The friend, the foe and the fox
This is the continuation of the reality presented in my story "Old friends return", but it describes entirely new adventures, so you do not have to read the first part to understand the thread. The only thing you have to know is that Diego is married now, with a very nice girl of course:)
It is a simple adventure story, not too deep and not too serious, written for fun to make readers laugh. I hope you will be able to visualise it as some additional episode from the movie.
Of course I do not own the characters that belong to Disney. I am not Disney. If I were, I would finish his show properly. With grandchildren!
The warm thanks IcyWaters for corrections, suggestions and comments. Without her wanting to read the next chapter this story probably never would be finished... Thank you!
Beware beginnings
"Don Diego! What a horse you have!" exclaimed Sergeant Garcia with amazement, when he saw me crossing the plaza. I was just returning from the horse auction in Monterey and by my side danced anxiously the stunning foal, white as milk.
"Real beauty, isn't he?"
"Oh yes, and not only that, he will be fast as wind when he starts riding! Perhaps even faster than Zorro's horse!"
"I hope I will never have to find it out," I smiled, trying to calm the animal, scared by the loud voice of the big sergeant.
During our conversation a few passersby stopped to admire the horse, our new magistrado, Damián Peraza among them.
He is a young, brilliant lawyer, just after studies in Madrid. His ambitions were much higher than the office in the dusty, small pueblo at the end of the word, but in spite of his intelligence, without support of high-standing relatives, he didn't manage to find any other position.
"Nice horse, Don Diego," he said reluctantly, and added with malicious grin, "Not too spirited for you?"
Magistrado Peraza doesn't like me very much.
The disappointment made him bitter, and now he treats with resentment all wealthy haciendados, whose lives have been so much easier than his. He could eventually tolerate hard-working rancheros, as my father, but toward such lucky idlers as me, he holds near the shadow of envy, the deepest contempt.
I am already used to ignoring his animosity.
"Oh, he is not for me," I explained with the serene smile. "I bought him for my wife."
Some of the gathered onlookers couldn't restrain from laughing. Damián Peraza snickered dismissively and turned back to watch the merchant's stand with fine Spanish and Italian swords.
Our magistrado has namely one passion quite uncommon for lawyers: fencing. From what I heard, it is his favorite entertainment to which he devotes most of his free time. I would very much like to try with him once, but it is rather not possible. I might fight only as el Zorro, and, as the magistrado is severe, but unimpeachably honest in his judgments, it is unlikely that he will ever meet the Fox on his path.
No, magistrado Peraza may mock me, but I do not have to trouble myself with him. The most serious problem I have right now - apart from my sweet wife, of course - is my new friend, Jose Manuel Barcelo, Capitán Barcelo, now exercising with some lancers in front of the cuartel. He smiles and waves to me, silently applauding the horse and signing that he cannot talk to me at the moment. That's all right. He will visit me this evening, we will taste a new shipment of Madeira and chat. Capitán Barcelo has many common interests with Diego de la Vega: books, wine, even music... He plays the piano quite well. No wonder that we soon became friends.
The problem is that my friend Barcelo is here to kill me.
That story began only three weeks ago. I was returning from a few days trip to Santa Barbara, to order the annual supplies for the rancho. I always leave Los Angeles reluctantly – what happens if there is some task for el Zorro? However, sometimes I just have to go. It would be quite suspicious as well, if all our business would be done by my father. I went alone, this time having left Bernardo in the hacienda. I felt better, knowing that Rosa will be safer under his silent guard.
I did what I had to as soon as possible and was on my way back, making the last stop before Los Angeles in the inn on the crossroads. I was just quickly finishing my meal, when three masked, armed men rushed into the tavern shouting: "Everyone against the wall! Keep your hands up!"
Well, well, one week away and already such a mess after my return?
I went calmly to the wall, keeping my hands up and stood quiet, when the robbers started to gather purses and jewels. I did not intend to fight - there were too many people in the tavern. My secret is worth more than my purse. Yet, something was telling me that three bandidos would soon have a visit from another masked man. Then I could use Padre Benitez to return the robbed valuables to their owners.
However, my hopes for putting a simple and quiet end to this adventure were in vain. When their leader approached me, instead of taking my money, he stopped in front of me and looked at me attentively:
"Hey, I know, you, dandy. You are the young de la Vega. Cowardly caballero with the fiery wife."
