After each storm comes a calm. People in Los Angeles led a tough life, full of hard work and sorrows, so any occasion to celebrate had to be used to raise the spirits. That's why on the next day after the funeral services the big fiesta was planned. Once the fallen were honored, it was time for the living to celebrate the victory. The reception was to take place in the tavern and the inn-keeper hectically worked on preparations. He intended to use this occasion to make people forget about the dark shadow of the Eagle that nested in his establishment.

Monastario observed the preparations while he was waiting for the viceroy to finish the final inspection of Varga's former quarters. He noticed Don Estevan arriving at the tavern and – knowing that the official intended later to visit the cuartel and speak with the commandante – decided to come and escort the esteemed guest, in hope that such gesture of courtesy would make a good impression.

"You don't have to try so hard," observed Monastario, seeing how the maids hung the garlands of colorful paper and flowers over the freshly washed windows. "After all, this is the only tavern in Los Angeles. People will come here anyway, no matter whether they would remember Varga or not."

"Oh, no, if the people are to spend their money here, they have to feel good. Safe and easy," explained the inn-keeper. "Do you find the sala pleasant, Commandante?"

Monastario looked around. Even if the fiesta was going to take place in the evening, the room already looked splendid. The shutters were wide open and the daylight fell into the room. The tables were covered with white tablecloths, the vases with flowers stood everywhere. The place was bright, clean and colorful.

"Almost," replied the commandante. "You can hang some of these garlands over the door to the cellar. Besides," he added after a while of consideration, "it would be better if you didn't serve fish tonight."

Somehow, he couldn't bear the smell of fish anymore.

"No fish?... The sergeant asked me about the same. As you please, Señor Commandante," nodded the inn-keeper and kept on bustling around, eagerly checking personally whether each corner of the room is clean and each piece of decoration properly arranged.

"Who knows, Señor Commandante, perhaps this all would be for the best," he observed with a glitter in his eyes. "Since Jaco Gutierrez got arrested for being involved in the plot… Oh, and Heaven knows that he had it long coming, unscrupulous rascal!… So, his tavern would remain closed for a long while… That should double my profits for some time... And if his establishment would be set for sale…"

"Gutierrez?..." asked absently Monastario, not interested in the inn-keeper's plans for expansion.

"The inn-keeper who owns the tavern at San Diego trail."

"Ah, so that's his name," nodded the commandante, recalling that rainy night when he and the Fox were curling hidden behind the couch in Camero's house, surrounded by the guards, listening to the unknown inn-keeper complaining about the troublesome cargo.

He recalled this, and the slippery roof of Camero's house, and that night when Zorro brought Sepulveda to his cell, and how he stood in the very same sala in front of Varga and lied the best he could to defend his enemy, and how they got out of this cursed cellar, its doors still clearly visible in spite of the colorful garlands…

And all of the sudden he wondered, whether after all this he would still be able to put the noose over the head of Diego de la Vega.

Of course, I will, he thought, shrugging his shoulders.

After a while, he shrugged the shoulders again. After all, he could let de la Vega choose between the gallows and the firing squad. That would be… sufficiently elegant gesture.

And when would the viceroy finally be done with these inspections? Did Monastario have to wait for him for hours, left prey for some stupid quandaries?...

Luckily, at this moment, the viceroy, accompanied by a few of his men, exited the room that used to serve as Varga's office. For a moment he lingered at the corridor as if he considered returning there, but finally with a sigh moved to the stairs.

"Congratulations, Señor," he said to the inn-keeper. "Overnight you managed to change this place out of recognition."

"Gracias, Your Excellency. This is my place. This is how it used to look like earlier," beamed the inn-keeper. "If I may ask – can we now take care of the rooms upstairs?"

Don Estevan hesitated again and exchanged glances with his men.

"We searched Varga's quarters thoroughly, a few times," replied one of them. "There is no trail there…"

The viceroy nodded with resignation and turned to the inn-keeper: "You can. It is the time we finish here."

The commandante understood that don Estevan is disappointed with something as if he was reluctant to leave the rooms that Varga used to occupy. Was he searching there for something specific?

"Is something… missing, Your Excellency?" he asked cautiously.

"Something… someone…" replied Don Estevan with consideration. For a moment it seemed that he won't develop the subject, but then he explained. "Varga had a secretary, or rather an associate, named Juan Greco. The man disappeared. We found neither him nor his body."

The commandante felt that the viceroy is hiding something. Surely they didn't search so long in few small rooms for a man? Had he been there, they would have found him immediately. However, he replied obligingly:

"The one clothed like a servant, but giving orders all around? I saw him, on that morning, before their coup. He was standing just behind Varga, as usual. But I do not know what happened to him later. Perhaps Licenciado Pina saw him?"

Don Estevan nodded absently: "Yes, the licenciado said that Juan Greco was here the whole day, but disappeared just after the beginning of the fights. He didn't manage to notice how and where."

"Perhaps this man had simply escaped," commented Monastario, thinking, that Pina didn't manage to notice many things. Or rather – managed not to notice them.

"Uhm. Half of Varga's archives seem to be missing as well," muttered the viceroy.

Let's just hope that this rascal lawyer was thorough and the half that's left has nothing to do with me, thought Monastario.

"Speaking of Licenciado Pina," the viceroy turned to the new subject, "he asked my permission to leave Los Angeles. I am not convinced whether I should allow it. I must say, Commandante, I am not certain if this man is honest with us."

"Well, he was working with Varga at my orders," replied cautiously Monastario. "If there is no need for him to testify during the trial of Varga's supporters…"

"He claims to know nothing of importance. You have chosen very inept spy, Capitán," replied Don Estevan with slight irony in his voice. Then, however, he added with a much gentler expression: "Don Diego de la Vega has told me that when the agents of the Eagle prepared the attempt at the life of his father, Licenciado Pina did his best to prevent it."

The flashback of that day for a moment stunned the commandante. What a painful lesson he got then for his naivety! Struggling to control the anger that came with the memories, he said as calmly as possible: "There was indeed such incident, and the licenciado tried to pass a warning and halt that treacherous deed."

"I am not doubting the words of Don Diego," commented the viceroy.

And he wouldn't doubt them, if I would institute the case against de la Vega in his judgement, thought the commandante bitterly. He remained silent when the viceroy continued:

"Don Alejandro de la Vega is my friend, whom I hold in high esteem. I would like to show somehow my gratitude to the man who tried to save his life. However… Ah, I will let this lawyer go," Don Estevan waved his hand. "This case is lost anyway."

"Which case?" Monastario furrowed his eyebrows.

After a prolonging moment of silence, the viceroy turned to him and explained in a hushed voice: "Varga actually managed to sell California. We found the signed treaty. He sold it and received payment in gold. And the gold disappeared," he concluded, measuring the commandante with scrutinizing glance.

So that's what they were looking for! understood Monastario. De la Vega said something about Russia being involved… Varga must have made the deal. Intriguing, how much gold could California be worth? Damn, if I knew that before… that tavern should be the first place to secure…

"I know nothing about the gold," replied honestly the commandante, seeing that scrutinizing glance of the viceroy turned into a suspicious one.

However, deep inside, he felt a sting of worry, whether he wasn't too hasty with trusting Pina.

"I see," nodded the viceroy. "Well, let's go to your office, Commandante. We need to talk in private."

The conversation with the viceroy started very badly, with Don Estevan casually taking place behind Monastario's desk. That forced the commandante to sit on the chair destined for petitioners. In his own office.

Monastario closed his eyes and tried to remember that he was dealing with the very important dignitary. Only when he recalled that Don Estevan de la Callas was befriended with King Ferdinand, did he manage to swallow this humiliation. To mask his feelings, he offered the refreshments, but Don Estevan refused with the slight shake of his head.

"Capitán, I intended to visit Los Angeles weeks ago," he stated, opening the conversation and Monastario realized that this was going to be even worse than he anticipated.

However, he replied smoothly: "I would have been honored, Your Excellency."

Don Estevan only raised his eyebrows. "I heard about strange things happening in this town under your command."

"Are you referring to Varga's conspiracy, Your Excellency?" said Monastario. "The agents of this traitor stirred the peace of the pueblo since weeks," he sighed a bit pompously.

The viceroy rested his elbows on the desk and, looking straight into Monastario's eyes, riposted:

"I am referring to innocent people being imprisoned and flogged, Commandante. To taxes and fines raised to the amounts equaling extortions. To calm citizens being threatened and brought to the limits of endurance. To the cells filled with men whose only crime was that they dared to oppose you."

"These are lies!..." exclaimed Monastario, jumping from his seat. Remember – the friend of the King, he admonished himself. He sat down and continued more calmly: "Your Excellency, these are lies. I have influential enemies among local landowners, but that's only because I intended to defend the law against their haughtiness."

"I cannot deny that administrating the district is the task requiring certain… flexibility while dealing with the leaders of the local community," replied diplomatically the viceroy. "However you, Capitán, went further than to conflict yourself with a few proud haciendados. You were ready to spill their blood. You brought this region on the verge of rebellion."

Ah, of course. The commandante immediately realized what the viceroy was talking about. That damn piece of paper – his misfortunate orders – he didn't manage to retrieve from Alejandro de la Vega. His enemy used the first occasion to stab him in the back – no matter the joint struggle against Varga.

"That's what Alejandro de la Vega told you?" asked bitterly Monastario. "If he showed you, Your Excellency, my alleged orders concerning the haciendados and the false Magistrado Camero, I can prove that it was all a mean intrigue concocted by the treacherous outlaw."

