THE RIGHT TURN OF THE ROAD
Chapter 23
"Did you already hear what happened last night?"
"Yes," Gabriel replied, not halting his work or turning to look at Pablo. When the workers had arrived that morning, he had immediately noticed that they were excited about something. When he had asked a few of them about it, they had replied that Zorro had caught one of the arsonists the previous night.
"That was the sourest 'yes' I've heard in a long time. Aren't you happy?" Pablo asked.
"It was Zorro who caught him," Gabriel said, unable to keep the hatred from his voice. Of course, he wasn't trying very hard. The news of Zorro's latest heroics had ruined his morning, and everything he did was packed with hatred and frustration. He used all too much force with his hammer. He had already snapped at Basilio, and the lad hadn't said a word to him after that.
"But he did something good this time. Sure, he's a rebel, but we should be grateful he put an end to that horrible business."
"Shut up when you have no idea what you're talking about." Gabriel was half hoping that Pablo would argue about it and try to defend Zorro. It would give him the perfect opportunity to yell at someone. However, Pablo only shrugged and said that he'd talk to him again when he wasn't in such a sour mood.
Unable to take his frustration out on anyone, Gabriel was forced to return to his thoughts. Zorro had been on his mind every day, but his hatred for the masked bandit had somewhat subsided. Or rather, it had turned into irritation at how he still didn't know how to have his revenge. Zorro was out of his reach. Now that he was no longer in the army, his chances of running into him were very slim.
His opportunities for having revenge on Raymond were even scarcer. He hadn't even seen the commander since he had removed him from service. If he wanted to have any kind of revenge on him, it would probably have to be shooting him from a distance. And that just wouldn't feel satisfying.
No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't deny that he had completely lost sight of what he wanted to do. Zorro and Raymond had continued their lives as if nothing had happened. They were both out of his reach, too high for him now that he had sunk this low. The only reason Gabriel had felt motivated to start working for Don Augusto was that he had thought it would eventually offer him the chance to have his revenge. Now he wasn't so sure anymore, and that left him drifting with no purpose, angry at himself and the world that had been so unfair to him.
Diego got up a little earlier than usual, which in this case meant two hours before noon. He would have liked to get up even earlier, but he had an image to maintain and he needed his rest. It would no doubt be a long day and night for him.
After the previous night's events, the army had immediately sent men after Martinez and his companions. Diego didn't know how well they were doing with their search, but he doubted they had found them. The culprits would probably get help from Kapital in exchange for not revealing his involvement in setting fire to the fields.
The army was no doubt keeping an eye on the docks and all leaving ships. That left the roads as the most likely escape route for the men. Diego would have been willing to bet on that they'd flee through the mountains. It was a small labyrinth of roads, and there were many places for hiding and ambushing your pursuers.
As soon as he had eaten something, he'd tell everyone that he and Bernard were going fishing. That would give him the whole day to pursue the men. If that wasn't enough, he'd tell Bernard to return home alone and come up with some excuse for why Diego wasn't coming home for the night. And then –
"There you are, Diego."
Diego stopped in the middle of the stairs as he heard his father's voice from below. Odd, his father wasn't usually at home during this time of the day. It was even odder today because Diego had thought he'd be busy with organizing food help to the people.
"Oh, good morning father. Have you already had breakfast?" he asked.
"Hours ago," Alejandro replied.
"You got up early, then."
"And you're late yet again. I'd very much like to know why."
Diego frowned at the harshness he detected in his father's voice. It was nothing new to him that his father was disappointed in his behaviour, but this time he sounded different. The resignation to his son's weakness had been replaced with the determination Diego was familiar with. Had the situation been different, he would have been delighted in hearing his father use that tone with him again.
"I was up reading for most of the night," Diego said.
"Were you? Is that what you do every night?" Alejandro asked.
Now Diego certainly didn't like his tone. "What do you mean?"
"I happen to know for sure that you've been lying to me about what you do at night. I know you like to go out in secret. What I want to know is what you've been up to," Alejandro said.
"Uh..." was all Diego could get out of his mouth. He had often thought about what he'd say if this moment came, but he now found himself too struck by shock to utter anything. All of his great excuses had fled his mind, and he could only stare at his father with a dumb-struck expression on his face.
Alejandro drew his conclusions from that. "So, I was right."
"What? No, father, I mean -" Diego started, but his father interrupted him.
"Are these nightly activities anything that I should be ashamed of?" he asked. When Diego didn't answer right away, he continued, "Since you feel you have to act in secret, I can only assume that they are."
"Father, you have a completely wrong idea!"
"Then why can't you tell me what's going on?"
Because it would bring you to danger, Diego thought. He wanted to tell the truth to his father more than anything, especially now that he could see it in his eyes how much worry his lies caused him. It would have been such a relief to just tell him everything, but Diego knew it would have been selfish. It might have made his life easier, but it would have made everything more complicated for his father. No matter how much this charade hurt Alejandro, it was still better than learning the truth.
