Feb 8, 1816

Friday

Alejandro

Mendoza's execution ended, as everyone but Ignacio de Soto had expected, in a spectacular rescue by Zorro. The stink bombs had been an unpleasant, but possibly necessary, touch. The lancers certainly had not been expecting them. Alejandro was glad he had been standing well back.

Zorro had been long out of sight when the garrison had finally managed to get themselves sorted out and mounted and at last on his trail. De Soto, optimistically, had been at the head of them. Alejandro was not worried they would actually bring the clever fox back.

Still, it was not a good day to leave town. He changed into work clothes and retreated to house's garden while he planted the first batch of rose cuttings.

Damn this new alcalde, anyway. It wasn't like the job was so difficult that you needed to execute people willy-nilly to keep up with the crime and rebellion. Not that Alejandro was able to clearly think about this Ignacio de Soto; should he be grateful to him for his warning about Edmund and saving him from arrest? or hate him for driving Edmund away?

It was days like this that he missed Edmund most. Not during Diego's latest crisis, no; Diego was still Edmund's favorite and Alejandro had been honestly glad his old friend hadn't had to witness him suffer like that. Alejandro wished he could put what he had witnessed himself out of his mind. Day after day of unremitting terror and pity. Wondering, as he watched his son grow weaker, if he should pray for mercy, an end to this relentless torment one way or another. Diego had already endured so much—

And then, finally, his struggling heart had rallied pain the pain had come-

It was hard to encourage Diego when he was already much braver than Alejandro had ever been. What good were words, when there was not a single thing he could do to ease his son's suffering? When Alejandro himself was put to shame by his son's strength?

Alejandro realized he had stopped planting and was only lifting and crumbling clods of dirt, over and over. If Edmund had been here, Alejandro would not brood so much, but he was alone too often now. Carlos was dead. So was Antonio Paschal. Edmund was fleeing for his life. So many friends dead or gone or, like Roberto Segovia, too elderly and frail to be involved much anymore….

Alejandro was getting older, too. In a few years it would all fall to Gilberto, who was already doing his best and already…already barely able to cope with Diego's illness. In a way, Alejandro understood Gilberto better than Diego. Alejandro, too, had watched his brother die—although Alfonzo had been gone in less than day. He had suffered so briefly, and still, thirty years later, Alejandro was haunted. How much worse for Gilberto?

When the sun was high overhead, he cleaned himself up and headed over to the tavern. It was busier than usual; some were attracted by the escalating contest between Zorro and de Soto, others had come in for Sebastian Valverde's funeral which was scheduled for the next morning. None of them were happy at the idea of an execution without trial, even if the victim was no one of 'importance.' Not everyone was pleased with Zorro's intervention, though. Alejandro kept himself in the center of conversations, reminding everyone that it had only been a day, that everything wasn't yet known, that there was no hurry to sort things out.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a rider thunder into town. Turning toward the window, he realized it was Gilberto. Diego, he thought, panic surging through him before he realized that it was much more likely that some news of their houseguest had brought him rushing to town. He hurried out the door. "Good news, or bad, 'Berto?" he called.

"The senora is awake, and we have a name!" came the ringing answer. "The alcalde?"

Alejandro pointed toward the cuertel, and Gilberto changed course. When they were side by side, Gilberto paused before the doorway. "Has he done anything else?"

"Not that he has announced."

Gilberto gave a strange, angry smile. "I am almost disappointed."

But Gilberto was polite and respectful as he made his report. He was the very model of the earnest and dutiful citizen, reporting only the facts as he knew them, and not alluding to any errors that might have been made previously.

As for the new alcalde, upon hearing the news he jumped up to his feet with alacrity and shouted for a squad to mount up. He checked his pistol and hurried away without even taking his leave. Alejandro and Gilberto glanced at each other and shrugged.

Back on the street Gilberto halted suddenly, a hand darting out to his father's arm. "Oh," he said. "I have had a terrible thought. Father, what if Porvas has heard that one of his victims has survived. Everyone knows we have her at the house -"

Alejandro went cold. Gilberto was right. "Stay here and let me know if anything happens here. I will go home and rouse the men!" Diego was there alone. Dear God.