To his surprise, the viceroy's eyes flashed with curiosity. "No, that is the story I haven't heard. Could you develop the subject of these… orders?"

Monastario took a deep breath. So Alejandro didn't use this cursed document against him? Strange. The commandante himself would do it immediately, had he been in his place.

"The bandit, so-called Zorro, falsified my orders to stir the citizens against me," he said cautiously.

"I am afraid it wasn't difficult to stir the people against you, Capitán," replied Don Estevan lightly. He stood up and walked through the office. The chair behind the desk was free now, but of course, the commandante didn't dare to take it.

"Only because of the increasing problems with the Eagle's conspiracy I had to postpone my inspection of this pueblo. If I came here a few weeks ago, I would have had you removed from this office. Probably even put under the trial."

Monastario held his breath. Trial. Unfair how it was, the viceroy indeed could have him court-martialed if he wanted.

The commandante swallowed hard, to ease the clench of anxiety grasping his throat.

Most of the officers in California weren't the muster of integrity and uprightness. They have to be efficient and respectful toward their superiors, but there was a silent acceptance concerning the certain level of misuse of the official power for private affairs. However, once the line was crossed, the punishments were severe. Monastario thought about the mines of Sonora, and the few droplets of sweat appeared on his temple.

Oh, but after all, he did nothing wrong! Each judge would acquit the commandante, wouldn't he?

Monastario swallowed again, the clench of his throat becoming stronger. Most of the judges in California weren't the muster of integrity as well. The verdict would depend mostly on the viceroy's opinion.

Don Estevan observed him for a while, smiled slightly and continued, as if not seeing the impression his words made on the commandante: "But then, the Eagle's agents intensified their intrigues in South California. We were aware of his conspiracy growing wider and wider. We even managed to catch a few of its members, however, the Eagle himself remained unseizable."

The viceroy returned to the desk and sat again. He seemed to be at ease, even friendly, but Monastario knew that this was only appearances. The commandante felt nervous like a student during the exams. Unfortunately, the exam was already over and all he could do was to await the verdict.

"Varga was one of the suspects," continued the viceroy. "However, we had neither the certainty nor the proof, until Capitán Nuñez received these surprising wishes from you, Commandante. Luckily he was wise enough to understand that there is some hidden message behind it. As I was staying with the governor in Monterey at the moment, Nuñez passed your letter into the hands of my men and they caught the remark of the feathers immediately. By the way, how did you learn about the code of the feathers, Capitán?" asked suddenly the viceroy.

Monastario for a moment stared at him with open mouth. Don Estevan surprised him with this allegedly innocent question just as de la Vega used to do it many times. Luckily, the thought of Diego de la Vega brought the idea of the suitable reply.

"That bandit, Zorro, explained it to me on some occasion."

"Ah, so. This bandit seems to be an answer to many questions concerning this pueblo," the viceroy nodded with certain surprise. "Anyway, thanks to your notice, we knew who the Eagle was and where he was going to strike. Never before had I ridden anywhere in such a hurry… and still, we didn't arrive a second too soon. Luckily, we were on time to stop the coup before it spread through the region. The general losses are low, considering the scale of the planned attack. Here I cannot deny your merits. The fact that you, at last, decided to step against Varga was crucial for the struggle with this traitor."

Monastario beamed with a satisfied smile. Now, wasn't that the best testimony of his talents? What some minor disputes with villagers meant compared to the efficient struggle… Wait. What exactly the viceroy said?

"At last?..." he asked cautiously, feeling the blood running off his face.

"Capitán, I hope you do not hold me for the complete idiot?..." Don Estevan replied with a question. He spoke quietly and calmly, and yet Monastario couldn't help thinking about mines of Sonora again.

"But, Your Excellency…" he stuttered.

"Varga had his agents and I had mine," the viceroy cut him off shortly.

Monastario's thoughts rushed at the lightning speed. What exactly did the viceroy know? What were his intentions? Suddenly the commandante missed Pina. The licenciado became recently very good at reading people. Or, perhaps, he was always good at it, only recently he got enough courage to make use of this ability.

"I know, that for some time, the agents of the Eagle treated you as one of them," added Don Estevan. "You must have given them some reasons to think so."

"That was only a tactical feint," replied quickly Monastario. "I assure you, Your Excellency, that I remained the loyal officer of His Majesty all the time."

"If I had learnt that you had consciously violated your oath of allegiance, I would have you court-martialed and executed, no matter your merits at the battlefield," stated the viceroy matter-of-factly. "However, I am not throwing hasty accusations. The Eagle's agents were cunning and masked well their true intentions. Many people consorted with them at some point, just because they were misled. Perhaps that was your case. Indeed, I found no proof that you… cooperated with them in a substantial way."

Monastario felt the sweat appearing on his temple again. The way the viceroy led this conversation was exhausting. He had already threatened him with dismissal, court-martial and execution. What had he saved for the final blow?

The commandante sat in silence, waiting for Don Estevan to continue.

"As I said, at the end your assistance was invaluable. Besides, I know you fought with devotion, defending this town. Therefore, I do not want to get into the details of your previous… lapses," said the viceroy with a smile, that was almost friendly. However, Monastario only tensed, feeling that they were close to the conclusion.

"Instead, I decided to transfer you to Spain, Capitán," said simply Don Estevan.

"What?..." whispered Monastario.

"I believe it is a solution satisfying everyone," continued the viceroy. "Your military talents won't get wasted... and your ambitions will be better… supervised in Spain than here, in California."

"Spain?..." repeated Monastario in disbelief.

Seeing his expression Don Estevan added persuasively: "Capitán, I do not know any officer in California who wouldn't welcome such perspective."

Damn, this man behaved as if he had just made some very generous proposition! As if he offered the commandante something he should be grateful for!

"I don't want to go to Spain. I want to stay in my town," hissed Monastario standing up. Right now he didn't care whether Don Estevan was befriended with the King of Spain, the Tsar of Russia or perhaps with the Pope himself.

The viceroy stood up as well. He replied, not as vehemently as the commandante, but decisively:

"This is not your town."

For a moment they just stood in tense silence. Then Don Estevan looked toward the door, and Monastario realized that he was about to call for lancers. Of course, the soldiers would obey the viceroy.

The mines of Sonora were a lousy place, so the commandante slowly sat down.

He must have looked crushed, as the viceroy spoke with a shadow of compassion: "Capitán, if you play along, it will be treated as the reward."

When Monastario didn't reply, he added consolingly: "Don't you really miss Spain? There are so many wars to fight in Europe now. You will have an occasion to make a proper career. Besides the social life… Culture… Theater, operas… Everyone can find there something to his taste."

Theaters. Monastario raised the dark glance at Don Estevan and repeated stubbornly: "Still, I would prefer to remain in California. With your permission, Your Excellency," he added trying to be polite, though he felt that his tone was far from courteous.

The viceroy shook his head. "That's not possible, Capitán."

Monastario desperately wondered if there were any ways for him to refuse such transfer. Damn, if he could only talk to Pina! He had no family in California, no land, anything that he could use as a reason to stay... The only excuse he could thing about was…

"I am sorry, Your Excellency, but I am forced to plead for postponing the transfer out of health reasons," stated formally Monastario. "The recent injuries prevent me from the strenuous travel through the ocean."

"I was not aware that your injuries were that severe," said the viceroy raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, they were," confirmed Monastario, without flinching.

Don Estevan's eyes lit with anger. "Fine then," he said harshly. "I won't let you remain as the commandante of this pueblo anyway. You will go to Monterey, where the governor wants to go through all the complaints at your misuse of power that were sent by the citizens of Los Angeles during the last year. I do not like to be fooled. If that's your choice, I won't shield you from the consequences of your offences."

Monastario shifted, running his eyes with uneasiness, not sure what to reply. In the meantime, the viceroy added: "Your process would take months and your reputation would be tarnished forever. Isn't Spain better than this?"

The commandante fleetingly allowed himself to think about Spain. Spanish cities. His hometown Zaragoza. Barcelona, where he studied. Madrid. That's what he missed here, cities. There was nothing like them in California.

Well, Spain wouldn't be that bad, if he only managed to get the Fox before leaving. He could resign from anything else, he could give up Los Angeles and his Californian ambitions, but he had to have his revenge done.

"How much time would I have before transfer?" he asked with new hope.

"You would leave with me, in a few days," replied the viceroy and – as if he was reading Monastario's thoughts – explained: "I wouldn't leave you here on your own even for a day, Capitán, so that you could retaliate on this pueblo."

So he wouldn't have a chance to get the Fox. El Zorro would escape him again, this time for good. The commandante would have to leave and Diego de la Vega would remain here, safe and content. How was it in this damn song, that no one dared to sing in his presence, and yet he heard so many times? 'May he live long and merrily'?

No.

"And if I resign from service and decide to remain in California privately?" asked Monastario slowly, with a dark edge in his voice.

"Resign from service?" Don Estevan furrowed his eyebrows with genuine surprise on his face. "Capitán, I didn't expect that you would want to stay so desperately. What is the reason? Is it… an affair de coeur?" he asked almost gently.

An affair de coeur? In the whole world there was no woman, for whom he would be willing to leave the army. Yet the revenge… was a different matter. Whatever quandaries he might have felt when the victory over his enemy was in his hands, they were all gone now and turned into deadly determination when he felt it slipping out of his fingers.