"I didn't want to make you worried," he said.
"Well, you utterly failed at that," his father remarked. Then his face softened. "But you can tell me now. Whatever it is, I'd like to hear it."
"I've... I've been having a little fun with my friends. We go drinking and play cards and -"
"Is that it? You have to keep something like that a secret from me?" Alejandro asked.
Diego knew it wasn't the best excuse, but what else could he have said? He didn't want to tell his father that he was up to something illegal or that he had a secret lover he met almost every night.
"Yes, that's it," he said a little sheepishly.
"And who are these friends of yours? Is Lapaz with you?" Alejandro asked.
"No, not him," Diego said at once. His father just might go and try to get more information from his imaginary drinking buddies. Besides, the last thing Lapaz needed was to be suspected of succumbing to gambling again. On a whim, he added, "I sometimes go out with Rafael."
"Oh," was all his father said, and Diego knew the conversation was over. Everyone knew how useless Rafael had proved himself to be and how he was to be found drinking in town almost every night. His father would have no problem believing that Diego wanted to keep their friendship a secret. Now he'd just have to spend an evening or two with Rafael and his claim would be true.
"I'm sorry if you're troubled by that. That's why I wanted to keep it a secret," he said with a nervous laugh.
"If you're that worried about me, you might want to spend your nights at home," his father said, but resignation had returned to his eyes. Diego felt both relieved and sad that he had bought his story so easily.
It was almost noon and entirely too hot to be wearing a uniform. There was no wind, and the sky was crystal clear without a single cloud in sight. All they could hear was the steady walking of their horses. Nothing around them looked alive.
Placid gritted his teeth to keep himself from yawning. He had been up almost the entire night and patrolled the countryside with Jekyll. Just when it had been time to for him and the men to retire, they had received news that Zorro had caught one of the culprits. Raymond had decided that hunting down the other three was a good way for him and Serrano to prove themselves, so he wasn't going to get his much-deserved rest quite yet.
"Showing that you're tired is not how to set a good example to the men," Serrano pointed out by his side.
"I know that," Placid said in some irritation. Most of the men who were accompanying them had been patrolling with him last night. Everyone was tired, but orders were orders. The only one among them who was smiling was Serrano, and that was because he had got some hours of sleep after his duties at the station in town.
"Do you think we'll find them?" Serrano asked.
"Of course we will," Placid said at once, glancing at the soldiers to make sure they weren't listening. If yawning was bad, doubting their ability to fulfil their orders was doubly so.
"They had several hours to flee before we came after them. If they have fast horses, they could be half-way to the next town," Serrano pointed.
"You're exaggerating. They needed time to get supplies. Only a fool would try to travel through the desert without any. And if they went for the docks, Gonzales will get them there," Placid said.
Serrano let out a hum. "It feels like we're cleaning up after Zorro."
Placid couldn't help but think the same. Even though Martinez, the man responsible for the whole catastrophe, was still on the loose, the case was mostly solved. Zorro had put a stop to their actions and revealed that the men behind everything were working for the South India Trading Company. All that was left was arresting the escaped men, but even if he and Serrano managed that, the people would still see Zorro as their hero.
"We shouldn't think like that. Finding those men and arresting them is our duty," he said.
"Well, aren't you proper and loyal."
Placid chose not to reply. It was too bad he had been partnered with Serrano and not Jekyll or Gonzales. So far, he had no reason to complain about how Serrano carried out his duties, but he didn't like the man's attitude. Serrano had no qualms about saying the most inappropriate things, and Placid got the feeling that he didn't have respect for anything or anyone. He couldn't help but wonder why a man like him had joined the army and how he had made it to a lieutenant.
He glanced over his shoulder to see how the men were doing. Everyone was carrying a musket, and the soldiers seemed more alert than usual despite the sleepless night. Placid supposed everyone was eager to catch the men they were hunting. Martinez and his companions had caused a lot of trouble to everyone, the army included.
"We'll turn right from here," he decided when they came to a crossroads.
"Wouldn't it be better to split up? What if they went that way?"
"I had time to look at a map of the area before we left. The roads join again later, so it doesn't matter which one we choose. However, there is a good spot for resting by this one, so they might have gone there."
"I think they'd want to avoid places like that. They must know we'd check there first," Serrano said.
"If you disagree, you're welcome to take half of the men and go the other way," Placid said. His tone was a little harsher than was necessary, but he couldn't help it. The commander had put him in charge, and he didn't like it when another officer questioned his decisions in front of the men. He was almost willing to bet Serrano was doing it just to annoy him, not because he actually thought his idea was better.
"No, go ahead and lead the way," Serrano said, and so they chose the road that Placid wanted.
