The good news is that I should have all of STF 9 posted before my company arrives for the holiday and puts a halt to everything. The bad news is that I've been woking on STF 10 for a month and I have only 4 pages. (Worse, they are 4 pages of flashback and introspection). Ah, well.
January 13, 1815
Diego
The little room was warm and a bit close, but it was raining outside so the windows were shut tightly. Diego sat perpendicular on the narrow bed, his back braced by the wall and Felipe curled up against his hip. It was very late, and it was all he could do to stay awake, but Diego was determined not to leave Gilberto alone with their father.
They had managed to give him the first dose of cinchona - it had taken nearly an hour to get him to sip down the tincture mixed in a glass of water. That was hours ago, and they didn't dare risk more yet. Diego had made a very careful study of just how dangerous a poison that was.
The fever was not as high as it might have been, but the delirium was still quite bad. Off and on Father fought battles long over and had quarrels with the dead. Diego wouldn't leave Gilberto to listen to this and worry alone. Even now, Father was calling for Alfonzo. Diego could not imagine the loss. Father had buried his brother in Panama thirty years ago. How had he survived it? How did he rise every morning only one instead of two? In his place - No, Diego could not imagine it. It would be terrible, life without Gilberto. He could not imagine how lonely Father must be...
He cried out again and Gilberto answered him with some bland reassurance that Father probably couldn't hear. Diego couldn't bear it any more. "I'll take a turn," he said.
For a long moment, Gilberto didn't answer. Then he said, "He's sweating."
Some of Diego's exhaustion retreated. He produced his watch and thrust it into the light from the lamp. A quarter of one in the morning. They had made it. "Oh, thank God," he muttered.
"We're through the worst of it," Gilberto whispered. "If the cinchona has any impact, the next round will be much lighter. And we have some time..."
Diego stiffly slid free of Felipe. "First thing's first," he whispered. "We need to get another dose in him and let him rest."
"I'll do it. You go next door and get some sleep."
Diego sighed. "No."
"I can manage this part, you might remember. We only had the nurse during the day, and it was weeks you were - "
"Yes, thank you, I do remember." He did remembered long nights when his entire body ached like his bones were breaking and the terrible weight in his chest made even breathing exhausting. 'Berto's hands had always been gentle and his voice had always been quiet. Surely, even Gilberto had been astonished to find he could be so patient and cheerful.
Softly, softly, his voice like a stone, Gilberto said, "Don't argue with me, Diego."
The door eased open and a new light made the shadows jump and dance crazily. Diego and Gilberto both jumped as well, although Diego, at least, didn't have a specific fear in mind when he spun and reached for a sword he wasn't wearing.
It was only Senora Neilson, a candle in one hand and a cup in the other. She included Diego in her nod of greeting but spoke directly to Gilberto in a long splash and ripple of whispered Russian. Gilberto asked several questions, which she answered tiredly.
Exhausted, Diego sank onto the other bed. Felipe had stretched out in his sleep, so there was only room on the edge. The air was stiflingly hot and still. Russian words slithered around him. Russian. What had Diego been thinking, to study English? How absolutely useless. Bad enough his illness hobbled him so often, but to be left out because he had studied the wrong language...
The thoughts chased themselves in an odd circle until they were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up - and flinched at the light from Senora Neilson's tiny candle. "Don Diego. Come. It is enough."
Diego stumbled to his feet and allowed himself to be led to the empty room next door. The air was cooler, and the little moonlight coming in the window was only soothing rather than painful.
Z
He woke at dawn worried about Father and distinctly aware that he didn't have enough of his heart medicine to make it past noon. He'd have to go home before lunch. Or send Felipe. Perhaps Dr. Hernandez would have something -
He was thinking too slowly. Diego sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to wake up.
When he rose he realized he had left his shoes in the other room. In stocking feet he slipped back into the hall.
Gilberto was asleep on the second bed and Felipe sat in the chair, which had been moved next to the bed. He motioned Diego to be quiet. "We are...not too bad. We started the second dose of the cinchona. It was probably too soon." He made a face. He pointed to a tumbler of water, half empty. "His pulse is very slow." How convenient that we have a sign for that, Diego thought bitterly. But that was the great worry, after all. The tincture they had had a strong effect on the heart, but it simply was not as effective for malaria as infusion. "No more now. Resting. No fever."
"Did he pass water?"