"No. I just have unsettled accounts here," replied gloomily Monastario. "So if I decide to stay… Would you then bring an indictment against me?"

The viceroy shook his head in disbelief. The gentler expression disappeared from his face, turning into the shadow of worry when he looked at the commandante.

"If you decide to leave the service, I would not pursue you," he said with a sigh. "I couldn't do it. I told you, that I owe you much of my success with Varga. I just thought that in Spain, you would have a chance to use your talents, whereas your flaws would be under tighter control."

Don Estevan looked almost sad when he concluded: "I cannot let you terrorize this town any longer. It is up to you, whether you take my proposition, or resign. However, I advise you against resignation. Once you leave the service, there will be no coming back. No unsettled accounts are worth it."

"Gracias for your advice, Your Excellency. I will take it into consideration and I will take my decision with no delay," replied absently Monastario.

The viceroy nodded and left the room. The commandante for a long while sat in silence, looking at the empty chair behind his desk. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel like sitting on it.

Licenciado Pina locked the door, shut the windows and covered them with the curtains. Then he reached for a small leather pouch hidden in his drawer, but before he managed to retrieve the desired object from it, he heard someone struggling with the door handle. The unexpected sound made him jump.

"Who is it?" he asked, short of breath, quickly tucking the pouch into the drawer again.

"It is me, open this door," replied angry voice.

'It's me' and everything's clear, thought bitingly Pina, opening the door to let Monastario in.

"Why is it so dark here?" asked suspiciously the commandante looking at the drawn curtains.

"I have a headache," muttered Pina. "What can I do for you, Capitán?"

Monastario tugged the curtains, as if he wanted to pull them back, but then resigned and sank heavily in the armchair, stretching the legs in front of him and letting his head fall on the backrest. Pina frowned, seeing how miserably the commandante looked – as if he aged a few years since yesterday.

"To start with, you could tell me that you know nothing about Varga's gold," said Monastario angrily, but even the irritation in his voice was muffled by some distress.

"I do not know where this gold is."

"That's not what I asked you about," growled the commandante.

He is getting smarter, thought Pina and replied even more cautiously than before: "I know, that Varga received the gold from a Russian diplomat. However, I do not know where it is… now."

"That man, Greco, took it, right?"

Pina grimaced internally at Monastario's newfound shrewdness but managed to keep the straight face. "Yes, he did. But I do not know where he is." Seeing the disbelief on the commandante's face, Pina bridled: "Enrique, I didn't take it! I know my scale!"

"Your scale is growing," remarked bitingly Monastario. "I hope you are telling me the truth now, because I warrantied for you, not for the thieves involved in the international scandal concerning the chest of stolen gold."

Two chests, corrected him silently Pina, very heavy ones.

The red rebozo that Greco hung over the back window was, of course, a signal, and the man for whom it was meant appeared with no delay. Pina was only half-surprised to see Sepulveda entering with Greco in Varga's office.

"Well, well, seems that you were trying to kill many birds with one stone, Private Sepulveda," observed Pina ironically and turned to Greco. "I would be careful with this one on your place. He cheated Monastario for Varga, Varga for you… Are you certain that the third time is a charm?..."

"There is no time for idle talks," bridled Sepulveda. "The battle will soon be over and the soldiers will secure the building. We must hurry, Señor," he bowed to Greco with surprising respect. "Let's take the chests to the yard. There should be some cart."

"The cart left earlier with Kolinko's body," observed Pina.

Greco and Sepulveda exchanged troubled glances. "We must search for another," decided Greco and they left the room together.

Greco returned later alone and shaken. "I have a cart, but this stupid soldier engaged in the fight with some vaquero and got killed. I barely managed to sneak unnoticed. You must help me, Licenciado. Lancers will be here in any minute."

That's how Pina learnt, how heavy the chests were.

The licenciado shook his head to move aside the memories and asked aloud: "Are you feeling well, Capitán? Because you look like you have a fever. It is your arm?"

"What? No," muttered reluctantly Monastario and then blurt out: "The viceroy wants to transfer me to Spain."

"To Spain!" exclaimed the licenciado and nodded with comprehension. "It is good that he understands your situation. That will certainly help."

Monastario inhaled sharply and in his eyes glittered something very dark. "What do you mean by saying that he understands my situation?" he seethed. "I believe you are forgetting yourself. Are you going to preach me now, that I was terrorizing this pueblo?"

"I wasn't referring to this… fact," replied Pina. "I was speaking about your safety."

"My safety?" asked Monastario surprised.

"You killed Varga," reminded the licenciado.

"Yes, I did," the commandante shrugged his shoulders. "So what?"

"You had many witnesses. People who know you by name."

"So what?" Monastario asked once again and Pina realized that he really didn't understand.

"It was a long-term, wide-range conspiracy," he explained patiently as if speaking to the child. "Many people put their hopes in the Eagle. Many people… invested in him and now they won't get… the refund. Some of them will seek revenge."

"Do you really think so?" asked Monastario incredulously. "I thought that most of his supporters were already arrested."

"Most of the henchmen, perhaps," accented the licenciado. "Still, in California, your life would be in direct danger. And even in Europe, you should look behind your back for some time."

Monastario considered his words for a moment, but then only contemptuously waved his hand.

"Never mind that. I had learnt how to be cautious, if necessary. The problem is that the viceroy forces me to leave. If I protest, he will pester me with trials. Still, I am considering resigning from service and remaining in California."

"Resigning?" Pina blinked, not sure whether he didn't fall asleep for a while. "How?... You are sick each time you have to take off your uniform! How could you… resign from service?"

Monastario shifted in the armchair. For the moment he played with the decorations of his uniform, then sighed heavily and rubbed his temple: "That's only way for me to remain here and settle my accounts with Diego de la Vega," he replied.

Right. The revenge. He would destroy his whole life to have his revenge.

The licenciado couldn't even imagine Monastario outside the army. And what would he do? Buy a piece of land and breed the animals? He was a good rider, but he didn't know anything about breeding horses. As for the cattle, he would have problems with recognizing the cow from the mule. Or did he intended to hire his sword and skills for some private undertaking? Was he aware, how many humiliations such life required? Besides, if one is born to live by the fight and violence, isn't it better to become and remain the soldier?...

"That's madness," replied honestly Pina.

"So what – I cannot let him go unpunished!" hissed the commandante with such despair that it was clear his fury was fueled by the helplessness.

The licenciado sighed. Monastario's obsession was back. And I thought that recent events learnt him some… consideration. What a pity. He is on the path leading straight to self-destruction and doesn't even see it.

"All right, you want revenge on Diego de la Vega," he stated patiently. "And what do you want to do with him?"

Strange, but no stream of curses and threats followed. Monastario remained silent for a long while until he finally replied: "Kill him?..."

Pina was surprised with the moderation of this answer. He expected something more pictorial.

"And once you kill him, what will you do with the rest of your life?" the licenciado asked quietly.

The commandante shrugged his shoulders but didn't reply. It was clear that he didn't consider the issue. That is Monastario through and through: always engrossed in his schemes, but rarely being able to see their long-term consequences, thought Pina.

"If you want advice, here it is: don't do it. Each determination must have its limits," stated Pina, ignoring the sudden bridle of the commandante and added: "I wouldn't like to see you finish like Varga in a few years."

Monastario jerked his head, his expression darkened at the comparison to the traitor, but then he slumped back into the armchair and rubbed his temple again, looking even more tired than before.

"Yes, I believe I came here for your advice. Thank you," he replied wearily, making the licenciado doubt his ears for the second time during this conversation.

Then the commandante stood up, indicating that the subject was finished and asked casually:

"I heard that you want to leave Los Angeles?"

"Yes, the most probably I will leave. Providing, of course, that the viceroy agrees."

"Oh, yes, I think that he will. Don Diego de la Vega," Monastario bowed with mocking respect, "expressed to the viceroy his gratitude for your rather clumsy attempt to save the life of his father. Don Estevan was very impressed. It seems that your sudden flush of honesty pays off now. The Fox cares to settle his debts."

Certainly, he does. But he also wants me out of this town, thought soberly Pina. I know too much to his comfort. Ah, that was another reason to leave Los Angeles. The licenciado by any means wouldn't like to be the reason for Zorro's discomfort.

"Oh, well…" muttered Pina evasively, in order not to irritate Monastario even more. "Perhaps…"

"That's fine, Licenciado," the commandante waved his hand. "I am not blaming you for this. Where are you going? Mexico?"

Pina lingered with the reply for a moment. The options were… more complicated than Monastario would think.

"Yes, perhaps," replied Pina finally. "That's what I am considering. Mexico, and perhaps beyond."

Is it too much, that I want to have my revenge on this man, for all the humiliations he cost me? thought bitterly Monastario. It is only the need for justice! Besides, he is an outlaw. No matter how good his name is, he is a criminal and the duty of each officer…

Well. After leaving the army, he wouldn't be an officer chasing an outlaw anymore. Just a… private bounty hunter. Like so many others, catching wanted men for rewards. Oh, Monastario knew this scum! Apart from the slight recognition for their fighting skills, he despised them sincerely. He didn't want to become one of them.

But my reasons would be noble, he consoled himself.

Zorro, the Fox, had to pay for all his insults and mockeries. Diego de la Vega had to pay for the way he cheated and manipulated him. It was not only that he bested him in a fight. That, at the end, would be endurable. He… undermined his authority, shook his confidence… humiliated him not only in the eyes of the people but also in his own.

