THE RIGHT TURN OF THE ROAD
Chapter 2
Sergeant Gonzales shielded his eyes from the sun, wishing that he could get away from the scorched streets. He was sweating in his uniform, and it was already time for lunch. Normally at this hour, he would have been sitting in some tavern with good food and wine and chatting with his friends. Today, however, it looked like there would be no end to his misery.
About an hour ago, Commander Raymond had marched to the barracks, demanding why Lieutenant Gabriel hadn't come to his office at the appointed time. Gonzales had told him he hadn't seen the lieutenant at all that day, and then he had let slip that they had failed to capture Zorro that very morning. Needless to say, Raymond had nearly snapped and had spent a good quarter of an hour dressing down every man within hearing distance.
"He should relax a little," he muttered as he thought back to it. There was no need to get that upset just because Lieutenant Gabriel wasn't there. Gonzales didn't have any idea where his superior could have gone, but he was certain that it was a better place than the streets. What he wouldn't have given for a glass of something to drink.
He turned around when he heard the sound of an approaching wagon. He smiled in delight when he realised that it was Diego and his father. He always enjoyed Diego's company. That man had a refreshingly relaxed attitude about life, and he never missed the chance to play cards or buy Gonzales something to drink. Even more than that, he was one of the few people who treated him with respect instead of always mocking him or yelling at him.
"Good day!" he greeted the two men as they got closer.
"Good day, Sergeant. We were just looking for you," Don Alejandro said.
"Oh? You had better make it fast. I'm on duty, and Commander Raymond is going to have my head if we don't find Lieutenant Gabriel soon. He has gone missing."
Alejandro and Diego glanced at each other. "I'm afraid we can help you with that," Alejandro said in an apologetic tone.
"What do you mean?" Gonzales asked.
"Lieutenant Gabriel was brought to our home this morning. He has been shot," Alejandro said.
"What?" Gonzales blurted out, taking a surprised step back. When had the lieutenant had time to get shot? Where and by whom? And why would he be brought to the de la Vegas? None of it made any sense!
"Is he alright?" he asked.
"He has lost lots of blood, but Dr. Timothy says that he'll live if the wound doesn't get infected."
Gonzales felt his head spin, and he had to lean on the wagon for support. He couldn't imagine the tall and strong lieutenant getting hurt like that. It was just inconceivable. This couldn't be possibly be real.
"What happened?" he asked.
"We don't know. Zorro brought him to us this morning. The lieutenant was wearing Zorro's clothes," Alejandro said.
"What?"
This just kept getting more and more bizarre!
"We don't understand it either. We thought it might be some plan of the army," Diego said.
"No, I know nothing about that. The only plan we've had lately was to use dogs to capture Zorro." That had been a complete failure, as usual. Zorro had even shown up at the barracks this very morning, looking as cocky as he always did.
"Wait a minute!" Gonzales exclaimed when something suddenly occurred to him. There had been two Zorros that morning. His men had spent a good while chasing the first one. The one that had talked to him at the barracks had been the real one, he was sure of that. He had assumed that the first one had to be an accomplice who had lured the soldiers away, but what if…?
"What is it, Sergeant?" Alejandro asked.
"I know what happened! The first Zorro was Lieutenant Gabriel!" Gonzales said.
Alejandro was staring at him with a confused look in his eyes whereas Diego looked more surprised than baffled. Gonzales quickly explained his idea to the two men and told them everything about what had happened that morning.
"It makes sense," Alejandro admitted with a thoughtful hum.
"But that means the lieutenant was shot by his own men," Diego mused.
Gonzales felt a chill go down his spine. He hadn't even thought of that! That made everything even worse. There would no doubt be an investigation into the matter, and somebody would be blamed for the incident. He could only hope it wouldn't be him.
"Oh, no! Just what are we going to do?" he wondered out loud and buried his face into his hands.
"Now, don't worry about it yet. What's important is to make sure the lieutenant recovers," Alejandro said.
"Of course. You're right," Gonzales admitted. He made some quick decisions in his mind and continued, "I'll have to inform Commander Raymond of what has happened. Someone will be there to pick up the lieutenant so that he won't be a burden to you."
"Oh, that's no trouble. The doctor recommended at least a few days of rest before he should get up," Alejandro said.