Felipe pointed to the honeybucket in the corner. It wasn't empty. Diego nearly cheered aloud.
Felipe fixed him with a stern look and shoed him out. Diego took the bucket - and, after a moment's thought, his shoes - with him.
Z
The cup of hot tea - whatever kind of tea it was - went a long way toward clearing his head. Victoria was very pleased to hear that Father was doing well. When she went off to fetch his breakfast, though, Senor Estevez, the storekeeper, and his friend Senor Friez came in. Diego had taken a large table - there was no polite way to send them away when they paused at his shoulder. He motioned them to sit down.
They expressed their sympathy and concern for Don Alejandro. Diego managed not to scowl and told them everything would be fine in a few days. Sergeant Mendoza came in at the same time as Jose Rivas, and Diego motioned them over eagerly. They were both better company than Estevez and they were poor and unimportant, which meant (hopefully) Diego's better-heeled company would have reason not to linger.
Rivas, naturally, began to tell everyone (again) about how the newspaper saved his farm from bandits. That was embarrassing and nearly enough to make him regret inviting them to sit down. Diego quickly changed the subject to the recent lack of bandits and trouble makers, which in turn shifted the subject to Zorro. This was much less odious. By the time Victoria appeared with a tray of food the conversation was practically pleasant.
Then Senora Neilson crossed to the stairs with a covered tray and Senor Friez narrowed his eyes and turned to Mendoza. "I hear you've been out to the new farm."
Mendoza frowned. "Strangest thing I've ever seen," he said unhappily.
Diego swallowed dryly. "Yes. Corn. Quite a conundrum, I agree." That came out more harshly then he'd intended, but Diego was at the end of his patience.
Mendoza bristled. "Don Diego, they are very strange! I don't understand how you can allow her to help with your father. She might be doing...anything."
Diego rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes. The rumor mill. I can't imagine why I bothered to start a newspaper."
"Don Alejandro is... ill?" Rivas asked, surprised.
Diego had a sudden insight as to why Felipe seemed to loathe talking about Diego's own illness. "Reoccurring malaria. But he is doing very well." Diego hoped that was true. "Senora Neilson is helping us, natural enough since she was working here at the tavern. I expect her husband will be in to take her and Anton home today."
"Strange that they have only the one child," Mendoza muttered.
Diego was too stunned to answer. Mendoza was shocked and horrified by everything they did - but by their existence? Every fact - no matter how meaningless - was proof of some oddity.
"Less strange than twins," Diego snapped. "Two children at one birth? That can't be natural!"
Mendoza just looked puzzled and hurt by that response. Diego wanted to hit him. He leaned back in the chair and took a tired breath. He found he needed another.
"I don't understand what Russians are doing here at all?" Friez said. "Why aren't they with their own people?"
Carefully, Diego stood up. He set enough money on the table to pay for everyone's breakfast. "Excuse me," he said softly. "It was a long night. I should go check on Father."
He was halfway to the stairs when he heard Rivas ask softly, "Have you ever seen a witch?"
"I don't think so," Mendoza answered. "What do they look like?"
Friez said, "I don't know. But don't they dress all in black?"
It's like a madness, Diego thought, pausing halfway up to get his breath. And no amount of sense makes a bit of difference. Felipe had better bring back Zorro's clothing when he goes home for my medicine.
Alejandro
He was embarrassingly weak. Surely, wrestling down a calf was easier than taking the two steps from the bed to the chair. His joints ached and his limbs were as heavy as lead. His mind was clear, though that might not be a blessing: he was perfectly aware of how miserable and pathetic he was at the moment. He was also aware of the pityingly looks Felipe was gave him as he helped him clean up and change into a fresh nightshirt.
Even that simple activity seemed to take forever and left him exhausted. Alejandro let himself slouch in the chair and rest while Felipe silently and competently changed the sheets.
He noticed (perhaps he wasn't as alert as he had thought) that Gilberto was asleep only a couple of feet away in the other bed. His hair stood out in every direction and he was drooling a little. It had been a very long time, Alejandro realized, since he had seen his son so unguarded. Gilberto could be charming and amusing or arrogant and horribly cutting. And occasionally he could be strangely disinterested in what was going on around him. But always, always, since the twins had come home, he was carefully armored and in command of himself. He was never completely open or relaxed.
