. It was common at outposts like this, of course, to hire the occasional local hardship case to do menial and unpleasant work for the soldiers. But to pay him for his work with a cot in the jail….Thoughtfully, Ignacio reached out and pushed on the cell door. It bounced open. "So he is not locked in?"

"Well, no, Alcalde. He isn't going to go anywhere."

"No. Of course not." He shook his head in bemusement. "I will make a decision on Monday."

There was too much to do to waste time on the jail's lone occupant: the stables had still needed inspecting… and the armory… and the ledgers….

Those had contained quite a lesson. Particularly the one that documented Ramone's illegal taxes, the sale of his personal property, and the receipts for the refunds to the people who had paid those taxes. Lesson? It might well serve as a veiled threat, except Ignacio was quite sure that the colonists had not killed Ramone in retaliation. His brother's criminal career was common knowledge and still considered a titillating scandal among the better classes.

In any case, Ignacio had no intention of slowly bleeding Los Angeles dry with petty taxes. He had come to capture the outlaw Zorro. While it was a terrible disappointment to arrive and learn that the notorious outlaw had not been seen in months, all was not lost. He might only have gone on a long trip – a grand tour of Europe was all the fashion now, he thought bitterly- or be recovering from an injury.

And, too, Los Angeles did not seem to be the utter disaster everyone thought it was. If he could not bring back Zorro as a trophy, he could, at least, make do with the credit for bringing Los Angeles to peace and prosperity.

Ramone's own notes were … odd. There was a great deal of speculation on the identity of Zorro, but no actual, useful evidence.

There were extensive notes on seventeen major landowners and their families – He had loathed them all, and the feeling appeared to have been mutual. Snobs, every last one of them, and given the contempt with which they had regarded Ramone, they would probably chafe at having to answer a man who had earned the positon through merit alone. Well. Ignacio would tough it out. He had before.

Odd, though, that there had been so many arrests from among the general population –not just petty criminals, but farmers and large landowners. "Mendoza? Where are the jail records?"

The sergeant had been standing worriedly in the corner. "Right here, Alcalde!" and he pulled a

battered and somewhat smudged book from the pile.

The sergeant's handwriting was awful and his spelling was worse, but it was still possible to decipher the astonishing array of people Ramone had put in jail…sometimes on odd charges…and the De le Vega twins?

Astonishing. Never mind the sheer insanity of arresting a newspaper editor or the sons of the richest man in the territory, what could the De le Vega twins possibly have done to warrant it? Ignacio had never been close to them, of course, but he did remember Diego as studious, earnest, and painfully proper. Gilberto had been rather lazy and decedent, but not, as far as Ignacio had ever noticed, malicious or particularly ambitious.

The morning digging through the paperwork had left him with more puzzles than answers, but rather than continue after lunch, Ignacio selected a mount from the stables – he had to admit that the horses, at least, were not bad – and ridden out with a few of them men on a short patrol to get a look at the state of the irrigation system and the roads nearest town.

California was – he could admit to himself - dauntingly vast. Even a 'short' ride was several miles. It was after dark when he returned to town. He got supper in the tavern rather than eat the cold beans that waited in the fort, and retired to the small suite of rooms set aside for his private use.

Small, but comfortably appointed, and temporary. He would move on to better things.

Ignacio set the lamp on the table and hung his sword on the back of a chair before sitting gratefully on the bed. With a crash, it gave out beneath him. His shout was a yelp of pure startlement rather than a bellow dignified outrage. Barely, he managed to clamp his teeth down on a second yelp as the lamp suddenly went out, plunging the room into darkness. He started to struggle up out of the cup formed by the sunken bedding and the sideboards of the bed. His knees were above his head and there was nothing to press on and he could not see -

Something very sharp poked him in the chest and he froze. Softly, slowly, a voice said, "Captain Ignacio de Soto, commander of the garrison and appointed alcalde of Los Angeles." Ignacio felt a small but very surprising coil of fear grow in his belly. He froze, straining to see in the sudden darkness, cursing the fact that his sword was so far away. "Do you know, Los Angeles was chartered as a town, not a presidio. Until Madrid began to interfere, it elected its own alcalde."

Ignacio's fear was quickly giving way to a distinct sense of flattery. He had barely been here twenty-four hours and already Zorro was seeking him out. He cleared his throat and said, almost firmly, "The King may do with his colony as he pleases."

"And you are just here to loyally serve the King?" A soft chuckle reminded Ignacio that he was a little afraid. "Or are you here to interfere with the lives of these innocent people, to bring them to heel, to find a way to profit at their expense?"

Ignacio tried to turn his head to get his first look at the notorious outlaw, but the light – what there was – from the window was behind him. Zorro was only a dark shape, large and looming. Ignacio forced himself to lift his chin, an effect that was lost in the fact that he was flat on his back. "Why? Does the idea of someone else interfering with this colony bother you?"

The point poking his chest shuddered slightly, as though Ignacio had struck a nerve. Coldly, the voice answered, "Do not try my patience. You live at my sufferance, not the king's. You govern this pueblo at my sufferance, too. I will be watching you."

He felt the breeze of movement and then something tangled him and covered his face. Bellowing with appropriate rage, Ignacio scrambled to free himself and get to his feet. In the few seconds it took to rip away the fallen bed curtains, Zorro had, of course, vanished. Racing to the open window he saw nothing, heard nothing….

An utter disaster of a first meeting, but Ignacio found himself smiling anyway. Zorro was still about. All the trouble he had gone to for this posting hadn't been wasted after all.

~TBC