Could I simply let him go after all this? wondered Monastario, with despair, realizing that the very same fact that he was asking himself such question meant that his resolve was wavering.

Pina's questions made him ponder what exactly he wanted to achieve. To start with, he wanted to defeat the Fox. He wanted to meet the outlaw in his black attire, defeat him, rip the mask off his face and see the features of Diego de la Vega, so that this elusive shadow finally had human face – and so that the commandante finally could be certain he solved the riddle of his identity, because to know and to see was something entirely different. It was not enough to know it was de la Vega, he had to see it, with his own eyes.

Then the commandante wanted his enemy to feel the bitterness of defeat. He wanted – he needed – to see the fear on his face, to make him beg for his life. That would be the worthy repayment for all the humiliations! Perhaps then Monastario could even let him go. But, of course, Diego de la Vega would never beg for his life. The commandante already knew that much. So, he would have to kill him – and that would do. That would quench his need for vengeance.

For justice, corrected himself Monastario.

So he would need to kill Diego de la Vega. That was easier said than done. The Fox was cunning and talented, Diego de la Vega was well-known and influential. The commandante would require a clever trap and probably a few men to help. Of course, it was not difficult to set a trap when you knew how to choose a proper bait. Monastario learnt his enemy well enough to know what kind of bait would make him lose control, rush into reckless action… A few very unpleasant plans started to form in his head and for a moment he developed and relished them, the evil smirk slowly twisting his features. Yes, he could show Diego de la Vega what it means to lose something you care for.

And if someone close to the Fox dies in the process, that's collateral damage. After all, they shouldn't aid and abet the criminal, he thought, the smirk evolving into the devilish smile.

Then however his smile faded. When he thought earlier about respect to his enemy, he meant it. Something in the concept of leading against the Fox the band of the hit men wasn't appealing. The commandante would very much prefer to perform in the name of the law and the Crown.

The viceroy's decision made it impossible.

Besides, what after that? Ah, why Pina had to ask, what would he do with the rest of his life?

I could do anything, retorted the commandante to himself vehemently. Anything. Travel. Settle down. Work?... here he grimaced, but surely, in the whole world, there had to be some kind of occupation he would enjoy?...

Still, the only thing he wanted was to be an officer, command the soldiers and win battles, such as the one with Varga. Perhaps if the Eagle's conspiracy never happened… if he hadn't been through so many losses and despair… and if he hadn't tasted how it is to win in spite of them, against the odds… but he did. No travels, no other career could be better than that.

And yet I must give it all up if I want to destroy my enemy.

That was the viceroy's fault. He stole from the commandante a simple, rightful way to have the justice done and forced him to consider such extremes. For a moment Monastario felt a burning hate toward all these dignitaries, these Spanish aristocrats, who thought they could push around the people they knew nothing about…

For a moment he started to consider what he could do to have his revenge on Estevan de la Callas. That would require more complicated, long-term plans, but…

The realization what he was thinking about fell on him like the bucket of cold water.

"Pina was right," he almost moaned hiding the face in his hands. "I am about to finish like Varga."

That's enough, he ordered himself. That's enough. That's the last moment to stop.

Licenciado Pina locked the door behind Monastario and adjusted the curtains. Then once again reached for the leather pouch and retrieved a small object. He wanted to look at it for the last time, before throwing it away, what certainly was the wisest thing to do.

It was a ring. Very peculiar, iron ring in the shape of the winged snake biting its tail.

The licenciado wasn't used to wearing jewelry, this time, however, he took the ring and tried it on. It fit like a glove. Pina sighed and took the ring off. It was not a thing to wear on one's finger, it was to be kept in hiding and shown only with the greatest caution. Besides, he should throw it away and forget he ever saw it.

"It is very unlikely that you would see another like this in California," said Greco handing him the ring. "However, if you happen to travel south… far south, beyond New Spain… you might have the occasion to make use of it."

"What is it? Another part of the Eagle's code?" asked Pina.

"No. This has nothing to do with the Eagle," replied Greco. "It is kind of… the way to recognize…"

"Let me guess – another company of friends?" the licenciado finished ironically. However, he took the ring.

Yes, he definitely should throw it away, forget and proceed with his life.

But what should he do with his life now, when the stormy waves so unexpectedly carried him into calmer waters? There were many possibilities.

To start with, he could still remain in Los Angeles. Work honestly, be meek and modest. With time, people would start to accept him. He would earn their trust and lead the simple, safe life, preparing the marriage contracts and testaments for the rancheros, till the end of his days.

He could also ask the viceroy for a position in his office. The dignitary didn't trust him, that was obvious. Yet after few conversations with Don Estevan, the licenciado got to know him a bit. The viceroy would give him employment, just to keep an eye on him. So he could stay with the viceroy, patiently work for his trust and make a slow, but safe career among other officials. Nothing… outstanding, but his fate would be secured.

He could travel to Mexico and try once again to build his life there. Find the old clients, search for the new ones. He failed once, but perhaps the second try would be better. With time, he could become a respected lawyer, with his own office and permanent, well-situated clients.

And he could also travel south. That would be inadvisable. Unwise. Dangerous. He definitely shouldn't do it.

Calm waters were within his reach and he should use this occasion to find himself some quiet, secure bay. Calm waters. Calm lakes, with no waves, no current.

Someone knocked at the door and Pina jumped again, hiding the ring with a guilty expression. This time, however, the visitor waited patiently until the licenciado opened the door. It was the messenger from the viceroy with a short notice – a letter stating that Licenciado Pina is free to leave Los Angeles and to travel around New Spain and through its borders if he needed.

So, he was a free man, keeping his fate in his hands again.

Pina looked around Los Angeles, trying to see his future here. Licenciado Pina, the timid lawyer in the dusty pueblo, working quietly until his hair turned grey… No. Somehow he didn't like this picture.

He noticed that little deaf mute servant of Diego de la Vega walking through the plaza and looking around with a distracted smile. Distracted, indeed! Pina followed the little man with his sight until their eyes met. The servant smiled even broader and bowed, waving his hand in a friendly greeting.

He probably thinks he looks that way so goofy and harmless, commented bitingly Pina, and ironically mirrored this gesture, waving back. Recently he was coming across this servant quite often. Diego de la Vega must have been… concerned with the licenciado and his decisions.

Well. Pina should pack quickly. There was no reason to make the Fox nervous.

He wasn't going to stay in this pueblo anyway. It was too… calm.

Pina returned to his apartment, closing the door behind him, feeling his resolve to leave this town confirmed.

Perhaps he will stay in Mexico, or perhaps he will go travel further south, following the trails Greco pointed him. And he wasn't going to throw away the pouch with the ring.

Recently he got used to sailing in the stormy waters. It was time to admit that he started to like it.

Pina, of course, wasn't going to take part in the fiesta, but Monastario – on the contrary. He was certain that the news about his dismissal was already circling around the pueblo. So far, all his thoughts were occupied with Zorro and vengeance. Now he recalled, that he had more enemies in Los Angeles than one and that they all would celebrate his departure.

Perhaps they had already celebrated. With the sting of humiliation, Monastario thought that the viceroy must have discussed his plans, even if not with the whole cabildo, then at least with the most important landowners. Certainly with the de la Vegas.

How happy Alejandro must be! He finally managed to arrange my downfall… Perhaps this damn transfer to Spain was Alejandro's idea, thought the commandante clenching his fists in helpless fury.

No. Alejandro would prefer to see him court-martialed. That generous offer of transfer looked more like the idea of his deceitful, scheming son.

Monastario imagined the viceroy discussing his fate with the de la Vegas during a private supper in the hacienda, with Diego dripping the ideas so wilily that the viceroy would be certain they emerged in his own head. He felt helpless, humiliated, almost mad with anger.

Then, however, his mind troubled some blurry association, uncomfortable reminiscences of a certain lavish dinner when he asked his drunken superior to sign the death sentence of his enemy… All his feelings mixed into shame and for a moment he just sat with his head buried in the hands, painfully trying to move aside all these humiliating thoughts.

For a moment he wanted to remain in his office and forget the party.

No. The hell I would let them laugh me off behind my back, he growled. If they want to mock me, they will have to do it into my face.

Though it was rather unwonted to take the weapon going for such fiesta, he fastened the sheath with the rapier to his belt. It was to be expected that many rancheros would like to reciprocate what the commandante put them through. Fine. He could defend himself even without the lancers and power of the office.

If they think they can insult me now, I will prove them wrong! he thought vehemently.

Besides, perhaps he would call out Diego de la Vega. That would be a simple, rightful and respectful way of settling the accounts.

In this turmoil of emotions Monastario finally left his quarters. When he was crossing the yard, he saw some unfamiliar soldier near the stables. Having come closer, he recognized Lieutenant Santos.

"Buenos dias, Commandante," the lancer greeted him politely. "Are you heading for the fiesta? The viceroy is already at the tavern. I sneaked out for a while to see this marvelous horse of yours. I hope that you don't mind?"

The lieutenant was so courteous and respectful, that Monastario calmed down and even smiled replying:

"Not at all. It is indeed a special animal."

"So he is. I admired him already during the battle. You are very wise and very brave boy," said Santos patting the horse's neck.

Monastario's smile faded when he realized something he didn't think about earlier. "I will have to leave him here when I will go to Spain. I am being transferred."