His memories of Gilberto as a child...the boy had been prideful and competitive, but also affectionate and eager to please. He had desperately tried to outshine his brother - racing, climbing, schoolwork, riding, - but he had almost always lost to taller, smarter, friendlier Diego. He had been so much in Diego's shadow, and, oh, those boys had quarreled endlessly. I was a wonder they hadn't grown up to hate each other. But no. Diego had always adored Gilberto, and eventually Gilberto had grown to admire Diego as much as everyone else did.
Diego's illness had hit him so hard. Gilberto was trying his best to be brave and strong, to take up some of his brother's duties and comfort the rest of the family and give Diego the support he needed. But Gilberto was not quite equal to the tasks and not quite strong enough to endure the strain and grief. He concealed it as well as he could with charm or humor or arrogance, and fell back on obedience and propriety and the appearance of humility when all else failed.
This morning, in the grey light, Gilberto had no layers of concealment. He looked defenseless and unprepared, sleeping soundly even while Felipe moved around the room. Alejandro stared for a long time, wondering if there were anything at all he could say to reach his one.
Felipe prodded Alejandro in the arm and pointed toward the bed. Ah. Already. Alejandro nodded and allowed himself to be hefted up and shifted back into the bed. Absurd, he thought dimly, the relief of not having to sit up. His eyes drifted shut.
When he opened them a moment later Senora Neilson was standing in the doorway. She glanced first at Alejandro, then at the neat pile of dirty linens in the corner, and then - greatly puzzled - at Felipe.
Felipe pointed at Gilberto and motioned for quiet. She nodded, set the tray she was carrying on the dresser, and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out and checked for fever, peered at his tongue. Alejandro could hardly argue. He didn't argue either, when she retrieved a bowl of porridge and started to feed him.
After the second bite he noticed that he was hungrier then he usually was during one of these attacks. And his belly wasn't sore from being sick. The food was actually welcome...
Long before he had finished the bowl he began to tire. Defeated by a bowl of porridge, he thought, as Senora Neilson cleared away the bowl and napkin. Alejandro closed his eyes.
A moment later the bed dipped again as Felipe took Senora Neilson's place on the edge. He nudged Alejandro's arm.
Alejandro opened his eyes heavily.
Felipe asked if he had a headache.
Alejandro shook his head.
Then Felipe asked something about ears.
Alejandro's lassitude retreated before a stab of worry. "What's wrong with your ears?"
Patiently, slowly, Felipe traced out, "Not my ears. Your ears. Ringing, in your, ears."
Oh. Cinchona side effects. Alejandro shook his head and braced himself for what was coming next. Sure enough, Felipe produced a tumbler half-full of hazy water. Alejandro reached for it. Felipe steadied his hands and helped lift the glass.
The medicine was unbearably bitter. The taste of the tincture was even worse than the decoction. After three swallows, Felipe relented and set the glass aside. Felipe smiled. "You rest now. The doctor will come later."
And if he was strong enough, he'd be allowed to be taken home...where they would continue to dose him with as much cinchona they could safely manage...and prepare for the next round.
The next round would start tomorrow, and the whole dreadful thing might repeat again and again and again. If the medicine didn't work the fever itself might wear him out and kill him. Or, if he was really unlucky, blackwater fever would set in...
Of course, if they weren't careful, the medicine might kill him. Or leave him crippled. Even if they were careful...
The door opened softly and Alejandro slitted his eyes open. Diego crept in. Seeing he was awake. Diego joined Felipe on the edge of the bed and squeezed Alejandro's ankle. Alejandro managed a smile.
Diego turned to Felipe and plunged into a rapid and fluid set of questions and instructions in sign. The discussion was far too fast and complicated for Alejandro to follow, but the longer it went on the more surprised Felipe seemed to get. Very shortly he was waving adios and heading or the door.
Alejandro raised his brows.
Diego answered easily, "I've sent him home to get my medicine and have the coach readied to come get us later." He glanced at Gilberto, who still sleeping soundly despite all the activity, and went over to prod him in the shoulder. "Wake up, old man, you need to get up."
Gilberto grunted.
Diego sighed. "I am sorry. You need to get up. Go get some breakfast. You need to be alert."
Gilberto lifted his head and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "What?" and then "You're kidding."
"I'm not. Go eat something. We'll talk when Felipe gets back."
Gilberto sat up and rubbed his face. "How is Father?"
