Author's Note: Yes, I know, three sections from me in two days. What can I say, it's Spring Break. The section after this is a last minute addition, though, and isn't anywhere near done, so I can't promise anything more until at least this weekend.
And if any of this isn't working for y'all, please tell me. Nice feedback is like liquid inspiration, seriously, and I _adore_ getting it, but in theory I'm supposed to want to improve my writing, so the less positive stuff works, too. Plus, should I ever get around to finishing this story some time in this lifetime, I'll probably post it in one of the archives and it would be lovely to be able to edit it according to people's problems.
* * * * *
They did not, in the end, go to town directly. He would need information before dealing with De Soto. He sent a rider to his neighbor Don Ernesto first and then, as it was on the way to town, went to visit Donna Carla, the wife of Don Ciro Esperanza. Like her husband, she was proud, and it gave her the strength to receive Don Alejandro as if it were just another social call, as if her husband were not held captive and her lands not harassed by the outlaws. Don Alejandro, in turn, received what information she had and read the ransom note in kind, ignoring the growing coldness within him, forcing it behind the saving grace of social pleasantries.
"One more thing, Don Alejandro," Donna Carla said as he went back out into the front yard to rejoin his men.
He turned, bowed slightly in her direction. "Yes, Donna?"
"If Ciro dies, though I am a woman and powerless, the alcalde shall pay for it."
He bowed again, more deeply this time. "It has been many years since I have been a soldier, Donna Carla, but some lessons you do not forget. Should such tragedy come to pass, I hope you will call on me, if you find your own arm not strong enough."
She nodded, but something in her face broke. He did her the courtesy of turning back to his horse.
He heard her take a wet, struggling breath. "I was very sorry to hear about Diego, Don Alejandro. My husband has been occasionally outspoken in his criticism of your son, but I was always very fond of him. He would come and play for Consuela and I sometimes . . . his playing was so beautiful, and so very sad."
Her voice weakened at the end and he could for the first time hear the unshed tears in it, but he could not turn around, could not face one frail, aging woman. It was too soon. He did not have the strength to think about Diego yet, could barely stand to have his name spoken. To think about him was to make it real and he had no way of comprehending, let alone dealing with the naked reality of his son's disappearance.
Diego needed him right now. He could not afford to wonder what was happening, imagine what the outlaws might be doing to his pacifistic, well-mannered son who had no taste for violence.
"Go, Alejandro," Donna Carla said, her voice a little stronger.
He mounted up and tipped his head to her, carefully averting his eyes from what he might read in her face.
By the time they reached the pueblo, he was more than ready to face De Soto. Don Alarico and Don Lazaro were standing outside the entrance to Victoria's tavern. They met his eyes and nodded solemnly. Don Ernesto had done his work well.
He nodded in return and they disappeared into the tavern.
That left the alcalde, but he could almost look forward to that.
Mendoza looked so surprised to see him that he did not put up even token resistance as Alejandro strode past the duty desk and into the alcalde's office.
De Soto was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk. In one hand he held a glass of wine while the other casually tossed darts at a crude drawing of Zorro that had been tacked on the wall.
His face darkened. "I thought I had told you, Don Alejandro, that without your masked bandit to protect you you had better be more careful."
Alejandro didn't give him further time to react. The crystal glass made a pleasant crash as it smashed against the ground and De Soto made an even more satisfying thump as Alejandro shoved him into the wall.
"I am here to discuss my son and what you are going to do to help me find him."
De Soto tried to break free, but Alejandro would not move.
"There are soldiers just outside this door."
Alejandro could not help but smile, though it was an expression that had nothing to do with pleasure. "Diego is Mendoza's best friend. How much do you think the Sergeant is going to help you?"
This time De Soto struggled harder and pulled himself free from Alejandro's grip. "Mendoza is not the only one of my soldiers and they are not all friends of the de la Vegas." The smile returned. "You will pay for this. You will lose your lands at the least, if not your life."
Alejandro slammed him into wall again. "If my son is dead, how much do you think the loss of either will matter to me?"
He dropped De Soto and took the barest step back.
De Soto wasn't nearly afraid enough yet, but his face showed that now he knew perhaps he should be. He took a long breath and spent longer than necessary smoothing the fabric of his coat.
"I can see that you are distraught, Don Alejandro. If you were to desist in this foolishness, I think I could find it within myself to forgive the actions of a worried father."