Some time later, they arrived at the rest stop that Placid had mentioned. It wasn't much more than a small clearing for a fireplace and some rocks around it to serve as seats. There was currently someone there, and Placid's hand immediately flew to his bow. However, the man didn't look at all alarmed when he spotted the army. He looked up when he heard them, but then he turned his attention back to his meal.
"You there," Placid said to get his attention.
"Yes, sir?" the man asked. He was wearing a simple poncho and had placed his hat on a rock by his side. He had dark tanned skin, and he looked quite miserable with his small lump of bread and bag that looked like it had been patched together from rags.
"Who are you and what's your business here?" Placid asked.
"Pedro Hernandez. I'm on my way to visit my brother in San Tasco," the man replied.
"Have you met anyone coming from the town?" Placid asked next.
"Just a few men like me. On foot."
"What did they look like?" Placid wanted to know.
Hernandez shrugged. "I didn't look at them. Who are you looking for?"
"That's none of your business," Serrano said at once, earning a sharp look from Placid.
"He's going to hear about it anyway when he reaches town," he pointed out and proceeded to tell the man who they were after and why. He hoped that learning they were on a righteous quest would make the man more helpful, but Hernandez could only shake his head and say that he couldn't describe the three men he had met at all.
"It looked like they'd be turning left from the crossroads up there," he said and pointed onwards on the road.
"Alright. Thank you," Placid said. He told the men to continue, and the rest spot soon disappeared behind a rocky turn of the road.
"It's odd," Serrano pointed out.
"I know," Placid said. What the man had just told them made no sense. Whoever the men Hernandez had met were, it was idiotic of them to turn left at the next crossroads. It would take them back to San Tasco through the route that Serrano had wanted to follow a moment ago.
"It must be Martinez and his men," Serrano said, and Placid knew he had come to the same conclusion as him. Anyone who had lived in San Tasco for long would know that the left road turned back. Martinez had only recently arrived from Spain, and the men accompanying him weren't native to San Tasco either.
"If we had done like I suggested, we could have cornered them on that road," Serrano pointed out. Placid was surprised to hear no smugness in his tone.
"I know, but it's too late for that now. We're almost at the crossroads. We'll turn left, too, and we should be able to catch up with them. They might even turn back when they realise they've picked the wrong road."
He gave the men instructions to keep their muskets ready and remain alert. The area was rocky, and their group would be a good target for an ambush. Placid wondered if it wouldn't be better to dismount their horses and continue on foot, but that would be too slow.
He turned towards Serrano to ask his opinion, but he barely got a word out of his mouth before a loud gunshot rang out and he felt something scrape him below the ear. His first thought was that he had been shot, but then he realised that the musket ball had hit the stone behind him and sent tiny pieces of it flying.
"Get off your horses! Take cover!" he yelled to the men, and they were quick to follow his orders. The horses, startled by the sudden commotion, galloped down the mountain road, but Placid wasn't worried about that. It weren't the horses that were the target here.
Another gunshot was heard, and this time it almost hit one of the soldiers in the shoulder as he dove for cover behind a large boulder. Placid held his breath, staying as low on the ground as he could, and listened. Nobody was crying out in pain, and there were no other gunshots.
"Either there are just two of them with one musket each or they are clever enough not to waste their chances," Serrano commented by his side.
"I know," Placid said. His money was on the first option. Martinez had fled San Tasco with two men. It was a little too convenient that they ran into an ambush right after being told to come here by a peasant.
"We were idiots. I'm sure the commander will be so pleased to hear we let us be tricked like that," Serrano growled under his breath.
"We can worry about that later," Placid said. He took a risk and lifted his head a little to see where the soldiers were and how they were doing. Most of them had taken cover behind boulders or bushes and were either alone or in pairs. Almost everyone had their muskets, but a few men had dropped them when they had leapt for cover.
The spot their enemy had chosen was ideal for an ambush. The road, which normally descended down the mountain towards San Tasco, went over a small hill at this place. That left the soldiers at the bottom of a small solace. It was difficult to advance because Martinez and his companion had higher ground and could see them more clearly, but they couldn't retreat either because that would have made their positions even more visible.
He frowned as he tried to decide what to do. They needed to give the men orders soon or they'd start to get restless.
"They have had enough time to load their muskets by now. If we can make them waste their shots again, we can try to attack them," he said in a low voice to Serrano who was closer to the men. "Tell the men to spread the word and ask if there are any volunteers for the distraction."
"I'll do it," Serrano said at once.
"What? But it's going to be dangerous," Placid said. It wasn't often that he saw an officer volunteer for a task that could so easily cost him his life, especially when there wasn't much to be earned by it. There would be no grand promotions to come even if this worked.
"Why do you think I'm volunteering?" Serrano asked. The mischievous smile in his eyes made Placid think back to the day when they had met at the small tavern. Serrano had looked just like this after he had taken down the bandit – his eyes shone with energy and sincerity that looked out of place considering how arrogant he usually acted.