Here, he said it. He was going to Spain. The words didn't leave the bitter taste on his tongue. Perhaps he could even enjoy the journey, had he not been forced to it.

"Spain? Congratulations," said sincerely Santos and Monastario's mood grew slightly better. "But as for the horse, you can have him transported for you," observed the lieutenant.

"So many months of the sea voyage for such a spirited and gentle horse?" the commandante shook his head. "I like him too much to do it to him. I will leave him in California."

"Ah, but… in such case…" the lieutenant started to speak, blushed and stuttered. Monastario watched him with a certain surprise until he understood the reason of this sudden sheepishness.

"I see that you like him, Lieutenant. Your lancers say that you have a special way with horses. Perhaps you want to buy him? I would give you a good price, just to make sure that he goes into the proper hands."

Even if Lieutenant Santos had a good way with horses, he would make terrible horse merchant, as after hearing Monastario's words his face brightened and he exclaimed enthusiastically:

"If you would like to sell him, I am buying, no matter the price, even if I would have to pawn my soul!" he caressed the animal's neck and asked: "What's his name?"

"Phantom," replied Monastario and explained with a smirk: "My sergeant is very superstitious, I chose such name to scare him with it from time to time." He sighed, rubbing the stallion's nose. "I will miss this horse! However, better that than see him wither on the sea…"

"Gracias," replied Santos, his eyes all for the stallion. He patted him again and the animal whinnied in reply as if thanking for the caress.

Monastario sighed with nostalgia. Even his favorite horse was eager to find himself a new master! But he really cared for this animal. It was good to know that his new owner would be a worthy man.

"If you want, you can go for a ride now, to try him," he said generously to Santos.

Himself, he went to the tavern, where the fiesta was slowly beginning. The tables were filled with refreshments and from the kitchen drifted delicious smells of the next courses. Walls and ceiling were decorated with colorful garlands and musicians already started to play, now something quiet and calm. Vivid rhythms were to be played later when the guests would get tired with conversations and concentrate on the entertainment.

Many guests were already present, including the viceroy and most of the prominent haciendados – both de la Vegas among them. When Monastario entered the sala, he froze for a moment, expecting malicious glances and smirks, but nothing like this happened. The men nodded toward him, but that was all. Only the viceroy measured him with watchful sight, but then relaxed and returned to the discussion.

So, they still don't know about my dismissal, Monastario for a moment froze with surprise. Not even the de la Vegas. The viceroy didn't tell them yet…

Well, Diego de la Vega also sent him a cautious glance, looking at the commandante with slight anxiety, but also something else, something like impatience or regret, when his eyes lingered for a moment at Monastario's rapier. Apparently, de la Vega must have also considered the simple and effective ways of… solving their situation.

The commandante smiled slightly. Diego de la Vega wouldn't dare to call him out amidst all these people, no matter how much he would like to do it. Monastario, however, could do just that, anytime, and force the Fox to make the show of his skills in front of the eyes of the whole pueblo.

As for now, the commandante took a deep breath to calm his emotions and joined the group. The viceroy and the haciendados were, of course, talking vividly about the battle with Varga's men.

"To the courage of true caballeros!" saluted them Don Estevan, raising the goblet. "Señores, Spain may be proud of such defenders."

The men gathered around him accepted the toast with approving cheers. Monastario also lifted his glass in salute. Cackling old roosters they were, true, but he saw them on the battlefield and their courage could not be denied.

"Still, Your Excellency, without your assistance we would be lost," replied Alejandro de la Vega. "We were outnumbered to the point, where the courage could not be enough."

"Ah, these were only some hired scum!... We would show them, how true Spaniards fight!..." bridled Don Augustin.

"Augustin, I am not the one to count the enemies before the fight. Now, however, I must admit that without assistance we would be dead and Varga triumphant," objected Alejandro.

Diego de la Vega looked at his father with warm expression in his eyes. "I also feared that the hope is lost. When I saw your lancers, Don Estevan, arriving at the plaza – well, that was the most beautiful view in the world," he said smiling, but with the last words, his voice wavered slightly, as he realized the slip he just made.

It might have gone unnoticed, yet Monastario caught it immediately: "At the plaza?" he asked in faked confusion. "Don Diego, how could you be surprised seeing the viceroy's lancers arriving at the plaza? I was under the impression that the viceroy arrived at the mission before you all set off."

"I left earlier, before the viceroy arrived," admitted Diego de la Vega after the moment of silence. He spoke calmly, but from the set of his jaw, Monastario knew that he was irritated.

"But why?..." asked someone in confusion, just as the commandante expected. He was certain that de la Vega sneaked out of the mission and in the commotion no one noticed his absence. Now, however… Just try to say now, you didn't want to fight with Varga because you abstain from violence. Or say the truth, he almost chuckled.

To his surprise, it was Alejandro who replied: "We were afraid for our men from the hacienda. Especially my head vaquero is the very brave man, but sometimes too hot-headed," he sighed, casually taking a sip of the wine from his glass. "We feared, that after Varga imprisoned us, he might be reckless enough to organize some desperate attempt of rescue. After all, Benito didn't know that we managed to escape."

Monastario, whose sight didn't move from the face of Diego de la Vega, noticed how his eyes slightly widened with surprise when Alejandro spoke. However, the young don added casually:

"Any brawl at the pueblo before our attack would give Varga premature warning. But Father," he added quieter, "once we discussed it at the mission, I was under the impression that you didn't approve..."

"I only thought it was better to remain together at such moment," Alejandro shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't want you to go alone."

Cannot they see that's fairy-tale? Had it been so, he should have ridden to the hacienda, not to the pueblo! Bridled Monastario and wanted to say it aloud, but the viceroy asked curiously:

"And what about this Benito? Did he try to do anything?"

"He had no chances," Diego de la Vega shook his head. "There were too many of Varga's men at the hacienda, guarding the buildings and the workers. However," he added with satisfaction, "once our men learnt about the battle in Los Angeles, they managed to incapacitate all Varga's thugs positioned at the rancho."

"Bravo," smiled the viceroy and the haciendados started to exchange opinions concerning the battle, the bravery of their men and the possible outcomes of different scenarios. Monastario's taunt got forgotten in the commotion. Well, almost.

"And you, Don Diego, remained at the pueblo, once the battle started?..." asked Juan Peralta with mocking astonishment. "And what was such pacifist doing during the fight?"

Diego de la Vega measured him with amused sight.

"Well, just as the absent here Licenciado Pina used to say, things were happening and I was… improvising," he replied, smiling innocently.

However, this time the viceroy looked at the young de la Vega with a confused expression. "Pacifist?..." he asked. "What does it mean? Is it a kind of joke?..."

"A kind of…" muttered de la Vega. "But speaking of improvisations – why don't I play the piano? The musicians would have a moment of rest."

Now, that's a clumsy retreat, thought Monastario ironically. Certainly, if de la Vega studied with the viceroy's son, Don Estevan must have known something about the true character of this cheater…

In the meantime the viceroy and dons returned to their conversations, forgetting the incident. Juan would perhaps like to add some ironic remark, but then he noticed Monastario, standing close to him and lost his countenance. The commandante grinned merrily, seeing his abashment.

No one could have doubts that young Peralta during the battle worked wonders of bravery, fighting like a lion and roaring like a bear. He would have paid for it with his life, pierced by the thrust of the saber he couldn't parry, being engaged in a fight with another enemy. Monastario happened to be close enough to block the blow with his own blade and pushed the attacker back. It was evident that he saved Peralta's life.

The unwritten, but clear code of honour ordered, that if two gentlemen in dispute happen to be in such situation, the one saved by his opponent must thank him for rescue before they return to the hostilities. As Peralta couldn't overcome himself to thank Monastario, he desperately avoided any contact with the commandante. Now he measured Monastario with a dark glance, then shifted his sight toward the piano, where Diego de la Vega was just starting to play some calm melody and finally, with the frustrated snicker, followed in his direction.

Monastario also left the group of rancheros and retreated into some quieter corner. The soothing sounds of the piano helped him to concentrate. Good, because he needed to think.

And what if I accuse de la Vega of being Zorro now, in front of all these people? They would laugh. De la Vega would deny and try to lie himself out. The viceroy wouldn't believe. But if I would prove that he is the outlaw?...

Ah. That would be a scandal. Diego de la Vega, the only son of the most influential family in Southern California, being a man with a price on his head. A vigilante, hiding his face and identity.

Heavens, many people would cheer him, thought bitterly Monastario, recording the applause Zorro got after his duel with the Frenchmen. All this ragtag from the pueblo, these peons and Indians, they would adore him. Even many rancheros.

But not all of them. Many, especially among richer landowners, didn't approve of the masked rider, always ready to defend the poor, and therefore disturbing the social order. Besides, what Pina said about the supporters of the Eagle searching for vengeance? If the identity of Zorro was revealed, he also would become their target.

The commandante reluctantly shook his head. That was not the kind of vengeance he wanted to achieve. He wanted to defeat the Fox, not set him out as the target for others.

Surely, if he proved that Diego de la Vega is Zorro, the viceroy, even considering all his friendliness toward the young don, would have to react. After all, Zorro was a bandit. He fought with lancers, escaped their chase, rode into the pueblo with masked face and weapons by his side… No government official could accept such actions.

But how can I prove above any doubt that he is the bandit? mused the commandante. I need a strong proof. The viceroy favors de la Vega. He must be convinced with undeniable evidence.

Undeniable evidence.

