Diego rested quietly for almost four days before he grew restless. The doctor forbade reading, writing, leaving the bed, and long conversations. He was limited to short talks with Victoria, a few with his father, and long rests helped by cactus tea.

At the end of the third day, Diego was anxious to start to do things. His shoulder was less painful, and encased in the sling it wasn't easily knocked. He didn't see the sense in being confined to bed any longer. The next day would be different, he decided. Even if he had to break the unnecessary rules.

Victoria had been persuaded to stay in the guest room not far from Diego's. It was best for her reputation, and since that was starting to worry Diego it was done quickly. It was out of character for her to want to stay so long, Diego thought, but it was comforting. Being injured had obviously brought out her caring and nurturing nature, but soon her responsibilities would pull her away from him again.

Diego had said something earlier in the week, and had been surprised at Victoria's reaction. She had flushed into a pretty blush, something he could never remember her doing before. It softened her features, making her even more beautiful than he had thought her before. He tried to remember what he had said, but even a memory of two days ago eluded him.

His fingers itched to find a pen and paper, eying his small desk with longing. Just to write down what he did remember, and to try to reason out the gaps that seemed to widen a little more every day. A timeline, even. Victoria wouldn't answer his questions, and there were things he didn't know enough to even ask about. Alejandro was the same. Something about the doctor's orders. It was the general excuse that was repeated.

The morning light was faint, but told him the day had started. No one seemed to be about to visit him, or be on the threshold of his door with early coffee, so Diego gingerly placed his feet on the floor on the side of the bed. He waited for the dizziness that sometimes overcame him at sudden movements, but nothing occurred so far. He made his way to the wardrobe, and removed a shirt and trousers, vest and jacket. If he was quick enough he could walk somewhere, write in a journal, and be back before they worried.

In his excitement he moved a little too quickly, and had to pause. He held onto the door of the wardrobe and took several steadying breaths, fighting against a mild dizzy spell. He'd have to go slowly, and hope for the best. There was no real rush. They had let him sleep late during his recovery, and they wouldn't check on him for a while.

Where could he go? What rooms would be quiet and out of the way enough for him to concentrate and think? The old nursery and old school room that had been his quarters as a small child had been abandoned for now, regularly dusted but not attended to rigorously. Felipe had his own space, a room close to Diego's. Diego wondered why he hadn't seen the boy since his accident, not for very long anyway.

Felipe had seemed tired when he did visit. The teenager was filling out a little, getting stronger and broader as he aged. He must do a lot of riding and activities for his father, Diego thought, wondering why he felt that there was more to it. He thought for a moment about the subject, searching the damaged memories for clues, but nothing came to mind. The nausea that was becoming so common with searching his memories slowly climbed to the surface, and he had to abandon it.

He would go to the old school room and use his tutor's old desk to write on. If he got tired he could rest on the old nursemaid's bed. It wouldn't be as comfortable as his own larger bed, but it would be somewhere to rest.

He would have to deal with worried family members sooner or later, but he would try to get back to his own room before eleven o'clock. They seemed to want to rouse him around that time, if only to dose him with more cactus tea after a light breakfast.

He pulled on his boots, and gathered his materials, before easing the door open silently. He scanned the hallway for activity, listening for voices of servants or Victoria. She seemed to wake at the slightest sound, and he reminded himself of secrecy and stealth. He walked the hall with no interruption, keeping his footfalls as soft as possible. The nursery wing was on the other side of the hacienda, a fair distance to walk, but he covered the distance with no great difficulty.

Diego managed to open the door to the old school room. It swung on well oiled hinges, but smelt of old air. The curtains were closed, with sunlight peeking from the edges. It faced south, to allow more sun in winter and less sun in summer, and it was out of sight from the front of the hacienda. It faced a garden of fragrant herbs and flowers that his mother had planted, Diego remembered. He remembered the perfumes that used to waft through the open windows, and seeing his mother smile and wave from her work.