Placid found himself wondering why he had ever felt annoyance at having been made to work together with Serrano. When someone was this eager to carry out his orders and do the right thing, a few dents in his personality shouldn't matter.
"Alright, but be careful," he said.
Once they were sure that all the men knew what was going on, Serrano got up into a crouching position to have a better look around. A few seconds later, after he had decided on the best route, he jumped on his feet and dove behind the closest boulder.
Placid and the soldiers kept their eyes locked on the rising hill above them to catch a glimpse of their enemies if they showed themselves. At first there was nothing, not even when Serrano made another risky move. Placid was starting to wonder if the failure of their first attack had sent Martinez and his companion fleeing.
The next thing he felt was how his heart nearly stopped when Serrano stood up without a warning. Placid was so surprised that he nearly followed the example, but he stopped himself just in time when he saw the sudden glint of a musket in the sunlight among the boulders up the hill. He didn't pause to think but fired his bow. He didn't care if he'd even hit anything; he just wanted to distract the shooter enough so that he wouldn't hit Serrano.
At the same time, there was a gunshot, and Serrano fell flat against the ground. Placid held his breath as he waited for any sign that the other lieutenant hadn't been hit. He was too far away to see for himself.
"He's fine," the soldier by his side mouthed to him. Placid realised only then how hard he was gripping the bow in his hands and that he hadn't even thought to get another arrow ready.
What the hell is that idiot thinking, he wondered, but he didn't have the time to dwell on it. Serrano, apparently not bothered by nearly losing his life, jumped up again. Placid cursed under his breath, but he could understand what Serrano was doing. If he could make the other man waste his shot before the other one loaded his musket again, they'd have a short moment for an attack.
As soon as the second gunshot rang out, Placid leapt on his feet. He didn't waste a second to find out if Serrano had been lucky twice in a row but advanced towards the spot where he had seen the musket earlier. After he had taken a few steps, he spotted a man hunched behind a large boulder, loading his musket with such hurry that he was spilling gunpowder everywhere.
"Throw that musket away," Placid said and pointed his bow at the man. When he turned to look up at him, the lieutenant could see that his features matched the description he had got of Martinez.
"Now!" he snapped when the man didn't do more than stare at him in shock.
"Right away! Don't shoot me!" Martinez blurted out. He dropped his musket at his feet, and Placid kicked it away from his reach. He noticed now that Martinez' right wrist was bleeding and that one of his arrows lay on the ground. Maybe Serrano had him to thank for that the first shot had missed.
When he turned to look, he saw that some of the soldiers had found Martinez' companion and forced his musket from his hands. Both men were glaring at them with open hatred on their faces, but Placid only took that as a compliment for a job well done.
Once he was sure that the danger was over, he let himself wonder about his fellow lieutenant. Serrano was easy to spot among the men in his green uniform. Placid let out a sigh of relief at seeing that he was alright and promised himself he'd have a word with him later and scold him for his utterly stupid and risky behaviour.
"Well, that was easy," Serrano commented as he climbed over to where they were.
"These men aren't fighters," Placid remarked. As he took a better look at Martinez, it was clear to anyone that he didn't know how to survive in the wilderness. He didn't even have any idea how to tend to his wound, so one of the soldiers had to do it. The man was nothing but one of Kapital's secretaries.
At his words, however, a crooked smirk crept on Martinez' face. "No, we're not," he admitted.
"And what's so funny about that?" Serrano asked.
Placid felt his blood turn cold. The man who had led them to this direction was still on the loose, and all of his men were just standing out in the open. Everyone was a perfect target.
"Everyone, take cover!" he yelled. He dove behind the boulder that had served as cover for Martinez. The man was looking at him with amusement in his eyes.
"Ricardo is the best shot among us. He'll get you," he said.
"He's just one man. He can't keep loading fast enough if we all attack him at once," Placid replied.
Martinez' reply to that was to chuckle and close his eyes, as if things would work out for him if he just waited long enough. Placid frowned in irritation at the man but turned his attention towards the road. It was impossible to see if there was someone hiding among the boulders, but surely the man would have fired a shot already if he was there? He had had the perfect chance when the soldiers had taken down Martinez and his companion.
"I don't think he's there. He probably saw what happened to his friends and decided to run for it," Serrano said.
Placid was starting to think the same. He was just about to tell Serrano that they'd wait for a few more minutes when Martinez suddenly made his move. He gave Placid a sharp push to the chest and sent him flying downwards on the mountain path. The lieutenant barely had the time to shout in surprise. As he tried to get up, he could hear angry curses as Serrano and one of the soldiers attacked Martinez behind him. However, none of this interested him at the moment.
Now that he was watching from a different angle, he had the perfect view of the man who had presented himself as Hernandez and led them here. He was right there behind a large boulder, and his musket was pointed straight at Placid. He'd never miss a shot like that.