"Has the lieutenant said anything?" Gonzales asked. Knowing the man's temper, taking care of him had to be a dreadful task. He didn't even want to think about the yelling and cursing that would fill the barracks once he was back. Maybe it would actually be preferable to be arrested so that he wouldn't have to deal with Gabriel.
"No, he's still unconscious," Diego replied.
"Well, I'm sure he'll say more than we ever want to hear when he wakes up," Gonzales muttered. He shook his head. "But I'll have to get going. I need to inform Commander Raymond of this."
"Of course. Don't let us keep you," Alejandro said.
"Oh, dear. Oh, dear. How are we ever going to deal with this?" Gonzales muttered to himself as he turned his back on the men and started a reluctant trek to the army headquarters. This would cause so much trouble to everyone that he didn't even want to think about it. And of course, he felt sorry for Lieutenant Gabriel, too. Being triumphed by Zorro like this would wound his pride and make him furious.
"Ow, ow, ow!" Bernard dropped the knife he was holding and grabbed his thumb. He grimaced at the pain and the droplets of blood that trickled through his fingers, muttering curses under his breath.
Maria turned to look at him with a sigh. "What is it? Haven't you still learnt how to cut vegetables?"
"I can do it! I was just careless," Bernard lifted his fingers to see the wound, but it was not serious. He had cut himself countless time when helping Maria in the kitchen.
"Here, wrap this around it," the housekeeper said and handed him a clean rag. Once Bernard was done bandaging his thumb, he picked up the knife and was about to continue his work. He let out a surprised yelp when Maria grabbed the knife from his hand.
"Hey, I can do it!" he protested.
"I know, but I'm not letting you handle the vegetables when you're bleeding. I'm almost done here anyway. If you want to be useful, go and see how the lieutenant is doing."
Bernard gulped. He had done his best to avoid thinking about Gabriel. Despite what Diego had said, he still felt like he was partly responsible for what had happened. His outburst in the cave made him blush with shame. What kind of weakling was he? He was supposed to be Zorro's helper and not cry like a little child.
Everything he had said to Diego had been true. He didn't feel guilty for what had happened to Gabriel. The man had caused so much pain to others that it was simple justice that he had to suffer. Just the previous night he had sent his dogs after Zorro. Bernard would never forget the excited gleam in Gabriel's eyes when the dogs had been about to tear Zorro apart.
And yet, despite all of this, he couldn't bring himself to feel happy about what had happened. Seeing another human being injured like that had been a shock to Bernard; his hands still trembled when he thought about it. Even if Gabriel's fate was justified, it made Bernard sick to think that he had played a part in it.
No, I can't be this weak, he thought. He was almost ten years old. He was no longer a useless child. He was Little Zorro, and he had no reason to be scared of anything.
"Well, what is it?" Maria asked.
"Nothing! I'm already on my way!"
He hurried out of the kitchen before Maria could ask anything else and only stopped when he was in the hall. There he hesitated for a moment, but then he clenched his fists in determination and marched upstairs to the guestroom. He didn't stop to listen at the door but opened it without thinking so that he wouldn't have the time to have second thoughts.
Bernard didn't know what to expect when he entered the room. He had been there countless times in his life, and he was still surprised when it looked exactly the same as before. Light was pouring in through the large windows, several shelves filled with books stood to his right, and a massive bed dominated the left side of the room. Somehow he had thought that the familiar room would look dark and gritty now.
He slowly approached the bed, holding his breath without noticing it. He stopped to stand a foot away from it and spent a good moment looking at the sleeping man. He didn't often stand close to Lieutenant Gabriel and whenever he had to do it, it was never a fun experience.
Gabriel's face was as pale as Bernard remembered it from the morning. Thin lines of pain or annoyance – Bernard couldn't really tell – marred his face and made him look like he was frowning at something in his dreams. His breathing was so shallow his chest was barely moving. Bernard thought he looked like a corpse.
"This is what you get for messing with Zorro," he muttered, but his voice didn't sound as vengeful as he had been hoping. He crossed his hands on his chest and glared at the lieutenant, but after a while he started to feel a little silly. Gabriel didn't even know he was there, and talking to an unconscious man wasn't very satisfying.