"Father, no, I - " Gilberto began.

"One way or another, this will all be over soon, Son." Alejandro clapped him on the shoulder and ran to where Dulcinea was tethered.

As it turned out, Diego was not at home. Alejandro met him on the road coming the other way. That was an astonishing bit of good luck: Diego was better off well away from any excitement.

Victoria

Half a dozen lancers charging out of town at a gallop brought Victoria to the door of the tavern. What can they be up to now? She wondered. It was already an hour past the time she usually closed for siesta. "We are closing down the kitchen," she announced. "Cold snacks and lemonade only."

Leo, on the bar, gave her a shocked look. They had been doing a very good business. She set her shoulders and nodded once at him. There was no way she was going let a huge crowd of vaqueros and caballeros sit and drink all afternoon. Things were dangerous enough in Los Angeles without adding in the sort of bad decisions people made when they were drunk.

Looking out the door, she saw Gilberto De le Vega sitting on the rim of the fountain. He looked… unusually static and distinctly unhappy. She reached him at the same time as Father Benitez, who was coming from the other direction.

"What has happened?" he asked without preamble.

"Good news, in that Senora Valverde has awakened and given us the name of the real attacker. Perhaps the alcalde will have some luck arresting him."

Impatiently, Father Benitez motioned him to continue.

Gilberto shrugged tensely. "Father has gone home to make sure the amateur highwayman has not decided to finish the job."

"A terrifying thought," Father Benitez agreed. He looked Gilberto up and down. "I am sorry to inconvenience you, but I require your help. A small errand. And, of course, you would never consider refusing any favor I asked, when I have been so diligent in helping your family. You feel so indebted."

Gilberto's breath caught. Clearly, he and the priest understood something Victoria didn't.

"The errand is private, of course. On behalf of a parishioner. You will not discuss it. In the meantime, I shall keep an eye on things here in town, and will see that your father is immediately informed should anything….interesting come to pass."

"Thank you," Gilberto whispered, hurrying off to collect his horse.

"That was very clever," Victoria murmured.

He looked at her in innocent bewilderment. She smiled innocently back. "Would you like to come sit in the shade on the porch at the tavern? I can offer tea? And some pie."

"And I would be nicely visible, in case anyone needed the reminder to behave."

"Oh, surely nothing like that would ever be necessary."

In fact, the tavern had nearly emptied out now that the bar was closed. Victoria was glad to have the quiet as she swiftly assembled a tray for Father Benitez. She would, she decided, sweep the porch and wait with him for…whatever came next.

To her happy surprise, what came next was only Diego, arriving with Felipe in his brother's little gig. He climbed lightly out and mounted the two steps to the porch without pausing. As always, at the sight of him, her shoulders relaxed and her spine straightened. It was ridiculous, how much she missed him—and she had only just seen him on Wednesday.

He held out a bouquet of roses and took her hand. She set down the broom and squeezed his hand. She would much rather have wrapped her arms around his waist and press her cheek to his chest. It was very difficult to be appropriate. "How nice to see you," she said. "Are these for me?"

Diego laughed. "No, I have taken to carrying flowers everywhere, in case I need to … attract bees. Of course they are for you!"

It wasn't a very good joke, but it was the first he had made since Senor Kendall left. And of course, for a couple of months before that, Diego had been unusually quiet and serious. "Very practical," she said happily. "Bees are useful. I shall put these in water in case we need to lure some in later."

When she returned to the porch with a bowl of apples, glasses for Diego and Felipe, and a fresh pitcher of lemonade, Father Benitez was finishing his explanation of where Gilberto and Don Alejandro had gone.

"The house," Diego whispered. "I didn't think of it. I never – I am supposed to be the strategist!"

"Well," Victoria said, setting the pitcher on the table, "you were rather busy being the nurse."

"The house," he said, sharing a miserable look with Felipe.

