NOTE BY THE ACCOUNT HOLDER: THIS STORY IS NOT MINE!
WRITTEN BY KARLA GREGORY
Chapter Twenty One
Zorro took a deep breath and wished for the church bells to sound eleven o'clock. In just a few moments, they did. "Now!" cried Zorro silently. "Now, Padre Ramon, do your part!" And in the silence of the night, Zorro could hear the clanking of the metal cups in the cell as the padre pulled on the string attached to the cell window.
At first, Monastario appeared not to hear. Then the sound grew a little louder. Monastario looked up peering into the darkened hall. "Guard," he called. "What is that sound?"
"I do not know, mi Capitán, but it seems like it is coming from the cell down below," said one of the guards. The second one nodded in agreement. Grabbing his sword and buckling it on, Monastario swept out of the office and across to the wooden door that led down to the cell. He did not see the shadow that fell in behind them. The clanging of the cups was incessant now.
"Open this door!" barked Monastario, totally unnerving the guard who fumbled with the keys. "Idiot! Give me those!" and Monastario snatched the keys, opening the door himself. At the top of the stairs, he ordered the guard to light the torch located there. That done, he grabbed the torch, and started down the stairs ahead of the guards. Only, . . . he was not aware that there was only one guard now.
Louder and louder grew the clanking as they reached the cell door. Holding the torch in one hand, he used the keys to open it. As soon as he stepped into the cell, the cups rattled and clanged one last time as Padre Ramon cut the string and let them fall to the floor of the cell. Monastario went over to examine them, first placing the torch in a holder so both hands would be free. He did not notice that the last guard had not followed him into the cell, and that a shadow as dark as the night had.
Monastario had the cups in his hand as he turned to instruct the guards to have the grounds searched around the house. What he saw was that there were no guards; that he was alone in the cell. No, . . . not alone. Out of the gloom, walked a black ghost. Monastario could only stare open mouthed at this apparition. Finally, he said almost inaudibly, "Zorro." The cups fell from Monastario's hand to land next to the wall as the two men stood looking at each other for a long moment in the torch light.
Zorro stood straight and tall, with his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His eyes never left Monastario's.
"Enrique Sanchez Monastario," he said in a clear, strong voice. "I will give you a few minutes, should you desire them, to make your peace with God. You are about to answer for the multitude of crimes you have committed both here and in California. They are too numerous to speak, but you well know what they are. When the Viceroy had you arrested, we were sure that justice would be served. But you found corrupt men in the service of the king who set you free to once again commit crimes against the king and the people. This cannot be allowed. You cannot corrupt me, Monastario. Justice shall prevail and I am justice in this place. Pray to God or draw your sword now and prepare to die."
As he finished speaking, Zorro heard the sound of the cell door being closed and the lock being turned. He saw that Monastario had heard it also. Zorro drew his own sword and flung off his cape in one motion. "There is now no escape for either of us," he said solemnly, saluting Monastario with his sword.
Monastario's rage knew no bounds. He whipped out his own sword. Both men's blades flashed in the gloom of the cell as they caught the light of the torch. The two men were just out of reach of one another.
Through grinding teeth, Monastario said, "I enjoyed great satisfaction when I thought you dead and consigned to hell, Señor Zorro. But you are equal to the great deceiver himself! I will now take even greater pleasure in sending you to hell by my own hand!" With that, he leapt upon Zorro, sword flashing in the torchlight.
Zorro met Monastario move for move. Around the cell they went time and again. Zorro's great skill was being matched by Monastario's complete devotion to the idea of killing Zorro. Sparks flew from their swords, punctuating the night like living exclamation points. On and on they went without respite until finally, after one particularly heavy flurry, they each stepped back to catch their breath.
Monastario's eyes bored into Zorro's. Taunting him, he said breathing heavily, "I see you are still ashamed to show your face, de la Vega. You still hide behind the mask of a mangy fox. Do you dare face me without 'him' to hide behind?"
Without hesitation and without taking his eyes off of Monastario, Diego reached up and removed his mask and tossed away his hat.
Monastario said through a leering grin, "That is better. I can now see your face more clearly when I slice you to bits. I wonder, do you still carry the scar of my initial that I carved into your flesh, de la Vega?" He moved the point of his sword to trace an "M" in the air in front of Diego's chest.
Diego couldn't control his reaction and stepped back a pace. Monastario was quick to reply, "Yes, I see that you do. Tell me," he sneered, "Does it bother you when you look at yourself in the mirror?"