He waited a little longer to see if anything would happen, but there was no change in the lieutenant. Shrugging to himself, Bernard turned to leave the room and returned to Maria.
The lieutenant didn't wake up all day, but nobody in the house was able to forget about him for long. Maria kept an eye on him and muttered to herself about how much extra work she was doing for one of the worst people she had ever known. Diego listened to her complaints with some amusement, knowing that despite her annoyance, she would never turn down anyone who needed help.
Sergeant Gonzales dropped by in the afternoon, but he didn't get much out of his visit. He said half of the reason he had come was to get away from Commander Raymond, whose bad mood had worsened exponentially. Diego was glad the commander himself hadn't bothered to show up; having that snake inside the walls of his home always infuriated him.
"Maybe you should come back after he wakes up," he suggested to the sergeant and invited him to stay for dinner in return for his troubles. Gonzales was quick to agree.
Now it was already dark, and everyone in the house had retired for the night. Diego waited for a while until everything was quiet and then slipped out of bed. All through the day, he had been thinking about Lolita and her hostile behaviour. He knew he had to talk to her, but not as Diego.
Soon he was dressed in Zorro's disguise and climbed out of his window. It was slower and clumsier than usual since he was still wounded, and he had to stop to steady his breathing once he was on the ground. Then he went to get Viento and started his ride towards Lolita's house.
When he approached the house, he saw a small light in Lolita's room. No doubt she wanted to talk to him as well. He dismounted Viento and left him outside the gate. Once he was sure there was nobody in sight, he crept under Lolita's window and threw a small rock at it.
The window was pushed open at once, and Lolita's head popped out.
"Zorro," she whispered, sounding both relieved and oddly apprehensive.
"I have the feeling you have many questions for me," Zorro said.
"Yes. I'm coming down." Lolita closed the window and disappeared from sight. Not long after, the front door was opened and Lolita stepped out. She was still dressed in her nightgown, but she had wrapped a large scarf around her to give herself some modesty.
She closed the door behind her and slowly turned around to face Zorro. For a moment, they only stared at each other in the colourless moonlight. Zorro recognised unfamiliar hesitation in Lolita's eyes. She didn't make a move to approach him.
"I haven't been fair to you. I burdened you with a task I knew you wouldn't like and gave you no explanation," he said.
"What happened today?" Lolita asked.
"It's… not a story that's going to make me look too good." The local people always said that Zorro wasn't afraid of anything. That wasn't true; Zorro feared many things. In the back of his mind, there was always the thought that he could fail at protecting the people or that someone he loved might be hurt because of his actions. At this moment, however, the worst fear he had was that Lolita would hate him for what had happened.
"Did you shoot him?" Lolita asked at once, fright evident in her voice. She was looking at him with such desperate eyes that Zorro felt relieved to give her the answer she wanted to hear.
"No, that wasn't me. He was shot by one of his own men."
Lolita's shoulders slumped as she let out a sigh. "I shouldn't have doubted you."
"You had every reason to be suspicious."
"No. No, I didn't. I should have known that you'd never shoot a man in the back, not even someone like Lieutenant Gabriel," Lolita said with a shake of her head. A small smile was playing on her lips, and her features had softened.
"I'm still not entirely innocent. I'm the one who made him wear my clothes. I tied him on my horse so that the soldiers would go after him," Zorro explained. He kept a small pause, searching Lolita's face for signs of disgust or hatred. "But you must believe me. I never wanted this to happen."
"I believe you. I know you're a good man."
"Aren't you angry?"
"Why should I be angry? You haven't done anything wrong. The lieutenant has only himself to blame. If he wasn't so terrible, he would have never got into any trouble," Lolita said. She lowered her eyes and continued in a quieter tone, "I feel bad about it, but I almost think this was a good thing to happen. Now Gabriel can't terrorize the people for a while."
"You're right. And don't worry about it. It's natural to feel that way."
"I'm glad," Lolita said. Then the smile on her face suddenly disappeared and she took a step closer to Zorro. "But what about your injuries? You were badly hurt last night."
"Don't worry about me. I'm already better."
Now there were only a few feet between them. The moonlight was reflected in Lolita's blonde hair that fell around her shoulders and framed her face. The scarf hid her skin from view but didn't nothing to conceal the shape of her arms and chest. She was so beautiful; Zorro wanted nothing more than to embrace her, but that would have been inappropriate in their current circumstances. Besides, he wanted Lolita to love him as Diego, not as Zorro.