Alejandro clenched his hands at his sides just to keep himself from launching himself at the alcalde again. "Diego always said you were intelligent, De Soto, but all I see now is a fool."
De Soto took a steadying breath of his own. "Careful, Don Alejandro. There are limits to the lenience your understandable grief can buy you."
Alejandro couldn't help but chuckle. De Soto was just so very, very wrong. "I am not _asking_ for lenience, alcalde. Has it not occurred to you how very much danger you are in?"
De Soto laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. "I don't think I have much to fear from a crazy old man."
"I wasn't _talking_ about me, though if it came to that, I think you might find I am not so old as that. We de la Vegas may only share distant kinship to His Majesty, but the King hasn't been known to look kindly on those who disregard his blood, no matter how distant the tie. And Esperanza is uncle to the largest landholder in southern Spain. I think his nephew, a good friend of Her Majesty, might have a few things to say about his uncle's disappearance-and the alcalde who did nothing about it."
De Soto's eyes widened a little and Alejandro stepped closer to him again.
"As you have so emphatically stated, alcalde," Alejandro said, "Zorro is dead. You will no longer be able to invoke his name as a protection against your superiors."
De Soto was too practiced a politician to outwardly react to that, but Alejandro could see it impact him even so.
"I think we understand each other, do we not?" Alejandro asked.
De Soto nodded tightly. "Your arguments are compelling, Don Alejandro."
Alejandro heard noises from the outer office and turned to go before the return of De Soto's soldiers stored up his courage.
"Don Alejandro."
Alejandro paused in the doorway and looked back.
"You may have received what you came for, but do not think this day will be without repercussions."
Alejandro nodded. He had never imagined otherwise. "And if anything has happened to Diego, do not hesitate to believe that I will use every influence I have to see that you share in those repercussions."
De Soto inclined his head a little.
Yes, they understood each other perfectly.
Mendoza gave him a long apologetic look as Alejandro walked out beyond his desk, but he didn't say anything. Alejandro paused and took a deep calming breath. Diego would not want him to blame the Sergeant. The Lord knew that Mendoza suffered from the alcalde's rule more than anyone.
"Sergeant Mendoza," Alejandro said, finding his refuge in formality. "I hold you accountable for much of what has happened since I left Los Angeles. I am aware that this is possibly unfair and that I perhaps owe you an apology for my behavior of earlier today."
He could not, however, offer one, not even for Diego's sake.
But Mendoza, as Alejandro had always suspected, was more perceptive than he looked.
"I do not care what the alcalde says, Don Alejandro," he said, straightening. "The men and I have been talking. We are going to start searching for Don Diego and the others. I should have before now. Don Diego is my friend and I . . ."
The Sergeant shook his head and wiped at his eyes with a handkerchief. Alejandro felt the first genuine smile of the day lightening his expression. The Sergeant was a sentimental man. Alejandro almost envied his ability to give in so publicly into his emotions.
"I have no doubt that you will do what you can."
Mendoza pulled himself up and gave Alejandro a curt nod. Alejandro left, feeling older and infinitely more weary now that his anger at the alcalde had been given vent. The shadows in the plaza were lengthening, reminding him that the day was reaching its close and he was no closer to finding his son, had only barely begun to look.
_He will be all right. Juan is right. If anything had happened to him they would have abandoned him. Think on that._
The men he'd asked Don Ernesto to gather were waiting for him in Victoria's tavern. The mood of the crowd, thin despite Alejandro's guests, was subdued, entirely unlike the usual boisterous dinner atmosphere.
Don Hector stood and clasped Alejandro on both shoulders. "By the Virgin, it is good to see you, Alejandro. Now that you have returned, we can set things to right again."
They all looked at him, joyful relief shining in all of their eyes. Did they all really expect him to save them? What did they expect him to do? He was not Zorro, not some hero to come riding out of the sunset and have the alcalde checked and the bandits in chains safely in time for supper. He felt a sudden unexpected sympathy for Zorro, who had, for so many years, borne the complacent expectations of the townspeople that he should always be there, that they need make no effort on their own to rescue themselves.
Well, now Zorro was gone, probably dead, and where did that leave them?
He'd been quiet for too long and the relief in the Dons' faces was beginning to die. He was angry, too tired to fight it. These were caballeros, men of wealth and influence, not defenseless peasants. If they'd worked together to fight the outlaws weeks ago, they wouldn't be here now.
But now was no time for recriminations, and he needed these men.