"I am Diego de la Vega," I answered calmly. There is no reason to overreact when someone says in my face what people usually tell behind my back.
"Great. So you go with us. Your father will gladly pay a nice ransom for you." He grinned.
I almost cursed aloud. I hoped that at the evening I would be eating the late supper with Rosa, now instead of that, I would be bound for the company of lousy desperados. Well, these are the consequences of neglecting one's duties: el Zorro makes vacations and decent people cannot rejoin their families on time.
To calm myself I imagined big "Z's" on their jackets and promised not to linger too much with bringing that idea into life. As for now, I just let them lead me out of the tavern, hoping that misled by my passive behavior, they will forget to bind me and I will be able to... get lost somewhere in the meantime. Unfortunately, they did not, although the leader threw some mocking remark that from what he had heard about me, it was quite unnecessary.
They took me to their hiding place, a small cave in the mountains. I remembered its position, decided to wait patiently for the ransom and then return here in more suitable... outfit, when I noticed a curled, moaning man laying under the stone walls of the cave. He was bound and badly beaten, so that he looked rather like a bundle of bloodied rags than like a man. His chest must have been badly bruised and the tight binds on his arm caused difficulties in breathing.
"Unbind that man," I asked them. "His wounds must be taken care of, or he will die."
"So let it be. It is not your business," answered the leader shrugging his shoulders.
"I will pay the ransom for him too, but he must survive," I proposed, hoping that I would tempt them with money to take care about their prisoner, but he only laughed.
"I will get what I want for you alone. My scores with this man are different and you better stay away from it!" he warned me.
"Unbind him and let me see to his wounds!" I shouted quite furious, but the only result I achieved was the punch into my jaw, that sent me into another corner of the cave.
The banditos laughed and I decided that there would be no use in continuing that conversation. I lay quiet, pretending to be stunned and calculated the time. If I wait for the ransom, it will take at least two days until I will able to get back here on Tornado. The wounded man would probably not last so long.
So, there was no other choice. I decided we were getting out of there right now.
There are three things that made our premature departure possible. The first is that the bandito usually drink to celebrate the good spoil. The second that only theoretically the warden watches the prisoners without getting a wink of sleep. And the last one – that, although as Diego de la Vega I never wear a weapon with me, in such turbulent times it is always advisable to have some ace in your sleeve – or blade in your shoes.
So, when the banditos were suitably drunk, my binds cut and the guard drowsing, I knocked him down with ease. The other two got alarmed with the sudden movement, but... these were only two half-drunk men, with far less expertise than mine...
When they were all stunned, I rest for a moment, quite satisfied. It has been a long time since I had an occasion for a good fight. However, satisfaction faded when I noticed that the wounded man, although half-conscious and feverish, watched me with the glittering eyes. It was not good that someone saw me fighting.
Yet, there was nothing I could do, but continue as planned. For a moment I wondered what to do with the robbers. If I would bind them and send here the lancers, Diego de la Vega would have to explain his surprising success. Eventually, I left them as they were, leaving them to run away when they wake up. It will be a pleasure for the Fox to hunt for them once more. I only scared away their horses, so that they couldn't follow us too soon.
The last animal I kept for me and my unknown friend. I tried to dress quickly his wounds as I could, pulled him on the saddle and climbed behind him, taking him home as soon as possible.
The fresh air must have had good influence on him, as when we arrived at the hacienda and my father, alarmed with the noise, welcomed us on the patio, he recovered consciousness for a moment.
"Where... am I?" he asked, curling with the heavy cough.
"In the de la Vega hacienda, Senor. Near the pueblo of Los Angeles. You are safe now. My son and I will take care of your injuries," answered my father, while I tried to sustain him and slowly lead him to the bed.
"Los Angeles?" the stranger asked with sudden interest.
"Yes. You have some family here? Some friends?" asked my father with the shadow of anxiety, throwing the worried glance of me. I shared his feelings. It wouldn't be good if this man had someone in Los Angeles to whom he could praise my last achievement.
"No... no family..." he coughed, grabbing my arms for support. "I am on.. assignment... Capitán... Barcelo... Jose Manuel... Barcelo." I kept him stronger, when the new attack of cough came.
"Assignment?" asked my father, while I was laying him on a bed.
"Temporary... assignment... to catch the outlaw... el Zorro..." he leaned on me, fighting for breath.
Great. Just great.