Diego's anger at Monastario grew steadily. He could almost feel the fire from that scar on his chest scorching his skin. As Monastario laughed at him, the flame deepened until it felt like his whole body was being consumed. His eyes began to feel as if they too were on fire. He was within a hair's breadth of losing control when he remembered . . . something about . . . eyes . . . and just who it was who looked out of his. The flames died away.
Lifting his head proudly, he said, "I am Diego de la Vega, son of Don Alejandro de la Vega. You cannot confound me with your words, Monastario. I will not lose my reason or my temper, for I can see that you are trying to goad me to recklessness. The bitterness of revenge no longer poisons my heart and I am here to render justice as a man of honor must do and nothing more."
Seeing that his ploy to make Diego lose his temper and thus become careless had failed, Monastario cried, "Justice! I spit on your justice!" and began the assault again. This time the sparks flew thicker than before. At one point, Monastario took advantage of a momentary lapse on Diego's part to slam him into the wall and just missed slicing Diego's throat open as he ducked away. As it was, his blade struck the wall and snapped. Turning in fear, he looked at Diego expecting to die.
Breathing heavily, Diego pointed over to one of the darkened corners of the cell with his sword and said, "You will find another one over there."
Monastario looked at him a moment, and then he threw the broken sword away and grabbed the new one. Under pretext of flexing it to test its strength, he lashed out and cut Diego's right arm just below the shoulder. It was not serious enough to cause him a problem, but he could see Monastario's delight in having drawn first blood. They renewed the fight.
Exertion began to take its toll on both men now. Their breaths were gasping and ragged and both began to suffer cuts as their reflexes slowed. Most of the cuts were superficial in the beginning, but they soon began to be more serious and blood became visible on their clothing. Sometime during the fight, Diego had been pierced in his right leg, just at the hip. It was impeding his ability to move quickly on his feet. Monastario had been pierced in his left shoulder and he had taken a nasty slice along his ribs in addition to his other wounds. Loss of blood for both men would soon become a factor.
Words like "eternity" began to color Diego's thoughts. That is what it seemed like since he had first followed Monastario into the cell tonight. Every time he thought that he had Monastario where he wanted him for the final thrust, either Monastario would make a superhuman effort and deflect the blow, or Diego's own body would betray him as his wounds accumulated.
Monastario too was contemplating eternity. It seemed like an eternity since he had first laid eyes on Diego de la Vega and Zorro. And here he was, locked in this cell with an implacable foe, who simply would not die, and with no way of escape. But he would not give up. He hated this man with every fiber of his being and he intended to kill him.
Again and again they clashed, many times grappling with each other when they could no longer hold up their sword arms. Diego now had a wound in his side that threatened to keep him from being able to draw a breath without doubling over. He was just able to keep Monastario at bay.
Monastario, for his part, was bleeding heavily from a deep cut on his right leg in addition to a serious slash down the outside of his left forearm, and so his own weakness kept him from being able to capitalize on the situation. Both men were covered with blood and not just their own.
Finally, both of them stumbled and fell to their hands and knees just out of sword range, exhausted. They were trying to regain enough strength to continue. For several minutes, only the harsh sound of heavy breathing could be heard. Diego, through sheer strength of will, lifted his head and squinted through his right eye at Monastario. His left one had blood in it and was useless.
Monastario, in his hatred, managed to look back at him through waves of dizzying blackness. There was a finality in the looks they exchanged. Almost in unison, they staggered to their feet. Running forward to meet each other, Diego reached out with his gloved left hand and caught Monastario's blade.
Through the blinding pain as the blade sliced through the glove, he thrust his sword home in Monastario's chest. Both men fell together.
Diego lay beside Monastario, hardly able to see or feel anything but waves of nausea and pain. He raised himself enough on a shaky elbow to look into Monastario's face. He saw that the man's eyes were looking out into the distance, unfocused, but his lips were moving. Leaning closer, Diego was able to hear Monastario's last words as his life ebbed away. He was repeating the name, "Zorro." Then with one last breath, Monastario was still.
Diego rolled over on his back and let his sword slip out of his hand. His left hand was throbbing mercilessly. He knew that he needed to find something to bind the more serious of his wounds, but he simply could not move. He heard the clock on the church strike midnight. Diego now knew how long eternity was: one hour had passed. He slipped into unconsciousness.