Author's Note: As promised, here's the end of this arc. I'll probably take a couple days' break before posting what further happens to Mendoza now that the Imperial soldiers are out of the way and, in the process, how things develop between Zorro and Victoria.
Thanks again to my faithful reviewers. You really make it fun to post a story. Do you like how things have worked out so far?
To katie1999: What a great idea! I've been doing more of a 3rd person, omniscient POV throughout. When I entitled the story "Mendoza's Story," it was because I'm planning to give him the attention and happy ending that usually is reserved for the "main" characters (i.e., Victoria & Diego (and sometimes Felipe)). I actually hadn't thought of writing the story first-person, from Mendoza's POV, but I can see how that would give it a novel twist-hard to pull off, like you said, because of limited knowledge-but really interesting.
Mendoza sat alone in his cell wondering if he would ever be released. No one paid him much attention and there wasn't much to do during the long hours alone. Three times a day, someone would bring him his meals. Sometimes a lancer dropped off a sock to darn or a torn piece of clothing to mend. It helped fill the time and gave him a small sense of usefulness. He was somewhat surprised when Sanchez came by his cell.
"What brings you here?" he asked, looking up from his seat on the bunk along the wall.
"My men say that you are good with a needle. I wondered if you could fix this jacket for me…it has a slight rip," replied Sanchez with a trace of embarrassment.
Mendoza got up and came over to the bars. He took the jacket from Sanchez and held it open, exposing the neat "Z" sliced into the material. Mendoza looked at it and breathed in sharply, "Zorro." Then, looking back at Sanchez, he asked, "How did this happen?"
"We had a visit from Zorro last night in the alcalde's office," replied Sanchez. "Does he often leave this kind of calling card or were we given special treatment?"
"No" responded Mendoza. "Zorro always does that. In fact, that is why I have gotten so good with a needle. I am always repairing the alcalde's clothing or my own!" Mendoza almost laughed at some of the memories of previous encounters between Zorro and the alcalde that came back readily to his mind. But then he remembered where he was and how he got there and his face lost its smile. "I'll fix it for you. It will be almost as good as new. Come back tomorrow and I will have it ready."
He was glad Zorro had made an appearance. Things always seemed to get better once Zorro got involved. He wondered what Zorro had been doing in the alcalde's office. But there was no one to ask. Sanchez had left and the hallway was empty again. A feeling of helplessness and uselessness washed over Mendoza. He returned to his bunk and picked up his needle and thread.
It was several hours after midnight when a dark shadow passed across the window bars. A glimmer of light began to play across Mendoza's sleeping form, moving back and forth across his eyes. Mendoza shifted uneasily in his sleep, then blinked. The light flashed once more across his now-open eyes, then disappeared. Mendoza was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he heard a low-pitched whisper from the window, "Sergeant Mendoza!"
"Who is it? What do you want?"
"Shhhhhhhhhh," came the reply. "Come to the window."
Mendoza rose and went up to the window. In the moonlight he could make out the shape of a man dressed all in black. "Zorro!" he blurted." "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," came the reply again.
"Have you come to get me out of jail?" asked Mendoza, not sure if this would be a good idea or not.
"No," replied Zorro softly. "If I released you now, you would only be hunted down as an outlaw. But I need your help, Mendoza, for a job that only you can do."
"But Zorro, I can't do anything. I'm locked up in this cell. How could I possibly help you?"
Zorro explained. "Yesterday, I searched the alcalde's office. I found the new orders that were to be given to the Imperial soldiers but the alcalde hid them so that the soldiers would not leave. The orders are on a paper that is hidden behind the alcalde's painting of Machiavelli. Someone has to tell the soldiers that they are there. If I try, they won't listen to me and even if I could tie them up so that they didn't shoot me first, they wouldn't believe me. But from one soldier to another, they will believe you if you tell them to look for them there."
Mendoza was about to refuse on the grounds that he had no way to get out to talk to Sanchez and the others when he remembered the jacket. "Si, senor Zorro, I will try."
Zorro took a step back from the window. Some gravel crunched beneath his feet and the sound echoed against the walls of the surrounding buildings. A guard called out, followed by the sound of boots running. Suddenly Mendoza heard a small explosion and saw a puff of smoke in front of the soldiers. Within seconds guns were dropped as each man was overcome by paroxysms of coughing. Mendoza, still standing near the bars of the open window, caught a whiff of the outside air. It burned his nose and made him cough, like the time he had spilled pepper on the table and accidently breathed some in. Fortunately, a slight breeze cleared the air within minutes. But the "damage" was done–Zorro had once again escaped.