"He's doing well. As you can see."
"Ah. And you?"
Diego hesitated. "All right just now. Go on. Get something to eat."
The exchange was...odd, but Alejandro couldn't have said why. He was so very tired. Diego sat again on the bed and patted his ankle, and Alejandro's eyes slipped closed.
Gilberto
When Consuela brought his breakfast, Gilberto asked, "Is there a new tax posted?"
She blinked in surprise. "Don Gilberto?" she asked flustered. "A new tax?" She glanced around as though she was expecting to find the answer in the air. "Not that I've heard."
"A civil penalty scheduled, then?"
"No...no," she rubbed her hands nervously across her apron.
It occurred to Gilberto that he had rarely spoken to her before and now here he was, curt and unshaven, asking odd questions. He tried again. "Is anything...unusual going on?"
"Well..." she said patiently, "Your father is ill..."
Gilberto sighed. He pointed to the corner, where Victoria was in a serious discussion with Don Emilio and Senorita Amanda. "What are they doing?"
"I think...planning a party? Their engagement party." She glanced at the corner in question. "They had to delay it, you know...after his injury?" The fight with Thackery. Gilberto winced. "He seems to have recovered very well...um I suppose?"
"He has a house in town," Gilberto said. Could that idiot be up to something? He desperately wished Diego could have been more specific this morning. "Why is he having a party here?"
She looked (if possible) even more confused. "It's more extravagant?" she suggested gently.
Gilberto rubbed his hand over his eyes and waved her away. Ugh. Why was Diego implying that they would need Zorro? But Diego was always right. Grimly, he began to fork in his breakfast.
The doctor arrived just as he was finishing. Gilberto swiftly got to his feet and followed him upstairs.
Father was dozing when they entered. Taking a good look in full daylight...Gilberto cringed inwardly. Alejandro de le Vega was a fairly large man, and, more than that, strong and active. He dominated any room he entered. Most conversations turned his way. He was seldom still, and even when he was, he was palpably, vitally present.
The man under the blankets was small, old, still, and far too quiet. Fear rolled in, sharp and painful, and for a moment Gilberto couldn't breathe. He knew Father was human and vulnerable and mortal, but, dear God, looking at this frail body in daylight -
Diego seized Gilberto by the arm and hauled him into the little corridor. "Stop it," he hissed.
Gilberto's head turned back toward the room. Diego quickly blocked his view. "Stop thinking," he commanded. "You were wonderful last night, don't fall apart now."
Gilberto cleared his throat. He nodded.
"Father is doing very well," Diego continued, stepping very close. "He is not as depleted as this usually leaves him." He winced at having to say usually but continued determinedly. "Senora Neilson took us a long way by quieting his stomach and blunting the fever. We got a great deal of medicine into him very early. He will be all right. He will."
Gilberto managed a tight nod. Diego squeezed his arm. "We have other problems at the moment."
Gilberto tried to ignore the image of the sickroom that still hovered behind his eyes. "Yes, what was that nonsense, getting me up this morning? I could still be sleeping." He signed "The alcalde has done nothing. We don't need a fox."
"Not him. The good townspeople!" Diego made a disgusted noise. "They are actually worried that the Neilsons are some kind of witches. We need a distraction. It's all I can think of."
"We could get them out of town..."
"How? We are both needed here. And, frankly, if it looks like Oksana and Anton are running that may just provoke people further..."
Gilberto groaned. "Father tried to warn us yesterday. He could see this coming."
"Yes, and now we must take care of it. Go tidy up, I'll meet with the doctor when he comes out - Yes, I know you could, but I know how you hate it."
"It's all guessing," Gilberto said defensively. "They don't know anything. And they lie - "
"Doctor Hernandez will not lie, and we can already guess what he'll say. Today is the day in between. Tomorrow will be...fairly bad. We may go through the cycle a few more times before the tincture works, but Father is strong enough to withstand it." He pointed to the room Victoria had given them and gave him a little shove. "You have other things to worry about at this particular minute."
Diego
Father was soundly asleep before Diego had finished seeing the doctor out. The doctor instructed no more cinchona for five hours. He had given Father a sleeping draught, but said he could be taken home after he had woken and eaten. "I'm going out to the Segovia hacienda, so I won't be back today, but I will come by tomorrow afternoon to see how the paroxysm is progressing."