For a moment he must have felt better, as he continued a bit stronger.
"But I would never reach this place without you, Senor.. They would have.. killed me..." he coughed and turned to my father: "Your son saved my life... he is a real fighter, Senor..."
Even better.
We nursed Capitán Barcelo in the hacienda with the help of his young niece, who arrived from Santa Barbara as soon as we let his family know about his condition. Luckily, he was a strong man and healed very quickly. I was relieved about his health, yet full of worst premonitions about his memories. I know very well, how important the first impression is... Had I the chance to repeat that night in the cave, I would certainly have to do the same, but I would act with more caution. However, it was no use crying over the spilt milk. Instead, we did our best to picture for him quite another Diego de la Vega than the man he got to know during that dramatic night, hoping to suppress his memories, already unclear because of pain and fever. So, when he started to praise me once more, my father lifted incredulously his eyebrows:
"My son has many merits, Senor, but God knows that being a fighter is not one of them... Only in the most ultimate situations can he show some energy... and courage, I am afraid. It is lucky, that on that night he was able to behave as any decent man and Christian should, and help you... And it is a luck indeed, that those men were drunk..." he laughed with sad irony.
"Diego? Diego did it?" lamented anxiously my Rosita. "Oh, God, it is such a luck, that he came home alive after all this! Overexertion makes him always feverish!"
I, on my side, tried to be the muster of a polite and peaceful scholar, interested only in his books... and good wines. I even offered to entertain him playing the piano. To my surprise, he graciously accepted it. Capitán Barcelo, although the fierce soldier himself, had much appreciation toward finer pleasures, as for the member of the old, aristocratic family befits. So, soon Diego de la Vega got the closest friend he ever had in Los Angeles, since his return from Spain.
Finally the day has come, when Capitán Barcelo was fit and healthy again, and able to undertake his mission. I only hoped that till that time I managed to charm him enough, so that when he, while investigating the records of Zorro's offenses, learns that I was accused of being the Fox on more than one occasion, will only put the reports aside with the amused smile.
The fact that today on the plaza Capitán Barcelo greeted me with usual friendly smile strengthened my hopes, so in a good mood I rushed home with the white foal.
"Good purchase, Son!" exclaimed merrily my father, when I arrived at the hacienda. "Full-blood, isn't he? It will be the finest horse in our stud one day!"
"Do not be so rush with taking him to your stud, Father. He is not for you, only for Rosita," I teased him, but he looked at me outraged.
"Have you lost your mind, Diego? A horse? For the woman in her condition? It is dangerous!"
"Uh... I haven't thought about it," I admit confused. "But aren't you exaggerating a little, Father... I will make sure that..."
"Heaven knows, Diego, you behave reckless like a boy! You will never manage to keep her away from him! Just tell her it is for someone else. We will hide him somewhere outside the hacienda, and you will give it to her later. After the childbirth."
"All right," I nod. "I will train him for her in the meantime."
We exchange the glances of two conspirators, strengthening ourselves mutually in our resolution.
"Just... do it like a diplomat, Diego. You are far better in such things than me," adds my father suddenly weak, looking anxiously at Rosa, who just appeared on the balcony.
After the week of absence I was even more than usual surprised how lovely, how radiantly she looked. It is still hardly noticeable that she is with child. To tell the truth, for me she looks just the same as usual, but something must have changed, as for some time she has developed the habit of staying in front of the mirror and lamenting that she lost her figure and looks terrible. Usually, she finishes her complains with putting the blame on me. She puts the blame on me for many things in general - I haven't been shouted at so much since the drill exercises during my studies...
However, I prefer that than the fate of my father. Each time when he tries to do something that is not to her liking, she immediately cries, looking at him as if he was going to murder her favorite kitten – or as the very same kitten to be murdered. I especially like that part when she asks him sobbing whether he regrets letting her live in his house. It makes our brave man of action capitulate and withdraw in a second. I guess that my father was so obsessed with the theoretical idea of having grandchildren, that he overlooked some practical aspects of this issue…
Yet now Rosa is beaming with joy, as if she hadn't seen me for months, not for only one week.
"Diego! You are back!" she flies down the stairs and throws herself on my neck. I also feel as if I hadn't seen her for months. "Oh, what a lovely foal! For me, isn't he?"
"Of course," I answer with a smile, couldn't take my eyes off her.