"And I should be going. I don't want you to spend the whole night outside," he said. He bowed to Lolita and turned around with a swish of his cape, stepping into the shadows of the trees.
"Be careful," Lolita called out after him.
Zorro stood in the darkness and watched her, making sure she made it back inside the house. Once she was out of sight, he leaned against the tree behind his back and closed his eyes for a moment.
She's an amazing woman, he thought. Lolita was strong, independent, caring, friendly, beautiful… He would never run out of praise for her. There were times when it was frustrating that he couldn't tell her the truth about Zorro, but he knew it was for the best. She would no doubt want to help him, and he didn't want to expose her to such danger.
One day, when the land was no longer plagued by all this injustice, he'd tell her everything. He could only hope that she wouldn't be angry with him for keeping the truth from her for so long.
The first thing he became aware of was the dull pain somewhere to his right. His mind was too foggy for him to locate it or understand where all of this discomfort was coming from. He felt hot and as if he was suffocating, but he didn't have the strength to do anything about it. He could only briefly wonder what was going on.
He drifted in and out of such a state; sometimes he was sure he was awake, and other times there was nothing but darkness and pain. During his more lucid moments, his mind was filled with images of Zorro and the sound of a gunshot. Had Zorro been shot? By him? Or had Zorro shot him?
Slowly but surely, the muzzy thoughts became clearer. The pain also became more pronounced, but he almost preferred the sharp luminosity to the confusion of not knowing where he was and why. At least now he got to be in control of what was going on in his head.
Gabriel opened his eyes. He had to narrow them at once; the light pouring in from the windows was too bright for his liking. For a moment he only lied there with his eyes closed and tried to make sense of the situation.
He was in bed; that much was clear. His right shoulder felt like it was on fire, and the slightest movement made him grit his teeth against the agony. What had happened? Where was he? He tried to think back to his last clear memory, but all that came to his mind was how he had ordered those vicious dogs to hunt down Zorro and –
Zorro! That bastard had –
Gabriel's eyes widened and he tried to sit up, but he regretted it at once. He groaned at the explosion of pain in his shoulder and was forced to fall back on the sheets, gulping for breath and trying to ignore the burn. The small movement had been enough to make his head spin, and he needed to lie still for a moment before he felt he could think clearly again.
He had been shot. Zorro had forced him to wear his costume, and his own men had shot him. The memories were a little hazy, but his anger was still burning bright. He could have died, and now he was injured and in pain because of that piece of scum! But he would have his revenge, he thought as he growled to himself. As soon as he was feeling better, Zorro would feel his wrath.
He opened his eyes again, taking a closer look at the room this time. He didn't recognise it, so he wasn't back at the barracks. It looked more like a guestroom in some rich landowner's house. He wondered how he had got there.
Just as he was growing impatient with his inability to do more than lie there, the door opened. He didn't know who or what he had been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been this.
"Diego!" he blurted out. His voice came out as a dry rasp, and he realised only now how thirsty he was.
"Ah, so you're awake, Lieutenant." Diego closed the door behind him and took a few steps closer. "We were starting to get worried. You've been asleep for nearly four days."
"What?" Gabriel asked. How had he got to the de la Vega estate? Of all the people he would have liked to see upon waking up, Diego was nearly on the bottom of the list. He could hardly stand the lazy weakling when he was in a good mood. Now that he was tired and in pain, just looking at him made his head hurt.
"Yes, you developed a fever. Dr. Timothy says it's normal with injuries like that, but you've lost so much blood that he wasn't sure if you were going to wake up," Diego went on, talking in an agreeable voice. His face was plastered with an airy smile that made Gabriel want to punch it away. What did that idiot want from him?
"You must be thirsty. Here, let me pour you some water," Diego suggested. He didn't wait for an answer but reached to take a glass and a jug from the table next to the bed.
Gabriel tried to sit up again, this time carefully enough to avoid fast movements. He didn't want to face Diego lying down like some sick cripple.
"Maybe you shouldn't move just yet," Diego said at once and handed the glass of water to Gabriel.
"Don't you try to tell me what to do," Gabriel growled. He took a sip of the water. It was warm and stale, but that didn't matter to him.