Sternly, Father Benitez whispered, "Your father and Zorro are more than enough to deal with one terrified and desperate man."

Felipe nodded but looked unconvinced.

Diego—with obvious effort—tilted his head back and calmed himself. "We wait. We wait. I am very good at waiting."

Victoria took the seat beside him and slid her hand into his. Diego twined their fingers and sighed.

"What are the lancers saying," Father Benitez asked. "How do they like their new commander?"

"Well, they are quick to point out that he is not as crazy as Ramone. But he interferes more than Don Alejandro did, and they do not like that."

They sat for a while talking, and then Father Benitez glanced at the lengthening shadows and said, "A nice afternoon for a walk."

Diego cleared his throat. "Ah. I am reminded. Victoria, would you like to join me for a constitutional?" He rose and offered her his arm.

"That would be very nice."

Felipe started to rise, too, but Diego waved him back. "We'll be fine."

There weren't many streets in Los Angeles. Compared to the other towns she had seen on the journey south, it was very small and simple. Diego headed toward the church. After a bit, he said, "It is all right, Victoria. We can go a little faster."

Obliging, she quickened her steps. "Have you begun fencing again?"

"Gilberto won't think of it yet. I frightened him badly this time. And perhaps he is right; I have lost some strength. It will take some time to build it back up."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Diego's steps faltered slightly. "Being with you is a help," he said. "I am braver and happier when you are here. Not that that is at all fair to you."

"Oh, yes. How unfair. Outrageous to rely on the comfort and encouragement of your friends."

He stopped and turned toward her, looking very seriously down into her face. "Unfair. Victoria, you know what will eventually happen."

She swallowed, but did not let herself pull back or look away. "Yes. You are going to die. It is going to be horrible. But so will everyone else! Should none of us be happy at all now, ever?" Despite her effort, her voice cracked at the end.

Diego looked away. "You are right," he said after a moment. "I am an idiot."

"You are the smartest man I know. And the sweetest. But you are…."

"The word you are looking for is 'frightened.'" He said bitterly.

"Braver than any of us. And you do have the comfort and encouragement of your friends." She lifted his hand between both of hers and held it tightly.

He closed his eyes. "I'm - "

"Don't say you're sorry," she said. "You're all right just now. So I am…so everything—everything is all right just now."

His hand tightened under hers. Victoria held very still for a long moment. Then she whispered. "Come on, now. We are taking a walk because you are getting stronger. You need the exercise, and it is a very pleasant day, and…. life in our village is very exciting."

He gave an uncertain laugh at that.

Victoria firmly tucked his arm under hers and began walking again, very slowly at first and then at the pace Diego set. They didn't say anything else.

Zorro

Father was taking no chances. The ranch hands were armed with not only pistols (which they carried anyway for snakes and wild dogs) but also swords. They were positioned so densely and were so alert that one of them actually spotted him and waved.

Well. Zorro was not needed here. Gilberto could put Toronado away and return to town….

If Porvas was on the way to the De le Vega's, the Alcalde was looking for him in the wrong place. What was the best cross country route between Porvas' tenant farm and here?

He thought for a moment and turned Toronado south.

*Z*

The Porvas' place was in rough country, rocky and steep. It wasn't a place Gilberto would try to run cattle, let alone plant crops. He angled Toronado slightly eastward, onto higher ground. There weren't any trees out here. From a good vantage point, he would be able to see for miles.

He wound his way up a rocky slope, pausing at the crest to consider the cluster of huts he thought was Porvas' farm. And yes, riding north and west was a cluster of blue….Gilberto dug out the small telescope Diego had given him. He could make out the alcalde and a prisoner who surely was Tomas Porvas.

So. That was done.

It was nearly an anticlimax. Chasing a fleeing bandit would have been much more satisfying. Still, de Soto had been publicly in the wrong twice in as many days. If he failed all the time, he would start to get grumpy.

And, really, Gilberto was going to have to be careful with this one. Unlike Ramone he would not be distracted form his ambition by sadism or greed. His pride was a weakness, yes, but it would have to be exploited carefully, and poking it relentlessly would only provoke him to the sort of heedless revenge that did not care about collateral damage.

