Just for the record.
The next chapters take place over two weeks prior to the first chapter.

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Chapter 2

November 14, de Soto's bedroom.

De Soto startled awake and looked around him, dazed, drowning in sweat. As soon as he realized where he was, he let himself sink back into the pillow.
He had that same nightmare again. For weeks, he was haunted by what had happened. De Soto had literally looked death in the eye.
Gilberto Risendo was such a diabolical enemy.

Disguised as the king's special emissary, the devil himself, had come to California. In mere minutes, Risendo took control of the pueblo and sentenced its actual leader to the death penalty.
The only choice, de Soto got granted, was to accept his fate and die with as much dignity as possible. Even that right, was taken away from him.
Against all odds, that lunatic Zorro had come to his rescue. The man must be a fool. For years, he had tried to capture him and left no mistake that when he did, Zorro was to hang.

De Soto swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Knowing by now that he would not be able to resume sleep for the rest of the night.
De Soto thought back to the day in question. He'd been certain his last hour had struck.
Only a complete, mindless idiot would be willing to risk his life to save an enemy.

As it turned out, that day, there had been two mindless idiots in Los Angeles.
The first was his fat sergeant, who had refused to carry out an order given by a high ranked officer.
The second, perhaps most surprisingly, had been Zorro had come to his rescue.
De Soto knew that Zorro had a weird, twisted perspective of justice. He had found this out when pursuing the black-masked criminal, he had stepped onto Indian soil.
Those savages had wanted to kill him. Zorro had then put his own life at stake to prevent it from happening.

Something similarly happened five weeks ago. Zorro had come storming into the pueblo and had managed to do something de Soto, had to admit, rather impressive.
Single-handedly, Zorro had outsmarted over twenty well-trained soldiers.
He had defeated, one of the best lieutenants in the Royal Spanish army, in a sword fight. And Zorro humiliated a representative of the crown.
De Soto refused to admit in the open he was grateful and impressed.
The idiot had chosen it himself to act so foolishly. He had not asked for Zorro to interfere in his life.
Zorro just loved to meddle in things that did not concern him. Had the outlaw been a little more cooperative, everything in the pueblo would be fine. And he would have returned as a celebrated hero within a year after his first arrival.

One of the reasons his men were so untrained was that there were always at least four lancers needed on guard instead of two. Hours of patrolling were wasted chasing Zorro and caused lancers to miss out on hours of much-needed training.
No, de Soto did not feel the slightest gratitude or guilt towards Zorro and his interferences.

How different it was when it came to Alejandro de la Vega.
Also, an annoying meddler, just like Zorro.
However, he had shot the man's son dead. It wasn't his fault. How was he supposed to know Gilberto Risendo was don Alejandro's son? The don hadn't even known himself.
Again, de Soto felt a hint of pity for don Alejandro. The man had believed he had only one son. The son in question was a dull, weak, cowardly excuse of a man. Any father would feel embarrassed having to call Diego de la Vega related to him.

Then the secret got revealed. The reason why this emissary had travelled thousands of miles to come to Los Angeles. It had not merely been to collect an extra war tax. His main reason was to take revenge on his family, who didn't even know of his existence.
When you thought about it, it was a peculiar history, and de Soto could not help but harbour a certain admiration for the man.
Although Risendo had been a wolf in sheep's clothing, he had managed to be successful at a young age.
Risendo could have been an ideal son. He was clever, handsome, talented, and ambitious.
Risendo had not gone to university. He hadn't been able to work his way up through influential contacts. None of that. At a young age, the man had entered the army and astonished his superiors.
De Soto had risked his life to get to where he was now. And he could only imagine what Risendo must have been capable of to gain the confidence to be appointed special representative of the king at such a young age. It was a characteristic they shared. Both of them had fought their way up through cunning and deceit.
Actually, it was sad when you considered that Diego and Gilberto were twin brothers.