"But you should let the wound heal first."
That's right. The wound. Until now, Gabriel had only thought about the pain, not what was causing it. He had been shot; he was lucky he was still alive. He glanced down at the bandaged shoulder and was glad to see that it was still there. He had once seen a man's side be blown off from the force of a musket shot.
"How bad is it?" he asked, dreading the answer. The thought that maybe he wouldn't heal properly chilled him and filled him with such panic that the bed he was in felt like a prison. He would have to be alright. There was no other possibility.
"Well," Diego said, running his fingers through his hair, "I must say I wasn't really listening to the doctor. But since you're awake, it shouldn't be too bad," he said.
It didn't surprise Gabriel that this idiot hadn't been paying attention at all. He had probably come to visit him by mistake, taking the wrong door on his way somewhere else. He wished he was back at the barracks where he would at least be surrounded by semi-competent people.
Then again, Sergeant Gonzales would be there.
"Why am I here?" he asked.
"Zorro brought you here after your accident."
Thankfully, his first painful experience that day had made Gabriel a little wiser, so he didn't try to jump out of bed in anger at these words. Slitting his eyes and glaring at Diego with such fury that the fool visibly gulped and backed away had to suffice this time.
"Accident?" he growled. "That was no accident. Zorro did that on purpose to have me killed by my own men!"
"No, no. I just can't believe that Zorro would do that. I mean, he's a good man and… um…" Diego trailed off, blinking slowly as he seemed to realise that he was choosing all the wrong words for the situation.
"You're such an idiot! Zorro is a piece of scum! As soon as I'm better, I'm going to get back at him!" Gabriel snapped. Oh, he'd enjoy that. Forget about dogs and muskets and other tricks. He'd defeat Zorro in a duel and have revenge for what the rebel had done to him. Zorro would die with Gabriel's sword through his heart.
"He did save your life," Diego pointed out.
Gabriel blinked, too stunned for words for a moment. How did Diego even dare suggest something that outrageous? Zorro hadn't saved him. He had caused everything! He had probably brought him here just to play the hero, or to make him feel guilty, or to avoid trouble for causing an officer's death. Well, it wouldn't work. Gabriel would never feel gratitude; he'd hunt Zorro down and see that he died like a dog.
"How dare you even suggest –" he started, but he stopped when he saw the expression on Diego's face. For once the young man didn't look like a complete idiot. There was a serious look in his blue eyes, and if Gabriel hadn't known better, he would have said Diego was trying to read his reaction to his words.
The moment was gone so soon that he thought he had to have imagined it. A smile returned to Diego's face, and he rubbed the back of his head with a nervous chuckle.
"Oh, what am I saying? I shouldn't be troubling you with things like this," he said.
"At least you're right about one thing."
"I think you should get back to sleep. You must still have a fever, and it can't be good to be up talking," Diego said.
Gabriel's first reaction was to yell that he didn't have to take advice from someone like Diego, but he thought better of it. He did feel tired and sluggish, like his mind was fuddled by bad wine. He didn't like feeling so helpless, but maybe Diego had a point.
"Why am I still here?" he asked as he slowly lay back down on the bed.
"Dr. Timothy thinks it's not a good idea for you to move yet. The army knows about what has happened, and you can return to them as soon as you feel strong enough," Diego explained.
Gabriel closed his eyes. "What about Commander Raymond?" He could easily picture the man before his eyes, standing straight with his horsewhip in his hands, his eyes gleaming with malice. Gabriel knew he'd be in for a horrible dressing-down when he returned to the barracks.
"I don't know. We've only spoken to Sergeant Gonzales."
Gabriel didn't bother replying. A moment later, he heard the door open and close, and he knew Diego had left the room. For a while he just lay there, trying to do his best not to think about his pain or the terrible possibility that his injury could be serious. It was far more pleasing to imagine what he would do to Zorro once he was well again, but even those thoughts became tiring after a while. Before he even noticed it, he had fallen back to a bothered slumber.
The next time Gabriel woke up, he could hear muffled sounds coming from the hall behind the door to his room. The light coming through from the windows had an orange tint to it, so he supposed he had to have been sleeping for hours. At the very least his head felt a lot clearer than before.