Gilberto had plenty of time to think about it on the way home—until the rain started and the miserable, damp ride washed away his train of thought. He was soaked through by the time he reached the cave. He dutifully rubbed down Toronado first before hanging up Zorro's clothing to drip and putting on his own suit and riding Viking back out into the teeming rain to soak that, too.

By the time he reached town the rain had been joined by thunder and distant lightning. As much good as all this rain was doing for pastureland, he had never seen the like. He was supposed to be making sense of the weather, but under any serious scrutiny it was simply…mad.

He settled Viking in Victoria's small stable out back before entering the tavern. Diego, still safely flanked by Father Benitez and Felipe, was seated at a table, halfway through his supper. They hadn't noticed him yet, and Gilberto paused for a moment, sighing to himself. A reprieve.

Diego was recovering from another crisis, building his strength again. It was, possibly, time to put fear and grief aside. De Soto? What did De Soto matter, compared to this?

Gilberto was grinning like a fool when he joined him at the table. Also dripping. Victoria fussed and produced a blanket along with a cup of wine and a plate of chicken and rice. Father Benitez brought him up to date on the excitement earlier; the bandit who had been terrorizing the area had been brought in in chains and taken to the jail.

Gilberto widened his eyes comically. "They captured Zorro?"

Diego reached across the table and slapped his arm. "No, the other one. Idiot." He frowned. "Be serious. It isn't funny. Sebastian Valverde is still dead and Tomas Porvas will hang for the murder."

That was true, but none of it was Gilberto's fault, and none of it changed the fact that Diego cheeks were pink instead of pale. Or worse than pale.

"Hush, Diego," Father Benitez murmured. "It is true that these last days have been difficult, but they might have been made much worse by repeated miscarriages of justice." Which was, perhaps, the nicest thing he had ever said about Zorro in Gilberto's hearing. "And you, Don Gilberto?" he continued more loudly. "How did your afternoon proceed?"

"Smoothly, except for this rain. I'd like a quiet word with you later, though. There is one more matter to take care of." The food was excellent and he was soon warm (if still uncomfortably damp).

Conversation ranged from the mission to the orphanage, and then from the weather to the choice of site for the public school. "Speaking of school, it seems to me we have been neglecting Felipe's education lately."

"I am afraid that is my fault, of course," Diego said.

Father Benitez gave Felipe a long look. "You all realize the boy is already rather better educated than any teacher we are likely to get. Goodness, he may be very like whomever we get; the church will surely not spare a monk or a nun during these difficult times."

Felipe nudged Gilberto's arm and traced "question?" in the air.

"Chemistry. Really, you have been neglecting chemistry for months. And I think Diego's hands are steady enough just now, for the more delicate experiments." Felipe grinned. He knew Gilberto meant explosives.

When the last of the food was gone Gilberto turned his chair pointedly toward the window and sighed. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but there were still flashes in the distance and it seemed to him that even this little reprieve would be short. "I should head home, let Father know things are quiet."

Diego nodded. "I have a few things to collect at the townhouse first, but - "

"You and Felipe are staying in town for the night. You are not going two miles in this weather."

"I won't melt," Diego protested.

Gilberto shrugged smugly, secure in the certainty that he would win this little struggle. "You might not, but Father would hide me if I allowed you to try it. So. Anyway, you can have breakfast with Victoria, if you wish. Well, even if you don't wish, since there is no food at the house. Or pots and pans. And you could not cook anyway."

"You could stay as well."

"I should put Father's mind at ease. Now." He turned to Father Benitez. "Could we have a word?"

Diego

He was tired rather than painfully exhausted. It felt almost luxurious to change out of his slightly-damp clothing and into the nightshirt without stumbling or having to stop to rest. If the house was too quiet and had too few books in it, well, that would not be difficult to remedy. Eventually. Father was considering situating Nuela and Pepe here, so that when the school was finally finished he would be easily able to attend. And possibly because Father found Nuela annoying.