My father shakes his head, so I add hastily:
"But you will be careful, won't you? He has to be trained. You cannot ride him yet. And do not get too near to him, please."
"Of course, Diego, whatever you want," she answers so quickly that I guess she wasn't listening to me at all, caressing the horse that gratefully accepts the favors, finally calming down with her soft voice.
"And what sort of diplomacy was that?" whispers angrily my father, but lowers his voice so that Rosa wouldn't hear him.
"Well, anyway, maybe now she will stop cuddling Tornado. It is even more dangerous," I try to defend myself, but my father only sighs heavily:
"For Heaven's sake, Diego, I wanted you to tell her the truth, but not necessarily to show her the entrance to the passage!"
Then, resigned, he raised his voice and informed me: "Capitán Barcelo will eat with us at supper tonight. Together with Sergeant Garcia."
That surprised me a little. Why Barcelo chose to visit us accompanied not by his niece, as usual, only by the sergeant? The capitán behaved toward Garcia with the faultless politeness – No, Sergeant, I didn't come here to take the command from you, only to help you – yet with well-articulated superiority, which doesn't let our acting commandante forget that the capitán and he are from different words. So, the poor sergeant always felt uncomfortable in the presence of the dashing capitán. They didn't socialize too much. Why now were they coming together? I got the answer after supper.
"Don Diego, I would like to ask you for a favor. Thanks to your hospitality, I am perfectly well again, and it is time I seriously start fulfilling my duties. I allowed myself to bring today Sergeant Garcia with me, so that we could together discuss the best strategy to catch this outlaw I came here for," states Barcelo, as we finished th meal.
"But, Capitán, I am afraid I will not be of much help," I stutter surprised. "I have never had much to do with the Fox..."
"Please, Don Diego - I need any help you could grant me. I am a stranger in this pueblo, I do not know to whom I could trust."
How true.
So we three sit in the sala, with anxious Bernardo serving the wine and waiting under the wall – very foreseeing near the carafes and vases, so that he could break something and create a little commotion, in case the conversation takes an uncomfortable direction.
Capitán Barcelo opens our war council.
"So – what exactly do we know about so called el Zorro?
"Exactly – nothing, mi Capitán," reports competently Sergeant Garcia.
"Please, Sergeant, this man appeared here on dozens of occasions in the last two years! There must be some clue to his identity."
"He wears the mask," I remind.
"Yes, I know. But does it cover his whole face?"
"No, only the eyes..." admits Garcia.
"So, that's something! The rest: his jaw, mouth, nose – does he remind you of someone? Has he got any peculiar markings? Any scars?"
"Well, he looks... normal," replies the sergeant after the moment of consideration.
Thank you, Sergeant. That is exactly what I think looking in the mirror.
"He usually appears at night, in darkness," I add, hoping to discourage the capitán from pursuing that subject.
"I know that too, but I know also, that our lancers, especially Sergeant Garcia, met him on few occasions during the day. You must be able to describe him somehow, Sergeant! Do you recall any detail about his face? Anything?"
"He has a mustache," says slowly Sergeant Garcia, apparently acknowledging that fact for the first time. Capitán Barcelo questions seem to do miracles and I really do not like it.
"Great! What kind of mustache?"
"Well..." Sergeant Garcia looks around in search for inspiration. When his eyes fall on me for a moment he beams, but he quickly tries to return to his normal expression. "Well.. just a mustache. Everyone has the mustache!" he exclaims, shaking his head.
Whether it is because of the sympathy Sergeant Garcia feels toward the masked swashbuckler, or because he would like to catch el Zorro himself – I get the feeling that my dear sergeant is not very eager to help the capitán.
"True, true..." mumbles Barcelo, running his fingers over his own trigged mustache. "So, what can we do?"
"I know!" I think I should show some good will. "You could ask all men in Los Angeles and surrounding areas to try on the mask, and see whether the lancers will identify him!"
"All men?...:" The capitán's face goes low, especially when Garcia adds:
"That is exactly what Commandate Monastario did after his first encounter with the Fox!"
"Was it of any use?..."
"Well, no... But we spent the whole day wandering from one hacienda to another... only to arrest poor Benito... But I think that the commandante just wanted him out of his way to the Senorita Elena Torres. That is the story, mi capitán! It all started with Senor Torres..."
"It is all right, Sergeant, we are not here to listen to it now," Barcelo waves his hand, not hiding the disrespect. I guess he must be getting tired. "What else... He must be young, if he is in such good physical form, but how young? In his twenties? Thirties?"