He turned to look when he heard the door open. Dr. Timothy stepped in, and Gabriel could see Don Alejandro standing in the hall behind him. The old man chose not to enter and closed the door behind the doctor.
"Oh, you're awake, Lieutenant. Diego told me he spoke to you earlier today," Timothy said.
"Yes, unfortunately he did."
"Now, now, let's not be grumpy. You'll heal a lot faster when you're happy and positive," Timothy said in a determined tone and with a wide grin on his face. Gabriel frowned in distaste, wondering if the doctor was drunk again. He'd never understand how he could still be working with all his constant drinking.
"What reason do I have to be positive?"
"For starters, your shoulder is still connected to your body," Timothy pointed out. He pulled a chair for himself and took a seat by the bed, leaning his arms against the backrest as he sat the wrong way on the chair. He looked more like an overenthusiastic child than a doctor.
"I hope you're not trying to be funny because I fail to see the humour in this situation," Gabriel said. How dare that quack doctor make fun of him? Didn't he realise who he was dealing with?
Dr. Timothy closed his eyes and sighed. "No, I'm not trying to be funny. I'm just saying things as they are. Believe me, you're lucky you're still alive." When Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, the doctor quickly continued before he got a single word out, "No, let me finish. I'm not joking. You've lost so much blood that I can't expect you to stand up without feeling fatigued. If you had received treatment only a moment later, you would have never woken up."
The doctor straightened his pose and crossed his arms on his chest. "And that's my final opinion as a professional," he concluded.
Gabriel swallowed. He knew that every word the doctor spoke was true, but it was hard to stomach the facts. The thought of his own death filled him with uneasiness and dread, even now that the worst was over. He could remember the panic and terror in the forest when he had thought he would bleed to death there. He'd never felt so helpless before.
Dr. Timothy saw the emotions on his face and flashed him a comforting smile.
"Don't worry. Now that you're in my hands, we'll have you patched up in no time," he said.
"What… what about my shoulder? Is it going to heal well?" Gabriel asked. Surely the doctor wouldn't be acting like that if there was something wrong. Apart from death, Gabriel couldn't think of anything more horrifying than being crippled. It would be the end of his career, maybe even worse than death.
Unlike he had hoped, Timothy didn't immediately reassure him that everything was going to be fine. The doctor pursed his lips in thought and let out a low hum.
"Well? What is it?" Gabriel demanded to know, not caring if he sounded like he was close to a panic attack.
"Well, you were really lucky. Normally being shot with a musket would have blown off your shoulder and you would have died in no time. Thankfully you were already out of the range, and the bullet didn't hit your bones and arteries," Timothy started to explain. While everything he said was a good thing, Gabriel got a sinking feeling in his stomach as he listened to the words. He was certain Timothy was saying all this just to soften the final blow.
"But?" he asked.
"But you must realise that it's always a serious matter to be shot in the shoulder. I honestly can't say what's going to happen until much later. We're just going to hope for the best," Timothy continued.
"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Gabriel asked in a weak voice.
"I think yes. At the very least, I can promise you that you should be able to move your arm normally enough. As for anything more complicated, we'll see."
"What kind of damn doctor are you? Shouldn't you be able to fix it?" Gabriel asked. Wasn't this drunkard supposed to be the best doctor in San Tasco? Was he honestly telling him that he didn't know if his arm would ever work properly again? What complete crap!
"I can't work miracles," Timothy replied nonchalantly. "But I can do my best. So, let's take a look at that wound now. We need to make sure it doesn't get infected."
Gabriel held back from cursing the doctor and his incompetence out loud. Despite his frustration and fear at his situation, he knew it would do him no good to anger the one person who knew how to take care of him. He'd do that later when he no longer needed medical attention, but for now it was better to shut up and do as the doctor told him.
He gritted his teeth as Timothy helped him to sit up, struggling to stop himself from groaning against the pain that the movement sent through his shoulder. It was mind-numbing and made white spots dance before his eyes. He could feel sweat form on his forehead and willed the shooting pain to be subdued, but it didn't help.
"Let's see," Timothy said as he started unwrapping the bandages around his chest. The wound was on Gabriel's back, so he couldn't watch the doctor work. He kept his eyes fixed on the opposite wall. The doctor's fingers brushed against his skin, sending waves of hot pain through his entire shoulder.