There was no undeniable evidence concerning the Fox. Everything was… uncertain. Everything was questionable.

Monastario sat for a long while, trying to concentrate, to catch a thread, that would lead him to the proof… but all ideas slipped out. It was like catching the mist – you attempt to grasp it, but your hands remain empty.

I will call him out, decided finally Monastario, choosing the simplest way.

Perhaps the commandante would win and his vengeance would be done. Perhaps – hard to admit it, but he couldn't ignore this possibility – so perhaps he would lose. In such case, he would at least force de la Vega to reveal his fighting skills, proving that he has been lying to the whole pueblo, pretending to be someone else.

Monastario was ready to put his plan into action without delay, but then his eyes fell on Alejandro de la Vega, walking slowly amidst other guests, talking and joking with his friends… Right. Apart from the son, there was still the father. The son at least remained discreetly in the shadows, forced to maneuver between biting remarks and uncomfortable questions of other guests. The father instead was having his moment of triumph, basking in congratulations and respect, praised for his courage and decisiveness in the struggle against Varga...

He was my first and main enemy… And he drew onto my head his damn tricky son… realized suddenly Monastario. 'I am sorry I called you off from Spain', that's what he said in this cellar! recalled the commandante. He summoned his son purposefully, to help him get rid of me.

And finally, he succeeded. How happy Alejandro would be to learn that Monastario is leaving!... The commandante almost ground his teeth with frustration. Now it was the last moment when he could spoil the gloating mood of the old haciendado. He had to use it.

"Señor de la Vega," he said, nearing to the old don. "Don't you think there is something we should talk about?"

Alejandro measured him with a cautious glance. "Perhaps. What have you in mind, Commandante?"

If he still calls me 'commandante', he certainly doesn't know yet about my dismissal, thought Monastario and smiled.

"Well, your son, of course."

Alejandro tensed, even if only for a short second. He shook his head indicating he didn't understand, but then, with sudden resolve, he turned to the commandante looking him straight into the eyes.

"I am not a fool, Monastario. I know what you are insinuating, each time we meet, and I don't like it."

Monastario frowned at the directness of these words. He forgot, that Alejandro embodied confrontation. Fine. The commandante narrowed his eyes and drawled slowly:

"You don't? Well, yes. I am saying that your son is the bandit. The Fox."

"Your accusations are ridiculous," replied harshly Alejandro.

"You know they aren't," retorted Monastario and realized that he is right. Alejandro knew. That's why he was so beleaguered. "Spare me the denials. You won't convince me anyway. You do not lie as well as your son."

Satisfied with the effect of his words, the commandante watched how Alejandro bridled, but the protest somehow strangled in his throat. Monastario continued with the venomous politeness:

"You must be very pleased, Señor de la Vega. Isn't that what you wanted? A son who is not a weak-willed scholar, but a daring fighter? Blood of your blood? Unfortunately, that moment of fatherly pride may come with a price. Are you ready to pay it?"

"You have no idea what you are talking about."

"I think I do," Monastario smirked with indulgence. "Have you been in his masquerade from the beginning? No, rather not. I remember your displays of disappointment with your son, for being less than you expected. So, how did you find out, that he is more?"

"You are talking nonsense!..." bridled Alejandro. "What's gotten into you, Monastario?"

The commandante measured the older man with a calculating glance. That was the last chance to provoke Alejandro to the outburst, and perhaps some fatal mistake… If this failed… Both de la Vegas, father and son, would soon learn they won the war with the commandante. And Alejandro was not disappointed with his son anymore. They would live at their hacienda in mutual understanding, enjoying the kind of harmony that was forever out of Monastario's reach.

However… perhaps there was still something missing to reach this understanding. Monastario recalled this slight surprise in Diego's eyes a moment ago when he said 'I thought you did not approve', and this uncertainty in his behavior, when Alejandro greeted him after the battle on the plaza… Even if the old man knew his son was not the coward, they still somehow managed to quarrel after the meeting in the mission, before Diego set off to the pueblo.

Zorro or not, Alejandro still needs to command his son, thought Monastario with a smirk. And then he regrets, realized the commandante recalling how Alejandro searched for his son on the battlefield.

His smirk turned into the cruel smile when he understood, how he could awaken Alejandro's worst fears.

"You let him believe you do not know?... You didn't tell him, how proud you are of him?" Monastario shook his head with mocking reproach. "Perhaps you should do it. If you wait too long, you can regret it to the end of your days. Hurry while you still have your son," with the last words the venomous courtesy in the commandante's voice changed into pure malice.

"Monastario. You do not know what you are talking about," repeated Alejandro. There was something strange in his expression – not this famous de la Vega temper, but some unwavering determination. "You are trying to threaten me? Perhaps one day, when you will have children of your own, you will realize what the parent can do for them... Now I don't expect you to understand. So for once just be quiet and listen."

If Alejandro shouted at him, Monastario would gladly shout him back. Now, surprised by this strange calm, he just listened, when de la Vega came to the offensive and spoke:

"So far, I respected the fact that we fought against the common enemy together. Even if I could prove that you were a tyrant, misusing power entrusted to you for your private goals, out of recognition for your courage and determination, I remained silent about your past dealings in this pueblo."

Monastario felt his cheeks burning. That was the moment Alejandro chose to speak about recognition? Damn, why this man had the ability to make the commandante always feel so… small?...

"However, I won't let you harm my son," continued Alejandro, "If you want war, I will give it to you."

Alejandro spoke calmly, but the expression in his eyes… Monastario cleared his throat, to mask the shiver. "You are directly threatening the government's official," he stated coldly.

"I knew you wouldn't understand," sighed Alejandro. He looked at Monastario without anger, but with this ardor that marked all he did. "Commandante, have enough integrity to admit to your mistakes. You are still a young man, the whole life is ahead of you. Don't waste it."

Having said this, Alejandro simply went away, leaving Monastario abashed and furious – furious at himself, for getting so confused, and for de la Vega – for remaining calm.

"Ouch, you!... Why don't you preach your son instead!" the commandante growled behind him.

Oh, how happy Alejandro will be to learn that I have no longer any real power in this pueblo… how will he laugh me off…

The outburst of loud laughters at the very same moment gritted unpleasantly in Monastario's ears. Did the viceroy tell the guests of his dismissal? He could do that, to humiliate him… However, the commandante realized that he heard the first laughters even earlier, during this conversation with Alejandro, only didn't pay attention. Now they became louder and louder.

And the piano music stopped some time ago.

The source of the amusement was in the middle of the group crowding on the other side of the sala. The onlookers blocked the view, but Monastario noticed Sergeant Garcia leaving them to reach the table with refreshments.

"Sergeant, what's the reason of this merriment?" he asked.

"It is Don Juan Peralta, mi Capitán," replied the sergeant with a smile. "He called out Don Diego for a duel." His smile disappeared and chubby face got serious, when he added: "That was very mean of him. Everyone knows that Don Diego does not fight. If Don Juan wanted to show how brave he is, he should challenge someone who fences as good as he does, or better."

"Well, Sergeant, you are right. At least in theory," agreed Monastario with certain surprise. If de la Vega indeed didn't know how to fight, challenging him could be considered the act of cowardice... "But what is everyone laughing at? I do not hear the fight."

"Because Don Diego, being an offended party, was choosing the weapon," explained Garcia chuckling. "And he chose chess. They are playing the second time already. The first game was very short."

"Chess?..."

Of course, the Fox could have done something like that... The commandante raised his eyes and silently thanked his Guardian Angel, that Peralta outran him with a challenge.

He hated chess.

"The game of chess was a splendid idea," said the viceroy, nearing to them with the amused expression, wiping the tears of laugher from his eyes. "There has been enough bloodshed in this pueblo in the last days. No need for another two men to pierce themselves for some silly quarrel, especially during the fiesta. And this angry young one, Don Juan," the viceroy chuckled, "his expression… oh, that was funny… I must tell this story to my friends," he laughed again and added to Garcia: "The second round was also very short, Sergeant."

Monastario thanked his Guardian Angel again. No doubt that this story will reach not only Monterey but also Spain. He didn't envy Peralta this sort of publicity.

"Don Diego usually has clever ideas," observed cordially the sergeant and bowed, intending to leave. However, the viceroy stopped him:

"Please, Sergeant, stay. I need to speak with you. But first, Capitán, have you made your decision?" asked Don Estevan, addressing Monastario with a certain dose of tension in his voice.

"Yes. I will accept your offer," replied Monastario shortly.

He knew he was doing the right thing. However, at the moment, the disappointment burnt him like the open wound.

"I am glad to hear it," replied the viceroy. The relief was clearly visible on his face, even if only for a second. "I believe that we can now inform the sergeant about his new duties?"

"Sergeant? Sergeant Garcia?..." the commandante repeated incredulously. For the sake of all these times, when Garcia shielded him during the battle, he bit his tongue and didn't say anything more. He didn't want to belittle the sergeant in the presence of the viceroy, but the very same idea of Garcia taking over his duties…

"After Varga's coup we are facing some... personnel shortages among military," replied evasively the viceroy. "I have no one to transfer here."

"So perhaps I could..." Monastario tried for the last time.

"No," the viceroy cut him off and turned to Garcia: "Capitán Monastario is transferred to Spain. Therefore, you, Sergeant, will be in charge of the military forces in Los Angeles."

Garcia gasped, staring at Monastario: "To Spain? You are leaving, Capitán?"

"Yes, Sergeant," confirmed the commandante.