"Come friends," he said, trying to infuse welcome into his voice. "We have plans to make."
And if any of this isn't working for y'all, please tell me. Nice feedback is like liquid inspiration, seriously, and I _adore_ getting it, but in theory I'm supposed to want to improve my writing, so the less positive stuff works, too. Plus, should I ever get around to finishing this story some time in this lifetime, I'll probably post it in one of the archives and it would be lovely to be able to edit it according to people's problems.
* * * * *
They did not, in the end, go to town directly. He would need information before dealing with De Soto. He sent a rider to his neighbor Don Ernesto first and then, as it was on the way to town, went to visit Donna Carla, the wife of Don Ciro Esperanza. Like her husband, she was proud, and it gave her the strength to receive Don Alejandro as if it were just another social call, as if her husband were not held captive and her lands not harassed by the outlaws. Don Alejandro, in turn, received what information she had and read the ransom note in kind, ignoring the growing coldness within him, forcing it behind the saving grace of social pleasantries.
"One more thing, Don Alejandro," Donna Carla said as he went back out into the front yard to rejoin his men.
He turned, bowed slightly in her direction. "Yes, Donna?"
"If Ciro dies, though I am a woman and powerless, the alcalde shall pay for it."
He bowed again, more deeply this time. "It has been many years since I have been a soldier, Donna Carla, but some lessons you do not forget. Should such tragedy come to pass, I hope you will call on me, if you find your own arm not strong enough."
She nodded, but something in her face broke. He did her the courtesy of turning back to his horse.
He heard her take a wet, struggling breath. "I was very sorry to hear about Diego, Don Alejandro. My husband has been occasionally outspoken in his criticism of your son, but I was always very fond of him. He would come and play for Consuela and I sometimes . . . his playing was so beautiful, and so very sad."
Her voice weakened at the end and he could for the first time hear the unshed tears in it, but he could not turn around, could not face one frail, aging woman. It was too soon. He did not have the strength to think about Diego yet, could barely stand to have his name spoken. To think about him was to make it real and he had no way of comprehending, let alone dealing with the naked reality of his son's disappearance.
Diego needed him right now. He could not afford to wonder what was happening, imagine what the outlaws might be doing to his pacifistic, well-mannered son who had no taste for violence.
"Go, Alejandro," Donna Carla said, her voice a little stronger.
He mounted up and tipped his head to her, carefully averting his eyes from what he might read in her face.
By the time they reached the pueblo, he was more than ready to face De Soto. Don Alarico and Don Lazaro were standing outside the entrance to Victoria's tavern. They met his eyes and nodded solemnly. Don Ernesto had done his work well.
He nodded in return and they disappeared into the tavern.
That left the alcalde, but he could almost look forward to that.
Mendoza looked so surprised to see him that he did not put up even token resistance as Alejandro strode past the duty desk and into the alcalde's office.
De Soto was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk. In one hand he held a glass of wine while the other casually tossed darts at a crude drawing of Zorro that had been tacked on the wall.
His face darkened. "I thought I had told you, Don Alejandro, that without your masked bandit to protect you you had better be more careful."
Alejandro didn't give him further time to react. The crystal glass made a pleasant crash as it smashed against the ground and De Soto made an even more satisfying thump as Alejandro shoved him into the wall.
"I am here to discuss my son and what you are going to do to help me find him."
De Soto tried to break free, but Alejandro would not move.
"There are soldiers just outside this door."
Alejandro could not help but smile, though it was an expression that had nothing to do with pleasure. "Diego is Mendoza's best friend. How much do you think the Sergeant is going to help you?"
This time De Soto struggled harder and pulled himself free from Alejandro's grip. "Mendoza is not the only one of my soldiers and they are not all friends of the de la Vegas." The smile returned. "You will pay for this. You will lose your lands at the least, if not your life."
Alejandro slammed him into wall again. "If my son is dead, how much do you think the loss of either will matter to me?"
He dropped De Soto and took the barest step back.
De Soto wasn't nearly afraid enough yet, but his face showed that now he knew perhaps he should be. He took a long breath and spent longer than necessary smoothing the fabric of his coat.
"I can see that you are distraught, Don Alejandro. If you were to desist in this foolishness, I think I could find it within myself to forgive the actions of a worried father."
Alejandro clenched his hands at his sides just to keep himself from launching himself at the alcalde again. "Diego always said you were intelligent, De Soto, but all I see now is a fool."