Diego shut the door to the little room and leaned against it, sighing. This was what they had all been dreading since the raw cinchona supply had been destroyed in the quake. But Father was holding his own. Yes, Diego whished Father Benitez was back. And he wished Father was at home in his own bed. Still, things could be much worse. Everything might yet be all right -
Footsteps on the stairs: stumblingly fast, nearly frantic. Diego peeked out the door. It was Felipe. Diego stepped into the hallway - and Felipe shoved the saddlebags into Diego's arms, signing in a panic, "The Russian is here! Everyone is crazy! They are saying witch!"
Rudely, Diego spun away and burst into the second room, where Gilberto was still unshaven and sharpening his knife. Diego tossed the saddlebags onto the bed. "Hurry up. We may need a rescue, not a distraction - No, whatever you do, don't go out looking like you've been up all night. I'll slow things down, somehow." Without waiting for an answer he turned away, nearly tripping over Felipe who was just behind him. "Go to Father," he ordered. "Lock the door and don't come out until this is over. And if anyone asks, Gilberto was with you."
He started to push past, but Felipe caught his arm and put a small, glass bottle into his hand. His medicine. Diego shoved the bottle into his sash and went down the stairs as quickly as he dared.
When he exited into the square he found a large crowd. Mendoza stood to one side, holding the boy Anton by the shoulders, but Oksana and Daniil Neilson were being tied to stakes beside the fountain. Friez was standing on the edge of the fountain, shouting at the crowd. "We had witch in ninety-seven. She escaped! For five years we had no rain!"
Diego swung on Mendoza, "Sergeant, what is going on?" he demanded.
"Nobody meant for this to happen!" he protested. "I only meant that they're different, that's all."
"You are the law! Put a stop to it!"
Mendoza firmly pushed Anton into Diego's arms and stepped forward, calling for order. Nobody heard him. Friez was calling for stoning. Don Emilio was protesting that burning or hanging was more official. Rivas was demanding a trial and the supervision of the church, but Rivas was poor and uneducated and he did not have the confidence to hold out for long. The crowd was growing, a whirl of anger and panic.
Diego looked down at Anton, who was leaning hard against him. Diego was unsure about the state of the boy's Spanish or if he would obey instructions even if he understood them. He looked around - and spotted Victoria coming out of the cuartel with the alcalde. Oh, she was splendid. He tucked Anton under his arm and angled toward them.
"What is the meaning of all this?" Ramone demanded.
There was a short silence, and then everyone answered at once.
"Witches!" The alcalde bellowed. "Witches? Have you all gone mad? Is this some kind of joke? Have you people no dignity? Even if they were witches - " The crowd slowed a bit, growing more quiet. It might be fear of the alcalde that had their attention...or it might be the three lancers that had come out of the cuartel to stand nervously behind him.
"There!" Victoria shouted. "Stop this nonsense and go home!"
Mendoza and one of the lancers had nearly reached the Neilsons at the center of the crowd. Diego let out the breath he had been holding. This was almost over. Almost.
"However..." the alcalde said thoughtfully, "These people did grow corn, tomatoes, and beans where nothing had grown before..."
Furious, Victoria spun on him. "You don't believe that!"
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I believe. It's what they believe."
Friez leapt on this opening. "His wife uses witch's sorcery to heal the sick! They must be witches!"
Victoria glanced at Diego and the two of them closed on the alcalde. "You are siding with this mob because if the Nielsons are convicted of witchcraft, you would be able to confiscate their property, which has increased in value, wouldn't you say?" she accused.
He smiled innocently. "Why, I hadn't thought of that."
He is enjoying the game, Diego thought. He is amused at the chaos, the carnage. Only the fact that his arms were full of Anton kept Diego from leaping on the alcalde right there. "You are not a popular man, Ramone," he snarled. "If you allow this, I swear before God, I will turn them on you next!"
The smile disappeared and was replaced with a look of benevolent concern. "The de le Vegas are already under their spell!" he shouted. "Soon they will ensnare us all! We must defend ourselves!"
The crowd was so loud by then that the probably couldn't even hear this encouragement. Mendoza had been pushed back and Oksana and Daniil Neilson were crouched in the mud of the square, securely tied to stakes. The mob was begging to back away. Ramone snatched a small rock off the ground and handed it to the nearest lancer -
In the open air the gunshot was flat-sounding and not particularly loud, but the noise made Diego jump so hard he could feel his heart stumble. The crowd was shocked, too, and turned to look -
And there was Zorro. Diego nearly laughed with relief.