"Ah…" Garcia opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but then closed it again. Then, he précised very cautiously: "Does it mean, that you will be no longer be in Los Angeles, Capitán?"

"Yes, Sergeant," replied Monastario through clenched teeth. "I will be in Spain, so it means that I will be no longer be here."

"Ah… and you will not command the garrison any longer?..."

"No, Sergeant," growled Monastario. He sent a pleading glance toward the viceroy, but Don Estevan escaped his eyes.

"For how long, Commandante?"

"Quite long, Sergeant. So far, I am not planning to return."

On Garcia's face flew the cascade of emotions. Monastario wasn't surprised to see relief, but regret was something unexpected.

"I hope you will like your new post, Capitán," said Garcia and his wishes sounded sincere. Then, however, on his face returned the cautious expression, when he asked: "And who will be the new commandante?"

Monastario sighed, trying to gather the remains of his patience, that was already worn out by this evening.

"Sergeant, haven't you heard what the viceroy said? You will be the acting commandante of Los Angeles."

"Si, Capitán," nodded Garcia. "But under whose command?"

"Yours, baboso!" yelled Monastario losing the rest of his composure. "How many times should I repeat it so that it would reach that wine-soaked head of yours? I am leaving and you are taking over the command!..."

The sala froze.

All the conversations and laughters ceased on the spot. All heads turned toward them. In the dead silence clattered the sound of the dropped mug, rolling on the floor.

So, now they knew.

Monastario felt the sights of the guests staring at him and struggled to keep the neutral expression. If someone laughs now…

However, the seconds passed and no one uttered a word. The shy, expecting glances ran toward the viceroy, with silent pleas to confirm the news.

"I intended to do it in a more discreet way, but I see, Capitán, that you are the man who always needs to be the center of attention," muttered the viceroy and then said aloud, addressing the guests gathered in the sala: "It seems that it is a right moment to announce that Capitán Monastario is being transferred to Spain. He will leave Los Angeles in a few days, with me. Sergeant Garcia will be nominated as the acting commandante of the pueblo."

"Gracias," muttered Garcia, his cheeks redder than the wine in his glass. "I will try to do my best."

"No one can ask for more than that," replied Don Estevan with a smile.

Monastario involuntarily searched with sight for Alejandro de la Vega. What kind of triumph will be now on his face? However, the old don stood aside, with motionless expression and closed eyes. His lips moved and the commandante after a moment understood, that Alejandro was praying. Ignatio Torres neared to de la Vega and touched his shoulder. They exchanged glances, but none of them was gloating. They simply looked like men who managed to survive the storm.

Monastario considered their relief almost complimentary.

In the meantime, the viceroy reached for the glass of wine and raised it: "Señoras, Señores, may I propose the toast…" he hesitated for a moment, shifting his eyes from Monastario to Garcia, then to the faces of the onlookers, "a toast to the future of Los Angeles?..." he got out with the dexterity of the true diplomat.

"To Los Angeles!" the guests replied eagerly.

The viceroy's toast finally woke up the gathered people from the stupor. The glasses were raised, the wine flew, the toasts and laughters buzzed in the room. Oh, true, they said mostly no more than "To Los Angeles", or "to the future", but the faces were beaming and spirits in the sala rising with each second.

Monastario now expected Diego de la Vega to say some of his malicious remarks, however, the young man was nowhere in view. The capitán looked around and spotted no more than his back, as he was swooping his mute servant toward the back door of the sala, with the bottle of wine in the second hand. The mozo managed only to grab two mugs from the table before they disappeared from the sala.

Discreet as usual, thought Monastario bitingly. Well, perhaps he should be grateful that de la Vega decided to celebrate in some quiet corner instead of mocking him in public.

But why should the Fox mock him now? He was defeated. He didn't count anymore.

The cheers 'to Los Angeles' became louder and more enthusiastic. Monastario himself realized that he was keeping the glass in his hand. He probably should also raise a toast, give some farewell speech. He recalled the day, when his predecessor, Commandante Linares, was bidding farewell to the citizens of Los Angeles. The speeches, recollections and thanks took half a day. Monastario was listening to all this, baking himself in the sun, trying to hide impatience and planning, how much and how quickly he would change in this pueblo.

And he did, as he planned.

Now no one intended to give a speech with expressions of gratitude. However, members of the cabildo must have felt obliged to say something. Some of them at first gathered around Alejandro de la Vega, but the old don simply shook his head, the same as Torres. After a moment of confusion, the others approached the commandante.

"Capitán," started hesitantly Don Cornelio, "considering the recent changes we would like to wish you…"

"That's really not necessary, Señores," Monastario interrupted him with a venomous smile. "I perfectly know what you wish me."

Don Cornelio only raised his eyebrows, evidently relieved he didn't have to proceed with forced compliments. However, the old alcalde stepped in front of them.

"Capitán," he said calmly, "we had many disagreements, that cannot be easily forgotten, but in the decisive moment, we stood together against the common enemy. That also will be remembered."

Monastario knew that the old man was speaking sincerely. Considering the circumstances, it was also the best farewell he could receive. So, he restrained his bitterness and irritation and said simply: "Thank you."

"You see, Capitán?" chimed in the sergeant with a serene smile. "I think that people won't recall you that bad, once you are in Spain. And perhaps…" he added with pensiveness, "perhaps it won't be so hard to command the garrison. I will start with renovating the cuartel's kitchen, it is at least something I am familiar with. Perhaps the other tasks also wouldn't…"

"Garcia… At the moment, you better disappear out of my sight!" growled Monastario. "I know you didn't ask for it, but when I imagine you at my desk… in my archives… Ouch!..."

The sergeant disappeared.

"You did one good thing here, Monastario," Don Augustin spoke unceremoniously as usual, but without malice. "You killed this traitor."

"Ah, Varga," the viceroy joined the conversation. "Yes, you were rather quick to pull the trigger, Capitán. He had no chances to escape. It was madness even to try."

"He was mad," said someone.

"Yes," Don Estevan nodded. "Yes, he was. And yet he was clever enough to bring this whole land on the verge of destruction, had he not been stopped. I have heard," he added, "that this masked outlaw, Zorro, dueled and defeated Varga before the battle."

"Who says so? Did someone see him? El Zorro?" asked Monastario, for a moment forgetting his embitterment.

Alejandro de la Vega, who kept himself aside, now neared to their company. He looked at the commandante with a silent warning.

"I don't know. No one saw him personally, but everyone says he fought with Varga. You know how gossip spreads," replied the viceroy with a smile.

"He certainly did. If someone was to defeat Varga, it was a Fox," said someone with unwavering certainty.

And I thought it was me who shot this bastard, grimaced Monastario. It seemed that Zorro didn't even have to appear on the battlefield, to win the battle. The commandante looked around, in search for Diego de la Vega, but the young man was still nowhere to be seen.

"In fact, Zorro is a hero, not an outlaw," said Ignatio Torres, looking toward the commandante with a noticeable challenge in his eyes.

"He is a criminal, who stepped against my authority. As I was representing the King's power, this makes him a traitor," Monastario said calmly.

For the first time during this evening Monastario received a few truly hostile glances. Just as the commandante expected, Alejandro's eyes lit with anger. A few more remarks like this, and the old fool will betray his son himself, thought Monastario with cold calculation. Perhaps not everything was lost yet. Perhaps he will still have his revenge…

"Traitor is a bit too strong a word, Capitán," observed the viceroy. "We will see, how this masked rider will behave in the future… So far, I heard that he helped to arrest the false magistrado Camero… that he blew up Varga's armory, including the stolen cannon… or that he forced some suspicious French adventurer out of the town…"

"Ah! The fight they had!" exclaimed Don Augustin with admiration. "You should have seen it, Your Excellency!"

"I wish I did," replied Don Estevan with a smile. "I also wish I could thank this man personally for risking his life in a struggle against the Eagle with such devotion. Since I cannot, I will allow myself to make a toast, in hope that even if this man is not with us at the moment, he will hear about it." Don Estevan reached for a goblet with wine, raised it and said: "Señores – to the Fox!"

"To the Fox!" repeated all the others eagerly, raising their glasses. "To Zorro!"

Almost all the others. For Monastario, it was more than he could endure this evening. He ostentatiously put his glass away on the table – and left without the word.

After leaving the party Monastario burst out into the plaza. At first, he strode toward the cuartel, with the intention of locking himself in his office, but then he recalled, that this office is practically no longer his. The whole cuartel was practically no longer his.

He stopped near the well, not sure what to do when he saw Lieutenant Santos returning from the ride on his horse. Having noticed Monastario, the officer rode to him and dismounted.

"Thank you, Capitán," he said. "Riding on this horse is a pleasure. I hope you didn't change your mind about selling him?"

"No," muttered Monastario. "But I think that now it is my turn to go for a ride."

"You are not going to the fiesta?" surprised Santos.

"I have celebrated enough," growled Monastario. He took the reins from Santos, jumped onto the saddle and spurred the horse, leaving the surprised lieutenant behind.

The last buildings of the pueblo quickly disappeared behind his back, as he galloped down the Camino Real. He directed toward the mission but soon left the road, choosing some lesser used paths through the hills.

The dusk was already falling over the sierra, blurring the contours of the rocks, but the white stallion ran firmly and swiftly. The splendid animal was not tired at all and apparently enjoyed the prolonged ride.

The last ride around Los Angeles, thought Monastario. It all feels different when you know it is the last time.