This is it, Placid thought. To this surprise, the first thought in his mind was that he had promised to repair his parents' roof next time he visited them, and now he wouldn't be able to do it. His father would be so disappointed. He hated the draft and –
The gunshot rang out in the middle of this thought. At first Placid found it odd that he didn't feel any pain or even the impact of being shot. He held his breath and waited for the agony to kick in. Nothing. He was too busy fumbling at the front of his uniform to notice anything, but when he realised that the soldiers were shouting at something in surprise, he looked up again.
Up there, towering over the man with the musket, stood a man clad in black clothing. His long cape fell on his shoulders and made him appear almost inhuman. A mask made it impossible to see the features of his face. Even in the bright sunlight, he was a threatening figure.
That's Zorro, Placid realised. This was the man who was causing so much trouble to the army, the man who had tricked the people into thinking he was their hero.
This time, however, it looked like Zorro had come to their aid. He was holding a whip, and the other end was wrapped around the musket that had nearly taken Placid's life. Zorro had directed the musket ball elsewhere just in time.
Placid had no idea what to do. He was glued to his spot and could only sit there and stare at the man who he had never expected to come to his aid.
"What are you waiting for? Shoot him!"
Hearing Serrano's impatient command finally brought Placid back from his stupor. He opened his mouth to order the men to stop, that they couldn't just shoot a man who had saved his life, but he was too late. Several muskets were fired, but it didn't look like anyone hit their target. Zorro disappeared as a black flash, as if he had never been there.
"Dammit!" Serrano growled. "Well, at least we got what we were looking for."
Serrano gave the men the order to detain the third man and tie up their prisoners so that they wouldn't try anything else. Placid held back from all this, still a little shaken and not sure if he understood everything that had just happened.
"Is something wrong?" Serrano asked when he noticed how quiet Placid had grown.
"Why did you order the men to shoot Zorro?" Placid asked.
"What do you mean? He's a wanted criminal. That's why," Serrano replied.
"But -"
"Don't tell me you feel guilty about that because he saved your life. I'm sure he had his reasons to do that," Serrano said in a dismissive tone.
Placid knew it was true. An outlaw like Zorro would never save an officer if he didn't have some ulterior motives. He should just forget all about it. And yet he couldn't let go of the image of the black-clad figure.
"I guess you don't almost get shot every day," Serrano said with a chuckle.
"No, I'm not usually as reckless as you," Placid remarked.
"Is that a joke? Man, you must still be in shock," Serrano said.
Once their prisoners were tied up, they started gown down the path towards San Tasco. The men were in a good mood despite that there was no sight of their horses and Zorro had got away. From the way some of them were chatting with each other, Placid got the impression that it wasn't often that the soldiers got to feel they had accomplished something.
He couldn't quite join the others in their merriness. He did his best not to keep glancing behind his shoulder, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that they were being watched. Zorro was still out there. Placid wondered what he wanted.
They came to a spot where the road narrowed into a path that slithered down between boulders that were so close to each other that only two men could walk side by side. Two soldiers went first, then one man with one of the prisoners. Martinez and the soldier accompanying him disappeared from sight for the briefest moment when the path took a turn to the right. Just then, there was a surprised yell and the sound of someone falling to the ground.
"What the hell is going on there?" Serrano asked when he heard the commotion.
"He got away!" one of the soldiers explained.
"How? Wasn't he tied up?" Placid asked.
"I... I didn't tie his hands that well because he was hurt. It could have irritated the wound," one of the soldiers said in hesitation.
"Idiot," Serrano growled, but there was no time to start yelling at the man. He pushed his way through the soldiers and down the path to go after Martinez. Placid followed after making sure that a few of the men would keep an eye on the remaining prisoners while the others came with him.
"Shoot him!" Serrano ordered when the path grew wider again and they had the perfect view of Martinez' back. The soldiers raised their muskets. At least one of them was bound to hit.
"Wait," Placid called out.
"What? He's getting away," Serrano said.
Placid shook his head. "No, he won't. He's hurt and alone. We'll catch up with him. Besides, I think the commander would prefer to have him back alive so that he can be interrogated," he said. In fact, Raymond had been quite adamant about that.
"I doubt an honest businessman like Kapital would ever have anything to do with such horrible crimes as these, but we should still listen to what this Martinez has to say. It could be interesting," had been Raymond's exact words.
"Then I suggest you start going after him," Serrano said with a sour face.
It turned out to be more difficult than Placid had expected. The path was steep, and there were so many loose rocks that the soldiers were soon stumbling and nearly falling over if they went too fast. He wondered if their horses were alright if they had come this way. The only good thing about the terrible state of the path was that going down was just as difficult for their prey, and he was in much more of a hurry than them. Placid saw Martinez fall over many times, and he couldn't help but admire it how he hadn't managed to crack his skull open yet.