De Soto took a steadying breath of his own. "Careful, Don Alejandro. There are limits to the lenience your understandable grief can buy you."
Alejandro couldn't help but chuckle. De Soto was just so very, very wrong. "I am not _asking_ for lenience, alcalde. Has it not occurred to you how very much danger you are in?"
De Soto laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. "I don't think I have much to fear from a crazy old man."
"I wasn't _talking_ about me, though if it came to that, I think you might find I am not so old as that. We de la Vegas may only share distant kinship to His Majesty, but the King hasn't been known to look kindly on those who disregard his blood, no matter how distant the tie. And Esperanza is uncle to the largest landholder in southern Spain. I think his nephew, a good friend of Her Majesty, might have a few things to say about his uncle's disappearance-and the alcalde who did nothing about it."
De Soto's eyes widened a little and Alejandro stepped closer to him again.
"As you have so emphatically stated, alcalde," Alejandro said, "Zorro is dead. You will no longer be able to invoke his name as a protection against your superiors."
De Soto was too practiced a politician to outwardly react to that, but Alejandro could see it impact him even so.
"I think we understand each other, do we not?" Alejandro asked.
De Soto nodded tightly. "Your arguments are compelling, Don Alejandro."
Alejandro heard noises from the outer office and turned to go before the return of De Soto's soldiers stored up his courage.
"Don Alejandro."
Alejandro paused in the doorway and looked back.
"You may have received what you came for, but do not think this day will be without repercussions."
Alejandro nodded. He had never imagined otherwise. "And if anything has happened to Diego, do not hesitate to believe that I will use every influence I have to see that you share in those repercussions."
De Soto inclined his head a little.
Yes, they understood each other perfectly.
Mendoza gave him a long apologetic look as Alejandro walked out beyond his desk, but he didn't say anything. Alejandro paused and took a deep calming breath. Diego would not want him to blame the Sergeant. The Lord knew that Mendoza suffered from the alcalde's rule more than anyone.
"Sergeant Mendoza," Alejandro said, finding his refuge in formality. "I hold you accountable for much of what has happened since I left Los Angeles. I am aware that this is possibly unfair and that I perhaps owe you an apology for my behavior of earlier today."
He could not, however, offer one, not even for Diego's sake.
But Mendoza, as Alejandro had always suspected, was more perceptive than he looked.
"I do not care what the alcalde says, Don Alejandro," he said, straightening. "The men and I have been talking. We are going to start searching for Don Diego and the others. I should have before now. Don Diego is my friend and I . . ."
The Sergeant shook his head and wiped at his eyes with a handkerchief. Alejandro felt the first genuine smile of the day lightening his expression. The Sergeant was a sentimental man. Alejandro almost envied his ability to give in so publicly into his emotions.
"I have no doubt that you will do what you can."
Mendoza pulled himself up and gave Alejandro a curt nod. Alejandro left, feeling older and infinitely more weary now that his anger at the alcalde had been given vent. The shadows in the plaza were lengthening, reminding him that the day was reaching its close and he was no closer to finding his son, had only barely begun to look.
_He will be all right. Juan is right. If anything had happened to him they would have abandoned him. Think on that._
The men he'd asked Don Ernesto to gather were waiting for him in Victoria's tavern. The mood of the crowd, thin despite Alejandro's guests, was subdued, entirely unlike the usual boisterous dinner atmosphere.
Don Hector stood and clasped Alejandro on both shoulders. "By the Virgin, it is good to see you, Alejandro. Now that you have returned, we can set things to right again."
They all looked at him, joyful relief shining in all of their eyes. Did they all really expect him to save them? What did they expect him to do? He was not Zorro, not some hero to come riding out of the sunset and have the alcalde checked and the bandits in chains safely in time for supper. He felt a sudden unexpected sympathy for Zorro, who had, for so many years, borne the complacent expectations of the townspeople that he should always be there, that they need make no effort on their own to rescue themselves.
Well, now Zorro was gone, probably dead, and where did that leave them?
He'd been quiet for too long and the relief in the Dons' faces was beginning to die. He was angry, too tired to fight it. These were caballeros, men of wealth and influence, not defenseless peasants. If they'd worked together to fight the outlaws weeks ago, they wouldn't be here now.
But now was no time for recriminations, and he needed these men.
"Come friends," he said, trying to infuse welcome into his voice. "We have plans to make."