Zorro tossed the pistol in his hand over the crowd and into the fountain. The lancer he'd taken the pistol from started to draw his sword, but he didn't have room to free his elbow and Zorro clocked him across the jaw before he could step back.
"That's Zorro! Arrest him! Kill him!" As always, the sight of Zorro erased the alcalde's other concerns.
A couple of the lancers tried to bring their muskets to bear, but in the crowded square they couldn't even aim, let alone risk a shot. The three lancers nearest Zorro drew their swords, but one got tangled in the mob that was scrambling to get out of the way and the other two were disarmed by Zorro before they'd finished their first sallies.
One of the lancers was circling behind the crowd, trying to get to Zorro from the side. Diego took a swift step backwards and tripped him. Diego, Anton, and the soldier went crashing to the ground in an awkward heap. Diego made a point of digging his knee into the man's hand as he stood up.
When he looked again, Zorro was standing behind Ramone, his sword lying neatly across the alcalde's throat. "Stay back, Señores, if you please," he said to the re-grouping lancers.
"Do as he says," Ramone said quickly.
"Why, thank you. How reasonable," Zorro said approvingly.
The alcalde stood very still and tried to look commanding and unruffled, an impossible feat given the masked bandit beside him and the sword at his throat.
"Now. You. Kindly cut them free. Yes, very nice."
The Neilsons rose unsteadily, glancing worriedly around. After only a moment, though, Daniil seized his wife by the arm and ran to where Diego was holding Anton. At once, Mendoza and Victoria followed, although the two of them could hardly have made a difference if the crowd had decided to charge.
The crowd, however, was watching Zorro, who lowered his sword and stepped back enough to give the alcalde his dignity back, even if he wasn't quite far enough away to have his safety. "Citizens of Los Angeles," Diego intoned, "of what are these good people accused?"
"She uses black magic to cure the sick!" Friez shouted.
"Really?" Zorro drawled "How very useful black magic must be. Is this true, Senora?"
The alcalde started to speak. Zorro tapped him casually on the bicep with the flat of his sword.
She shook her head. "I know some medicines. I don't have magic!"
"Look at them! They dress all in back!" someone yelled.
Zorro laughed. "So do I. Go back to farming; you have no future as a witchfinder. Now." His voice grew hard. "Sergeant Mendoza!"
Mendoza took a step backward. Zorro motioned him over. Meekly, Mendoza stepped forward.
"What could possibly make you suspect the Nielsons of witchcraft?" Zorro asked sweetly.
Mendoza, by this point, was bright read. "Well, Zorro... He told me they used night roots to make things grow," Mendoza said miserably, "It all sounded very...magical to me, you know?"
Zorro chuckled. "Then clearly you don't read Don Diego's excellent newspaper, the Los Angeles Guardian! An English scientist recently discovered that saltpeter induces growth in plants and vegetables. The chemical name for saltpeter is potassium nitrate. Not night root, Sergeant."
"I am sorry, Zorro," Mendoza said.
"And so you should be," he looked out at the crowd and frowned. His disappointment was so palpable that Diego nearly felt ashamed. 'Berto must have learned the trick of it from Juan. "Ignorance and prejudice are alive and well, my friends. They never sleep." He turned back to Ramone, "And as for you..."
"Please, Brother, don't kill him!" Daniil Neilson interrupted, stepping forward.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Zorro said cheerfully. "Someone bring me some manacles."
He let the crowd watch as he chained the alcalde - kneeling - beside the fountain and broke the key off in the lock. Then he sent the lancers into the cuartel, waited until the Neilsons had gathered their things and gotten into their wagon, and took off running, headed west around the side of the tavern.
The alcalde started yelling immediately, and the lancers had cleverly mounted up while they waited in the cuartel...but of course, they found no trace of Zorro. Madly, yelling, they rode in all directions, dispersing the rest of the crowd and very nearly trampling a passing dog, but they couldn't catch a glimpse of Zorro or his horse.
From his position crouching on the ground, the alcalde demanded that riders be sent out on the roads...and then that the barns and granaries in town be searched...and in between he bellowed for the blacksmith to come cut him free...and he shouted foul names at Mendoza.
Diego sighed.