They were quickly closing in on him when the path took another turn and they all arrived at a rope bridge. On the other side, there were three horses tied to an old tree trunk. It had to be where Martinez and his companions had left their supplies before ambushing them.
"If he gets there, we've lost him," Placid said.
"Get him!" Serrano ordered as he and Placid got on the bridge. The soldiers did as they were told, and in no time the bridge was creaking under their shared weight.
"Not everyone at once!" Placid yelled.
It was too late. There was a mighty snap as one of the ropes gave in. The bridge tilted to the right, and everyone who hadn't been prepared for it lost their hold and fell into the river below. In practice, that meant everybody. Not even Martinez, who had almost reached the other side, could hold on to the bridge.
Placid managed not to inhale any water as he fell into the river, but for the briefest moment he found himself unable to do anything. He didn't even know which way was to the surface. The water was flowing rapidly, and the river was a mess of limbs as everyone tried to get out. Just as he was about to get his head above the surface, someone kicked him and sent the air out of his lungs.
He felt someone grab the back of his uniform, and the next thing he knew was that he could breathe again. For a moment he couldn't do more than gasp for breath and blink as the water falling into his eyes prevented him from seeing anything.
"Don't you know how to swim?" Serrano asked, and Placid realised it was he who had pulled him up.
"Of course I do," he snapped, but he regretted it immediately. Serrano couldn't know why water always made him a little nervous. "Did everyone make it?" he asked in order to change the subject.
"I think so," Serrano said.
As Placid wiped the water from his eyes, he could finally see what was going on around him. There were many rocks along the side of the river, and almost every single one of them had a soldier or two clinging onto them. Nobody seemed to be hurt.
"It looks like they're used to this kind of thing," Serrano commented, and Placid couldn't help but agree. Even though there was disappointment on everyone's faces, the soldiers were already starting to climb back to shore as if falling off a bridge wasn't anything special. He couldn't help but wonder if it was normal that the army's missions ended up in such failures.
"What about Martinez?" he asked. He couldn't see the man anywhere.
"He either drowned or got away," Serrano said. He kept a small pause. "We should have just shot him."
"The commander wouldn't have liked that," Placid said.
"Oh, please. You just didn't want to shoot a man in the back."
"And is that such a bad thing?"
"If you want to be successful in the army, yes."
"I have a limit of what price I'm willing to pay for success," Placid said. He decided to follow the soldiers' example and get out of the river. There was a small, steep path leading up back to where the bridge had been. He nearly cursed out loud when his foot slipped and he almost lost his balance, but he wanted to keep his irritation in check before the men.
"It looks like we're going to have to walk downstream and see if we can find Martinez. Even if he's alive, he could be hurt," he said. He picked out one man and sent him back to the rest of the group who had stayed behind with the two prisoners they still had. They would go to San Tasco while the rest of them continued searching for Martinez.
"I think we should all get back. There's no point continuing the search anymore. We lost him," Serrano said to him as they started following the river.
"Questioning my orders is not a good example to the men," Placid said, recalling what Serrano had said to him earlier that day. He was half-hoping that the man would argue about that, just so that he could utter another icy comment, but Serrano surprised him with a sudden smile.
"I don't think either one of us is a good example to the men at the moment," he said. To illustrate his words, he squeezed off some water from the sleeve of his wet uniform. Placid supposed he had a point. They had both been careless and made bad decisions that day. They were lucky they still had the two other prisoners.
"Hey, wait!"
Everyone stopped and turned to look behind them when there was a sudden shout. The man Placid had sent to the others had come back and was running towards them, nearly slipping as he hurried down the path.
"What is it?" Placid asked.
"Zorro," the man said. "Zorro was there."
"What? Where?" Serrano asked.
"By the others, sir. He brought Martinez back," the soldier. He started to explain how Zorro had apparently fished Martinez out of the river and taken him back to where the other prisoners were being held. He hadn't said much – in fact, he had disappeared as soon as he had congratulated the baffled soldiers for capturing the other two men and said that they were making great progress since they had managed to lose just Martinez and not all of them.
"That bastard! How dare he?" Serrano blurted out as soon as the soldier was done talking. He grabbed his pistol, now useless because it was wet, and threw it at his feet as if that was going to help.
"At least he helped us," Placid pointed out.
"Helped?" Serrano asked, turning to glare at him. "He's making fun of us!"
The soldier who had brought the news shifted in discomfort. "Sir, Zorro is always like that. This is nothing out of the ordinary," he said.
"And you're just going to accept it that he ridicules us like that?" Serrano asked.
All the soldiers glanced at each other and hunched their shoulders. Placid thought they looked like half-drowned dogs who were being yelled at by their master. He was feeling a little down himself, so he could sympathise with them.
"Let's get back and not waste any more time here. We have to take the prisoners back to San Tasco," he said.