He was a little startled. How was that memory from the earliest days of childhood so present in his mind, when so many others evaded him? All it had taken to spark it into life was the room itself. The curtains that were closed. He moved across the room to open them, allowing sunlight to flood the room. He almost expected to see his mother in the garden. He awkwardly shifted the window open, with his good arm, jarring his left shoulder a little. Breathing in, he could smell the perfume of the roses and the other plants blooming outside. Gardeners tended them now, not his mother. No one was in sight this morning.

Diego sighed and rubbed his sore shoulder. The doctor had assured him that the collarbone was well on the way to recovery, but it would take a few weeks for it to fully repair. He had eyed him carefully as he had told him that, and Diego couldn't imagine what he seemed to be looking for. The head injury was more to worry about, but he didn't need Hernandez to tell him that.

He remembered enough to know that he had forgotten many things, probably important things. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells, testing the waters, when they visited his room. Worried about telling him something he didn't remember, or asking him something he couldn't answer. It was uncomfortable and unnerving.

Diego sat at the desk, and realised there was no ink for the ink well. He searched the drawers and found a pencil. A pencil was better than nothing, he reasoned. The desk was well lit from the windows, and he started to write a timeline.

Zzz

Victoria was alerted to Diego's disappearance by the young maid that had brought Diego's breakfast to an empty bedroom. She raced to the room with concern, thinking to prevent any further concern for Alejandro who was trying to manage the estates once more.

The room was empty. The bed was unmade, and the nightshirt discarded on the chair. The door of the wardrobe hung open, and papers had been moved on the desk. She sighed, and wondered where on earth Diego could be. He wasn't well enough to venture out of bed alone. How far could he have gotten in his weakened state?

Think, she told herself. She knew that he was Zorro now, and not the weak man everyone thought he was, but he was hurt and not thinking properly. He was bored, but what would he do to relieve that boredom? Thoughts of masks and stallions were brushed aside. She wasn't even sure he remembered that part of his life, although the capability was just under the surface. Think like Diego, she told herself.

What did Diego like to do? Had all of his interests merely been a way to pretend he wasn't Zorro? Of course not, she thought. How could anyone pretend that intensely? He genuinely liked what he liked, he had to.

He liked to draw and paint. He liked music. He liked writing and reading. He liked learning and the sciences. He liked to ride and explore the countryside...let's not get ahead of ourselves, she told herself. She had started to shake with worry. Most of the things he liked were indoor pursuits, and were much more likely.

So, Diego was probably seeking somewhere he could pursue his interests. Somewhere inside the hacienda. Someone would have noticed if he had left the house. Someone would have noticed if he had taken one of the horses from the stable. He hadn't done that.

Somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. Somewhere people wouldn't accidentally find him. She sat down at the desk in Diego's room, and stared into space for a moment in thought. She blinked and noticed that his favourite pen was missing from its stand, and an idea was forming in her mind.

Somewhere out of the way? Some room no one used anymore. Somewhere safe for a man with few memories and more confusion than could be explained. Maybe his mother's room? Victoria remembered how close Diego had been to his mother.

She got up and walked to Elena de la Vega's old room. It was bright and beautiful, cleaned daily, and presented as if Elena herself would walk in at any moment. It took Victoria's breath away, but there was no Diego.

What other rooms were not in use? She struggled to think of any. She glanced out the French doors that opened out into a beautiful garden, filled with roses and perfumed plants. She had never seen anything so lovely in her life, and then she noticed a room with curtains spread wide open.

A maid had followed her into the room, and out into the garden.

"What is that room over there?" She said pointing to the one where the curtains were wide open. It seemed out of place, especially as the rooms next to it were shut off.

"That's the old school room," the maid said. "No one goes there, there's no reason these days. Felipe uses his own room these days."

Victoria knew without a doubt where her friend was. She glanced at the maid.

"No word to anyone else," she said softly. "Can you take me there? I'm sure I don't know the old rooms."

The maid nodded, and together the two women made their way to the nursery wing of the hacienda.