Sanchez came by after breakfast to retrieve his jacket. "That Zorro sure is a bag of tricks. I was sure we'd catch him last night when the guard found him outside the cuartel. But he escaped without us being able to fire one shot! No wonder it has been so hard for the alcalde to catch him."
"Si, you are wasting your time trying to catch the fox. And the worst of it is that you will suffer for it."
"What do you mean?" asked Sanchez. "Is he a killer?"
"No," replied Mendoza. "I have never known Zorro to kill anyone on purpose. But you will suffer when your superiors come to realize that you disobeyed your orders."
"What are you talking about? The alcalde is our superior officer in this town and we obey his orders to the letter."
Mendoza looked directly at Sanchez. "The alcalde has tricked you just like he has tricked many other people. You have no idea, Sanchez, but I know this man. He has betrayed many people. He is betraying you right now. You know the penalty for a soldier that is absent without leave. You were given new orders but you have not obeyed them because the alcalde hid them so you wouldn't know about them and would stay here. The new orders are behind his painting on the wall. Look for yourself. You'll see." Mendoza handed Sanchez his jacket and continued to stare at him.
Sanchez put on the jacket without answering. What was this man saying? Was he just trying to start a problem between the new soldiers and the alcalde so that he could get his position back? Or did he know something? Could it be true? From what he had seen of the alcalde, he wouldn't put it past him to have done such a thing. But if he had, this was a very serious matter. Sanchez and his men could face a court-martial, especially if the local people complained about some of the things that they had been doing lately. They could say that they had only been following orders but if the alcalde chose to deny it… The situation was very serious indeed, but he needed to keep a cool head and first find out if the whole accusation was true. For that, he needed concrete proof. Mendoza had said that the orders were hidden behind a painting in the alcalde's office. He would just have to check it out.
Sanchez sent most of the soldiers on the day's patrols, then he took a couple of men and went to look for tracks from Zorro's last visit. He could see where the horse had started off—the tracks were deeper and farther apart in a gallop than those left by regular visitors to the pueblo. Unfortunately, no one had thought to warn the soldiers leaving on patrol duty to watch where they went and their tracks had obliterated Zorro's within a few yards of the gate. Sanchez and his men followed the trail for a mile to see if anything turned up farther down the trail but Sanchez was not surprised by the lack of results. Like a good soldier, Zorro knew to cover his tracks. Sanchez told his men to join up with the patrol working in the area before turning back toward the pueblo. He put his horse in the stable, then sat down at a desk with a view of the plaza, writing up a report of the previous night's action. He wrote slowly, waiting for the time to pass. When he saw the alcalde cross the plaza and enter the tavern for lunch, he got up and moved toward the office. Watching the tavern through the window he went over to the painting and slid his hand along the wall behind it. His fingers touched something solid that seemed stuck to the wall. He drew it out—it was a folded piece of paper. Quickly putting it in his pocket, he left the office. Then he walked over to the stable, got his horse, and rode out of the pueblo.
A mile away, Sanchez brought his horse to a stop under a grove of trees. He took out the piece of paper and unfolded it. He gasped and his face hardened. The signature and seal of General Montoyez, clearly displayed at the bottom, clearly proved the authenticity of this document. Here were indeed orders to the Imperial soldiers to report immediately to Mexico City to help defend the capital against the rebellion. The orders were over a week old! Was the alcalde crazy, ignoring these orders? Or had he thought he could get away with pretending they had never arrived? Was it possible that De Soto would even have dared to say that he had transmitted the orders but that the Imperial soldiers had defied him and stuck around to continue terrorizing the people? He didn't know and, for the moment, he didn't care. All that mattered was to get his men together and respond as quickly as possible to these orders. He refolded the paper and tucked it back into his jacket. He would go back to town and wait for his men. They would leave first thing in the morning, before dawn.
Mendoza woke up to shouting in the cuartel. It was still dark out and he wondered if Zorro had returned, but he heard no shots. Instead, he clearly made out the alcalde yelling at the soldiers and threatening them with desertion. He heard Sanchez' voice say something in reply but it was too low for him to make out the words. Then came the sound of a group of horses moving off. Finally, nothing. A rooster crowed in the distance.
A few minutes later, De Soto came into the hallway of the jail with two lancers. He ordered one to unlock the cell. Mendoza rose to his feet wondering what was going on. "As of today, you are back in charge of the men," said De Soto. "Organize the patrols to start immediately after breakfast." Without further word of explanation or apology, De Soto turned on his heel and left. When he was out of sight, the two lancers welcomed Mendoza back with an arm around his shoulders and a pound on the back. It was a good feeling.