They didn't find their horses anywhere, so they supposed they had returned to town on their own. The sun quickly dried their uniforms and made them wish that they could fall into the river again. Nobody spoke much as they walked. They were well over half-way to San Tasco before Serrano stopped scowling and opened his mouth.
"Drinks on me tonight. Everyone is welcome," he said.
"That's not very appropriate," Placid pointed out.
"So what? We all need it," Serrano said. "And you're coming, too."
Placid supposed he did need it, but he would have much rather retired to his room with half a bottle of wine than spent the night drinking with soldiers. He didn't like crowds very much, and he felt it wouldn't have been right to let the men see him drink or watch them do it. There had to be some distance between officers and soldiers.
Serrano didn't seem to think so. He was now going from man to man, patting them on the back and congratulating them for the mission. Not a word of Zorro was being said. The soldiers were soon smiling and chatting amongst themselves, and nobody seemed to remember the problems they had faced that day.
Placid wished he could have been that jovial, but he found himself thinking back to Zorro. Why had he helped them? He could have brought Martinez back to town himself and been a hero in the people's eyes. It made no sense that he delivered the man to the army.
I had better keep my eyes open, he decided. Sooner or later he'd find out what Zorro's motives were.
"Cheer up! You've been looking like a grapefruit the whole day. Enough is enough," Pablo said. He gestured at the people who were at the town square, doing their shopping and chatting with each other. "I mean, look at how happy they are. It's such a great day."
Gabriel couldn't say he agreed. The day was just as all others, except that today he felt even more frustrated than usual. He hadn't been able to forget about Zorro for a single minute, and now he was feeling mentally exhausted from all his anger.
When Pablo had asked him to come to town with him so that they could run a few errands, he had agreed because he had thought getting away from the estate would lift his spirits. However, visiting the town was nothing but another reminder that he was stuck and didn't know what steps to take to get closer to his goal. Even worse, people no longer looked at him – not even in fear. He was slowly becoming one of them, just an unimportant face in the crowd. It frightened and angered him.
"Let me tell you what. We aren't going back to the estate just yet. I'll buy you so much to drink that tomorrow you won't remember even your own name, least of all that Zorro caught some crook last night," Pablo suggested.
Gabriel knew it was no solution. Pablo wasn't like him; he already had his life figured out and was happy with it, as simple as it was. To him, spending a night out drinking was probably the highlight of the week. But Gabriel would get nothing out of it, except for a momentary relief and a headache.
"The soldiers are back!"
Everyone immediately turned to look at the street where the soldiers were coming from, Gabriel and Pablo included. At first it wasn't a particularly inspiring sight – every soldier and even the officers were walking and looked ruffled and dirty like they had crawled half of the way. However, they had prisoners, and that was all that mattered.
"They got them," Pablo said in a pleased tone.
Gabriel only scowled, not sharing his enthusiasm.
Three men had their hands tied behind their backs and were being led by the soldiers and two officers. He didn't recognise either one of them, so he knew they had to be the new lieutenants.
For a moment, everyone watched the soldiers in silence. Then everybody started talking at once, excited that the men who had been setting fire to the fields had been caught so soon. A few brave souls even dared to approach the soldiers and congratulate them. More followed the example, and soon enough the soldiers were surrounded by happy people and had to stop in the middle of the town square.
One of the lieutenants gave the men the order to take the prisoners away while he and his companion would stay behind to answer the people's questions. Gabriel couldn't ever recall doing the same. To him it had never mattered whether the townspeople knew what was going on or not.
Of course, he had never received this kind of praise and admiration.
He gritted his teeth as he watched how the soldiers started taking the prisoners away. He wanted to, but he couldn't turn his eyes away as the people hurried to thank the two lieutenants. Their congratulations and heart-felt thank-yous made his blood boil.
That should be me, he thought. Not those two idiots.
Nobody was paying him any attention. Nobody noticed how angry and jealous he was. A few people whom Gabriel knew to be sympathetic towards the rebels went to talk to the lieutenants and told them how good it was to see the army help the people like that.
Damn all this! Gabriel couldn't take it anymore. Clenching his fists so hard that they hurt, he turned on his heels and marched away. He didn't hear Pablo call out after him in surprise, nor did he notice that the man was following him until he felt him grab his arm.
"Where are you going?" Pablo asked.
"Leave me alone!"
"First you have to tell me what's wrong with you," Pablo said. He frowned in thought as he let go of Gabriel's arm. "And this time I know it's not about Zorro."
No, it wasn't. Nothing Zorro could do would ever feel as horrible as having to watch others live the life he wanted. It made Gabriel want to hit something, but he knew it wouldn't have helped. Nothing would have, and that was what frustrated him the most. There was nothing he could do.
"What would you understand? You're a simple peasant!" he snarled.
"That doesn't make me stupid! What do you have to lose? Tell me what's bothering you."