Risendo was a skilled leader, talented in the art of fencing. Had the man not been pure evil, he would have been an ideal son for a proud caballero who liked to think his son should be a natural leader of the people.
Gilberto seemed to have all the talents his twin brother lacked. Diego's sole ambition seemed to be to make himself as useless and annoying as possible.
Had things gone differently, Risendo would make a perfect son for the proud don.
Inez Risendo had kidnapped the wrong son.
In many ways, Gilberto was more worthy of carrying the name of de la Vega than Diego ever was.

De Soto did feel relieved it hadn't been Risendo raised by his parents. De old de la Vega was enough of a pain in the ass as it was. Risendo had he brought up with the same high moral standards Diego had in his upbringing, Risendo would make a man to reckon with.
Gilberto Risendo was like the devil himself. Unscrupulous, cruel, and out for revenge. The man knew exactly how to instil fear in the community. And which orders to issue to make the community revolt. All, with the sole purpose, of afterwards, unscrupulously crushing down the resistance.
The few days Risendo was the leader of Los Angeles, its inhabitants had shuddered with fear.
Even de Soto had believed that all was lost, that he was to die ingloriously in this rotten pueblo. De Soto hated to think he had Zorro to thank for being alive.
He hated even more the nightmares haunting him night after night. The sense of guilt he had during the day. He never had these kinds of feelings before. It had to stop. De Soto was going to make it stop.

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November 21, de Soto's office.

Exhausted from an hour-long chase, de Soto and eight lancers returned to the pueblo. De Soto seriously wondered why on earth he was still bothering to chase the black-masked bandit. Time and again, the man had outwitted him. Every time, he and his men returned empty-handed to Los Angeles made him only look even more foolish.

This morning, Zorro had come charging into the pueblo on his black horse. How the man did it, he did it. But somehow, Zorro had known about the bank getting robbed this morning.
Zorro had effortlessly overpowered the four armed bandits and then turned his attention to the lancers. One man after the other had sunk to the ground unconscious.
Afterwards, Zorro turned his attention to him. After a short fight, de Soto got disarmed, and Zorro made him look like some idiot. Struggling to pull his sword out of one of the tavern's wooden pillars.
Zorro had taken advantage of this time to compliment the tavern's owner and place a kiss on her hand.
After de Soto had loosened his sword and was ready to attack again, Zorro had long sat on his horse and galloped out of the pueblo as quickly as he had entered.
Of course, Zorro had restrained his horse and let it mount under the entrance gate to wave at the assembled crowd, cheering enthusiastically because their hero had once again succeeded in preventing a crime from happening and got away safely.
The mob never showed such enthusiasm when their alcalde and his men bravely did their duty.

One by one, the lancers regained consciousness. And after he had given the order to take the robbers into the prison. The horses got saddled, and, against one's better judgment, the pursuit began.
Zorro had this hideous knack for riding to the river that flowed half a mile east of the pueblo, and from there, his tracks seemed to vanish into thin air.
O, de Soto had tried it countless times. He and his men had searched the river for miles countless times. Zorro had to leave the river somewhere. On that spot, there must be hooves visible in the riverbed. All the attempts made had been in vain. It was discouraging.
It was simply frustrating. After four years of countless attempts, de Soto had come no closer to discovering the identity of this nemesis than he had on the day of his arrival.

De Soto got off his horse, handed the reins to Private Torres, and entered his office.
Sighing, he took off his gloves and sat on the chair behind the impressive oak desk. De Soto took his handkerchief from one of his trouser pockets and rubbed the sweat from his face. He was so sick of it. Back then, coming to California seemed like a good idea. These days, for the umpteenth time, de Soto wished he had just stayed in Spain.
He would have found another way to stand out and get rich. Get the honour he sought.
There was a knock at the door. De Soto sat up straight and flipped open a folder of papers to pretend he was busy with paperwork before he said.
"Enter."

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