Victoria slipped a slender hand through his arm. "Diego?" she said softly. "You are very pale. Let's go inside."
Crossing half the plaza looked like a very long way, but he was not going to admit that right now. Diego allowed her to draw him away from the bellowing alcalde toward the shade of the tavern porch. It was only two steps up, but the little exertion made spots dance before his eyes. He sank into a chair at the nearest table.
"Do you need me to fetch some water?" Victoria asked softly.
"Only some to drink," Diego said. "If you wouldn't mind. That was...that was nearly very..."
She nodded understandingly and hurried away. Once she was gone, Diego fished the little bottle of medicine out of his pocket. He was grateful she wasn't there to see. How ironic, that he still had the strength to fuel that pointless vanity...but not quite the clarity of thought to remember exactly when or how large his last two doses had been. Small, yes, he had been carrying very little. Small,but small enough to warrant taking the next dose early?
Ah, well. Felipe would have prepared this bottle expecting Diego to take a third at a time. That was a good enough place to start. He downed a single, bitter, swallow. The bottle was neatly put away when Victoria returned.
"You were very brave," she said, setting two glasses of lemonade on the table.
Diego washed the biting taste of the medicine with the sour taste of the lemonade. "You were brilliant," he said.
"Oh, yes. Getting the alcalde. He was such a huge help!"
Diego sighed, setting his glass down harder than he meant to. "I am sorry," he said.
"Sorry? Why?"
"I cannot think of a way to get rid of him."
"Oh. Well." She smiled wistfully. "I can. But the only ones that would work are treasonous."
Diego couldn't quite keep himself from laughing at that but he quickly sobered. "Don't, please. It is hard enough, without getting careless..."
She nodded, sobering too. "Without getting careless and saying things we shouldn't. I know." She glanced over Diego's shoulder. "Oh, look. The blacksmith has arrived. How nice for him..." She dropped her eyes. "The alcalde I understand - he doesn't even pretend he's a good man. But our neighbors, our friends..."
"If you are hoping I can think of an excuse, I can't."
Her eyes widened at his harshness.
Diego sagged. "Forgive me. It was a very bad night and today was..." There were no words, really, for how bad today had been.
Victoria studied the table sadly. "They will be all right, won't they?"
"The Neilsons? Oh, yes. Only because of Zorro but...Everyone will assume he is guarding their trip home."
"Do you think they will stay?"
"Probably. They are very stubborn."
The tavern door opened and Gilberto stepped out. "Diego? I heard there was some excitement?"
Diego took a deep breath. "Some. It is finished now. How is Father?"
"Still sleeping."
"Ah." Diego nodded. "He will be upset he wasn't here...he was so worried."
There was a short silence. Gilberto pulled out a chair and sat down. Victoria sighed and went in to check on lunch, "Not that I am expecting much of a crowd..." She made a face.
"Are you all right?" Gilberto asked when she was gone.
Diego nodded. "The morning dose was a bit small. And the evening. But I'm feeling better now." He managed a smile. "You were wonderful."
Gilberto made face.
Diego shifted a bit closer and lowered his voice further. "You were. Father would have been very proud. It's a shame he won't know - "
Gilberto fixed him with a hard look. "I'm just as happy he doesn't."
Diego didn't understand.
"I am not so desperate for his approval that I want it this way!"
"Standing up for what is right even when it is unpopular?" Diego asked tartly.
Gilberto snorted and ran his hands through his hair. "Against our friends and neighbors? Rivas was there! Even Carlito. And Mendoza is supposed to be a friend of yours. I suppose I'm not surprised about Emilio Pascal, but Don Carlos was standing right there, and if he wasn't picking up stones, he wasn't stopping it either."
For Gilberto, Diego found the excuse he couldn't give Victoria. "They were afraid..."
"Afraid?" Gilberto threw up his hands. "I am terrified."
"Lower your voice."
Gilberto closed his eyes.
"It isn't wrong, to be vigilant against evil," Diego murmured.
"The only evil - !" Gilberto sputtered.
"Yes, I know. The only evil was our pious community."
They were silent for a while.
"What will you say about this in the newspaper?"
"Nothing," Diego decided after a moment. "Not one word. There won't be space. The Guardian will be completely taken up with the history of Russia. And Russian recipes. And a word for word translation of that article on sodium nitrate."
Gilberto didn't answer. He only stared out at the plaza for a long time.