Gabriel didn't want to. He hated the thought of letting someone see how much it really hurt him to see the soldiers. He hated admitting that he had weaknesses. At the same time, he was tired of being so angry with no way to let it out. He felt like he'd be scorched from the inside if he kept everything to himself for much longer.
"Do you think I want to live like this?" he asked. Once he started, he could no longer stop. "Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life looking after some goddamn wine fields? I'm better than that! I deserve more!"
"What? But –"
"I hate the whole estate and everyone who works there! It's pathetic what my life has become, and there's nothing I can do about it! I was so powerful; I had everything. Look at me now. I'm nothing. Absolutely nothing!"
"But that's not true," Pablo said. "Sure, the work at the estate isn't as important as in the army, but without us, there would be no wine for the -" he tried to reason, but Gabriel wasn't at all interested. He interrupted Pablo with a cold laugh.
"I told you wouldn't understand. You have no idea what you're talking about. I don't care about the wine. It could all rot and it wouldn't matter to me." This idiot just wouldn't get it. He had never worn a uniform, didn't know the pride one could feel when one was better and stronger than anyone else. Nor could he imagine the pain of having that taken from him and having to watch others enjoy what had used to be his. Pablo had never known better than what he had now.
"Then why did you even agree to work for Don Augusto?" Pablo asked, some signs of frustration finally breaking through his patience.
"For revenge!" Gabriel spat out. "I couldn't just leave before I had had my revenge on Zorro and Raymond. They ruined my life! It's Zorro's fault that my shoulder is ruined! He did it on purpose to cripple me!"
"Now you're exaggerating. You're hardly a cripple. You can still –"
"Shut up!" Gabriel snapped. He could no longer handle a sword like he had used to. As far as he was concerned, that settled everything. He would have rather lost an eye because he could have tried to get used to it, but nothing could help when he lifted his arm too high and severing pain shot through it. And it didn't matter that Pablo might have had a point. He didn't care. His injury had changed his life forever, and until now he hadn't even realised how much that fact still bothered him.
"You can't know what it's like," he said in a weaker voice. He leaned against the wall behind him, as if he might collapse without its support. Even his revenge had failed. He wasn't one step closer to making either Zorro or Raymond pay. That had been all that had kept him going. Without his revenge, what did he have to live for?
"No, but here's still much you can do in life. You just have to find something else to do," Pablo said.
"I don't want to! It's not fair that this happened to me." Gabriel closed his eyes as he suddenly felt more tired than ever. There was no point in anything. He was only deluding himself if he thought he could ever achieve anything now. It wasn't just that he missed the army. What he really wanted was to be admired and to have power. He didn't know how to achieve that without his sword and a position in which he could force people to obey him.
It was becoming frighteningly clear to him that without his rank, he was nothing.
Pablo was silent for such a long time that at first Gabriel thought he had left. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the man was still there. He was now leaning against the opposite wall and staring at the ground with his arms crossed on his chest.
"I had no idea it was bothering you that much," he said. "You should have told me. Maybe I could have done something to help."
Gabriel snorted at the ridiculous idea. Nothing Pablo could do would ever help. However, he surprised even himself when he instead asked, "Why would you even want to help?"
"Why not?"
"You have nothing to gain by it," Gabriel said. He was a little surprised when Pablo threw his head back at this answer and started to laugh, but his bafflement quickly turned into anger. "And what's so damn funny?"
"You," Pablo said. "I guess I should have seen that coming. Is it that difficult for you to imagine that someone might want to help you without wanting anything in return?"
Gabriel didn't answer. Apart from Gonzales, he didn't think anyone would want to help him. He wouldn't have helped them, either. When he didn't care about something, it was as if it didn't even exist. He only lived to satisfy himself, and he was beginning to realise that it had taken him nowhere in life.
Pablo shook his head at his silence. "To hell with you. But maybe you're right. I know what people say about your time in the army, and it's no wonder that you're unpopular. I'm going to give you a free piece of advice." He kept a small, meaningful pause for effect. "People usually treat you the same way you treat them. If you keep yelling at everyone, insulting them and intimidating them, they'll never trust you."
"I don't need anyone to trust me," Gabriel remarked.
"I think you'd like it. People were afraid of you when you were in the army. Now they aren't, or at least most of them aren't. Maybe you should reach for something else. Something better," Pablo suggested.
"Like what?" Gabriel asked. He could hardly believe he was humouring Pablo. The man was talking nonsense.
"Respect. It's hard to earn, but it's a lot more satisfying than fear," Pablo said.
If Gabriel hadn't felt so exhausted, he might have laughed. "The respect of commoners means nothing," he said.
"We matter more than you think," Pablo said. He straightened himself and crossed his hands behind his head. "I'm off to a tavern. Feel free to join me when you think you can talk to me again."
Gabriel's scowl deepened as he watched Pablo go. The man was wrong. Gabriel had lived in San Tasco long enough to get to know the locals. There was nothing he wanted from these people, least of all their respect.