"Looks good to me. It's going to start healing nicely."
"I had to go through this just so that you could say that?" Gabriel asked through clenched teeth.
"No. You had to go through it so that I could change your bandages," Timothy replied. "How is the rest of your arm? Can you move your fingers?"
"I'd rather not to." His shoulder hurt enough already. The last thing he needed was to try to use his arm for anything.
"Fair enough. Once the wound heals, you should try to use your arm as normally as you can. Trying to avoid the pain is only going to cause more problems," Timothy said. He finished wrapping the new bandages around Gabriel's chest and helped him lie down again.
"When will I be able to do something other than lying here like a useless idiot?" Gabriel asked. His body was tired, but his mind was already frustrated with the situation. He was used to riding and fighting. He never went a day without physical work.
"When I say you're ready. You have to wait at least a few days for the wound to heal a bit more. If you want to get up after that, be my guest, but I predict that you'd rather stay in bed."
"You can predict whatever you want. It's not going to make any difference to me," Gabriel said. He was already planning his next move. As soon as it didn't hurt that much to move, he'd be getting away from the annoying de la Vega family and return to the barracks. He'd find the man who had shot him and have him arrested – if he was still alive when Gabriel was done with him. Then he'd think about how to capture Zorro.
"I'll ask you again once you've tried to walk down the stairs. Losing this much blood is no laughing matter," Timothy said.
"I'm fine." To be honest, Gabriel did feel tired and slow, but that couldn't last long. He'd just sleep a little more and then he'd be back to normal.
"What an oaf," Timothy muttered as he stood up and started gathering his supplies. Gabriel watched him work for a while and then leaned back on the bed.
"I'll tell Maria to bring you something to eat," Timothy said from the door.
"I'm not hungry."
"You should try to eat if you want to get your strength back. Even if the wound heals alright, you could get an illness and die," Timothy said. When he opened the door, Gabriel saw that Don Alejandro was still standing outside.
"Besides," Alejandro added, "Maria is an excellent cook. It would be a shame if her efforts went to waste." He walked into the room, and Gabriel couldn't quite stop a disdainful frown from forming on his face. It was no secret that Don Alejandro's loyalties were with the local people and that he detested the army. Unlike his idiot son, Don Alejandro was brave enough to voice his opinion but never in a way that would give them reason to arrest him.
However, he was a guest at Alejandro's house and couldn't just yell at the man now. It was basic manners to talk to the master of the house, and maybe the man could give him some more useful information. With this justification in mind, Gabriel struggled back into a sitting position.
"How are you feeling, Lieutenant?" Alejandro asked.
"I'll live."
"You were very lucky. For a while we thought you wouldn't wake up."
"Yes. I heard about that," Gabriel said, glancing at the door. Dr. Timothy had already gone downstairs.
"You're more than welcome to stay with us for as long as you need," Alejandro said next, making Gabriel turns his eyes back to the old man.
He blinked in surprise. "I… thank you. That is very generous of you, but I think it would be for the best for me to return to the barracks as soon as possible," he said. He searched Alejandro's face for signs of mockery or deceit, but the man looked sincere. For reasons that he couldn't name, Gabriel felt suddenly very annoyed that this man would help him like this. They both knew they were enemies.
"It's the least anyone can do. I would never send a way man who needs help," Alejandro said.
Gabriel gritted his teeth at these words. How loathsome to be at such a disadvantage before a man whom he didn't respect at all. It was humiliating, and Alejandro's sincerity only made it worse. He actually preferred the company of Diego because he didn't feel at all patronizing like his father.
"As I said, I won't bother you for long. I'll leave as soon as someone can be spared to take me to town," he said, forcing his tone to remain neutral.
Alejandro nodded. "As you wish. I understand it might be a little uncomfortable here, given our… political disagreements."
Gabriel just grunted as a response.
"I don't want to bother you too much. You must still be tired. Sergeant Gonzales said he's going to drop by again tomorrow. Apparently, Commander Raymond is anxious to know what happened," Alejandro said.
"Very well." Gabriel could have groaned at the mention of the commander. Anxious was hardly the word he would have used. Furious was probably more like it, and the thought of having to face the commander after a spectacular failure such as this almost made him reconsider his plan to return to the barracks so soon.