We both sit silent for a few seconds, until I explain apologetically:
"As I said, he usually appears at night..."
"And his build? Is he low, high? Slim, or heavy-muscled?"
"He usually wears the cape..." starts Sergeant Garcia, but the capitán interrupts him almost shouting:
"For God's Sake, Sergeant, I'm starting to think that you have never seen this man at all!"
"He is very tall," states the sergeant with the offended voice.
I was about to stand up to pour ourselves more wine, but I resign and wave for Bernardo to do it.
"How tall exactly? Six feet? Seven?"
"Six. Or rather seven," explains the sergeant.
His answer may be quite confusing, so I hurry to help him:
"No, not so much. Six and the half the most. I would even say less. Much less."
"So," concludes Capitán Barcelo through clenched teeth, "he is a young or middle-aged man, with covered eyes, normal face, undefined built and the height from six to seven feet."
I agree that we aren't very helpful...
Capitán Barcelo paces thought the room, while the sergeant and I sit innocently waiting for further questions. Suddenly he stops:
"How does he fence?"
"Excellently!" beams Sergeant Garcia with such admiration that I pour him another glass of wine.
"Yes, but, how? As the man who was trained by the professional instructors – or just the talented self-taught?"
I only spread my hands – the area of fencing is totally strange to me. So the capitán turns to Garcia:
"You are a soldier, Sergeant, you were trained. You must be able to tell me something about his style. What kind of moves, what kind of blows does he use?"
Sergeant Garcia considers the issue with such concentration, that I can see the veins on his temple.
"Effective ones, mi capitán!" he reports finally.
Silence. Silence, in which we hear only Barcelo's steps.
"How does he speak? As the commoner or as the caballero?"
Ouch. Please, my friend, do not exclude vaqueros from the circle of suspicions. It would put me in a very difficult position. There are not so many young – or middle-aged – caballeros in the neighborhood. Luckily that subject is a bit too abstract to the poor sergeant, so it is my turn.
"You know, Capitán, I think I can help," I say as if struck with the sudden idea, "I have never heard him speak any foreign language."
Capitán Barcelo looks defeated.
"So, if we have no clue to his identity, we must catch him in his mask. How is it possible that no one has yet defeated him?"
"Oh, he is just better," hurries to explain Sergeant Garcia. "He is the best with the sword, and the whip, and the pistol. And he has the best, the fastest horse. There is no man who could equal with him."
I start to enjoy the evening. On the contrary to Capitán Barcelo.
"Thank you, Sergeant Garcia, for your reassuring opinion," he hisses.
He is evidently not able to speak with the sergeant anymore, so he turns to me:
"How can I make him meet me, Don Diego, face to face? How can I make him come out of his hiding?"
"Usually," I say with hesitation, "people trying to catch the Fox used some innocent victims as the bait. Even I was such bait ones," I remind the old plot from the Eagle's time, when I was too blind to see how dangerous the beautiful commandante's wife was. I hardly managed to get away that time... Sergeant Garcia turns red and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He made me into the trap that time. I forgot it as soon as I was free, but I guess he never forgave himself... For a moment our eyesights cross. I smile to him as friendly as I can, but he lowers his head.
There is no other way I could comfort him right now, so I just continue:
"When innocent lives are at risk, he always comes to rescue them."
"How disgusting!" Capitán Barcelo shivers. "There is always a way to defeat an enemy with courage and technique, not with the mean deception and harming the innocents. There must be some other way."
"El Zorro only rides to fight against the injustice," I say gently. It is more than the answer to his question; I almost plead him to understand my mission and to abort his.
But the dashing, disciplined soldier does not understand.
"There must be some way, and I will find it," he promises, clenching his fists.
When we say goodbye and Capitán Barcelo is already on the patio, mounting his horse, Sergeant Garcia still lingers in the room. He looks at me with unusual attention and I can see deep confusion on his face.
"Strange thing, Don Diego," he says finally, "If I had to compare the Fox to someone..."
"Yes, Sergeant?" I encourage him with the serene smile, though my heart beats a little faster.
"Eee... nothing, Don Diego, nothing... Stupid thoughts. It has just been a long day." The confusion disappears from his face, making place for his normal, languorous smile. "Good night, Don Diego."
Good night, indeed!...