Tomorrow he would send the horse to Santos. He would limit his activities to closing his affairs at the pueblo and packing. Perhaps he would try to introduce Garcia into the archives, without much hope that the sergeant won't put them in the total mess in less than a month.

That's all. No more chasing the shadows. Making plans. Searching for fortune. Going astray. Well, at least not in California.

Monastario halted the horse over a gentle hill and looked at the slopes covered with grass and herbs. It reminded him of the ocean's waves. Perhaps in a few days he will start to enjoy the journey. Perhaps in some time, much longer than a few days, he will even try to draw a lesson from what he experienced in California.

Now he felt too disappointed, too bitter, too disheartened.

He pulled the reins to turn back his mount when he heard a sound – a quiet rustle of grass and soft snicker of another horse.

The masked rider in black attire stood no more than a few yards from him. His horse raised the head, shivering the black mane, floating down in soft waves, just like the silk cape of his master.

Monastario for a moment observed the black silhouette, cutting out sharply against the gentle light of the dusk. Rider and horse looked so ethereal that at first he wasn't sure if it was not only his imagination.

"What are you doing here?" he asked finally, with all bitterness he felt evident in his voice. "Change your clothes and return to the fiesta. Or go there without changing, the viceroy would be thrilled. And there is not much I could now do to you at any case."

Zorro laughed in response as if he didn't acknowledge the grim tone of Monastario.

"Don't you have a blade by your side, Capitán?" he asked encouragingly.

"You want to duel? Why?" asked Monastario with a frown. "You know already you got rid of me anyway."

The Fox for a moment lingered with a reply, until he spoke, carefully choosing words.

"Capitán, for some time we had a ceasefire and you complied with it. There were a few occasions when you could have easily moved against me, and you didn't do it, though I do not doubt that you have been tempted. It seems only fair that I now give you the last occasion to take your chance… Or at least to try to take it," the masked man finished with a mischievous smile. "So, what about this sword?..."

Monastario took a deep breath. One could not refuse such invitation, could he? Even if at this point he already knew, that Zorro – de la Vega – was not easy to defeat in swordplay, that was not the reason to resign from trying...

He dismounted and unsheathed his blade. The Fox followed his example and Monastario couldn't help smiling at the soft shimmer of steel. Strange, but when he looked at the masked man, he didn't feel the need to taunt him with mocking remarks, like when he was talking to Diego de la Vega or his father. He simply wanted to defeat him.

"You know, Señor Zorro," the commandante still couldn't force himself to name the masked man 'Diego', "perhaps you are taking unnecessary risk, offering me this fight. If I win, do not expect me to be chivalrous and let you go."

"Oh, I don't expect it," assured him the bandit and added with the most impudent smile: "but I do not think that the risk of you besting me is too high."

"Ouch, you!..." growled Monastario, all his bitterness and dismay forgotten, as he lunged forward and attacked his enemy.

The Fox for a while remained in defensive, stepping back from Monastario's attacks. However, he deflected each thrust with ease, and moved with deftness in spite of uneven ground. The commandante hoped he won't trip over a stone or tuft of grass, but wasted no time for looking under his feet. He was all in attacks and feints, searching for an opening that would let him slide his blade behind his enemy's defence.

One lucky thrust, he thought longingly. That's all I need. Even the best swordsman might sometimes fail to parry a lucky thrust!

But Zorro didn't fail to parry anything. They circled half of the valley when their blades entwined together and Monastario barely managed to hold the grasp of the hilt. Though this time the Fox didn't disarm him, he pushed him fiercely back, using this moment to seize the offensive. Now Monastario had to move back shielding himself from Zorro's assaults. His steps were disturbed by the obstacles of the terrain. He lost the confidence of his movements, struggling not to fall back, silently praying that he wouldn't topple over in front of his enemy.

When he noticed the massive rock behind his back, he used it as an opportunity to regain the advantage and quickly jumped over it, to shower Zorro with the blows from above. That was a good strategy and his blade slid dangerously close to the cheek of his opponent.

And if I managed to cut this mask off his face!... Monastario beamed at the very same possibility of such victory.

However, the close hit didn't intimidate the Fox, on the contrary. He grinned with his flashing smile and jumped onto the rock just by Monastario's side. Now their blades crossed at the very close distance, the steel gritting and the hilts clashing over and over again. There was no place to step back, for either of them.

Despite his determination, Monastario didn't manage to keep up with the pace of attacks. After few second of the vehement fight he felt his wrist turn on painfully and this time his blade went flying, somewhere into the grass of the valley.

Zorro's blade halted no more than a few inches from Monastario's breast. For a moment both opponents stood motionlessly, catching quick breaths – Zorro with his sword raised and the commandante with empty hands, slowly realizing that he just lost the last fight with the Fox.

Then Zorro lowered his blade.

"That was a good fight, Capitán," he said casually as if they were in the gym hall in Madrid. He jumped off the stone and went in search for Monastario's rapier.

The commandante after a while followed his example. There was no use in staying over this stone like a statue.

"Here it is," Zorro raised the rapier and handed it to Monastario, hilt first. The commandante, reaching for the weapon, hesitated for a moment. If he grabbed the hilt and tried to thrust one quick blow… from such a short distance… But the Fox was still keeping his own blade in the other hand and seemed to read Monastario's thoughts, as he smiled, slightly raising his sword.

How can someone so cocky simultaneously be so cautious? wondered Monastario. He had no choice but to take his rapier and hide it in the sheath.

"You know, that I am leaving," he said slowly. "However, I may come back. And I know who you are. If I come back… Your life might be disturbed, Diego."

Here, he said it.

And, of course, Zorro laughed, his confidence unfaltering neither by Monastario's threat nor by the name he heard.

"Capitán, that's needless," he said lightly. "What's in a name?... I am just an outlaw. And the outlaws never concern too much with the future."

"An outlaw!" Monastario snickered angrily. "You are an outlaw with much to lose. Don't you think that now you could end your game and take off your mask?"

"I am not that unconcerned," Zorro flashed a merry smile.

Well, it was worth trying, thought nostalgically Monastario. Yes, he would very much like to see the face of the Fox. Just to… just to be sure. Because, after all, there could always be still some tiny shadow of doubt…

In the meantime, Zorro started to walk toward his horse, but then turned back with the more serious expression:

"I know that you are leaving, Capitán, and I know that you are leaving far. We won't meet again, at least not soon. However, remember, if you in your new place try to follow your old ways, sooner or later – even if I am not around – you will have to pay the consequences. Just because," the Fox hesitated and some boyish smile appeared on his face, "just because, in spite of everything, there is justice in this world."

Monastario found no words to reply, only snickered angrily and turned on his heel, striding straight to his horse. That was indeed a good fight, but as for sermons, he didn't intend to listen to them.

He was about to climb into the saddle when suddenly he froze.

There was a scabbard with pistol fastened by the saddle.

It must have certainly belonged to Lieutenant Santos, who probably, being a cautious rider, didn't want to ride on an unknown mount with the pistol by his belt, in case the horse would throw him off. He must have forgotten about it on the plaza, and Monastario, in his befuddled state of mind didn't pay attention to it earlier.

Now the pistol was at his disposal.

Without thinking, he grabbed it and turned, taking aim at the Fox. The masked man, alarmed by his sudden movement, also turned around, but it was too late – Monastario already had him at gunpoint.

"You know I won't miss from such distance," said warningly Monastario. He barely dared to believe his luck. Did he finally manage to get an advantage over Zorro… literally at the last possible second? The commandante continued, with growing triumph:

"Now, throw your rapier on the ground. And the mask may follow it."

Zorro didn't throw anything, only slowly shook his head.

"And yet you underestimate me again…" he sighed with mocking disappointment. "You really believe, that I would enter the joust with you, without unloading your pistol before that? After all my efforts, you think I wouldn't take care of such detail?..."

Monastario almost howled with disappointment.

Damn. So close!... For a moment he almost believed his luck. And yet, the Fox outsmarted him, as usual.

"Always so far-sighted, huh?" he muttered angrily, lowering the useless weapon. "And I thought you do not concern yourself with the future."

Zorro laughed heartily and jumped onto the saddle. "Safe journey, Capitán!" he said and reared his horse, raising his hand in a salute.

Monastario hardly fought the will to salute him back.

Pity, that he didn't manage to defeat the Fox. However, he didn't felt that disheartened now. As the matter of fact, he was ready to enjoy the prospect of grey ocean's waves carrying him to the Spanish shores…

Suddenly he froze.

For Heaven's Sake, how did this masker manage to unload his pistol? His pistol? It wasn't even his weapon! It belonged to Santos and all the time was in the scabbard by the saddle! The Fox didn't near to his horse during their meeting!

Led by the very unpleasant premonition, Monastario raised the pistol again, aimed at the nearest slope and pulled the trigger. The shot boomed in the air, the bullet grazed the ground, causing the fountain of earth and pebbles, shattering in all directions.

"Ouch, you blasted treacherous cheater!... Just wait, one day you will pay me for it all!" yelled the commandante somewhere into the dusk falling over the hills.

The shadows around him chuckled in reply.

I just want to mention that there was indeed only one white horse starring in both seasons of Disney show. The same beautiful horse, named King, was Monastario's mount in the first episodes and then Zorro's Phantom in the second season. Anyone willing to learn more about Zorro's horses - check this article: www. /article/flashbacks/2897-flashback-the-horses-of-zorro