Sooner than that, Diego planned to bring a dressing gown and slippers. The tile floor was cold against his feet. This was a chilly, wet winter.

The door swung open and Felipe appeared with a steaming cup and an oblong package that was probably a hot brick wrapped in flannel. He set the cup on the upended crate they were using as a bedside table and put the brick between the sheets.

"Thank you. If I'd known you were so busy, I would have helped."

Felipe shrugged that off and signed, "Pardon me," toward Diego's body.

"You want an examination," Diego sighed. "There is no need. I'm fine."

A flicker of anger, quickly hidden.

"I am."

The anger surged. His hands flew in in an awkward rush of words. "You would not tell me if you were not! Not! Months. You tried to hide how bad it was."

"And you could not yell at me for it because I was frail."

"This is not about yelling. I don't trust you."

And, of course, from Felipe's perspective, he was completely correct. But surely he could understand that Diego had not, exactly, been dishonest. "There was no point in detailing my…discomforts. We were already doing all we could. If I had complained, it would not have changed what you did. There was no point."

Felipe scowled.

"Felipe….it is very hard watching all of you be afraid for me."

He closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I do know your strength and intelligence and courage … You have saved me more than once - and Gilberto, too, as far as that goes."

"It is good. What we do…." Felipe fumbled unhappily.

"Yes, it is."

"Not just Zorro. You." His hands fumbled. "Keep you well."

"It is not your fault, when things go badly."

That earned him another angry look. Felipe held out his hand. Without further complaint, Diego submitted to the examination: a check of his fingers and fingernails; the pulse at his throat and at his wrist; ankles and toes… Felipe's inspection was steady and experienced. He finished with a hand on the front and back of Diego's chest, feeling for any vibration that would reveal congestion. The doctor or Teodoro would use their ears for this, but that sort of sound was too soft and high-pitched for Felipe's hearing.

"Your hands are cold," but the complaint was only to make conversation. Felipe nudged him to breathe more deeply. Diego obeyed.

At last Felipe withdrew and indicated on the bottle his opinion of the bedtime dosage.

"That is half again what I usually take," Diego protested.

"Pulse at the neck : prompt. Pulse at the wrist: uneven." He made a face. "A little fast." He pointed to the bottle again. "Stronger, slower beat."

"My carotid pulse is even but the pulse at the wrist is not?" Diego repeated. It was, perhaps, encouraging to know that his heart was beating if not with uniform strength then at least with a steady rhythm.

"You check!"

"I don't need to check your work. I had not thought about..." He thought for a moment. "Was it better when we were adding in the cinchona?"

Felipe scowled and nodded very reluctantly. "It is poisonous."

"Felipe, all of my medicines are poisonous. If the cinchona is helpful – but we didn't bring any anyway."

Felipe sighed and pointed at the bottle they did have. Diego swallowed what he had been prescribed. Then he downed the tepid tea: dandelion and hawthorn, of course. And horribly bitter since they did not keep honey at the town house. Diego made a face. That was another deficiency they should remedy.

Felipe took the empty cup and hugged him.

Ignacio

The rain hissed against the shutters while the wind whined at the roof. So far, Ignacio didn't think much of California's legendarily mild weather. He rubbed his hands together; it was chill enough that his fingers cramped a bit around the quill.

So far he was on the fourth draft of the report he was preparing over the events of the last two days. It shouldn't be so difficult to frame things in the right light. The case wasn't complicated: the wrong man had been arrested, and then the right man. Surely this was business as usual here on the frontier where the military was responsible for law enforcement. How could this report be so difficult to write?

How could the administration of a tiny village and barely two dozen lancers be so difficult to do? Managing Los Angeles should have been a cake walk!

Ignacio balled his cold hands into fists and rested his forehead against them. If events had played out differently it could have destroyed his career. And this had only been a simple matter of amateur crime. It wasn't even Zorro!

Oh, Zorro. Damn the fox anyway, except things would be even worse right now without him, wouldn't they? He had been sure he could take Zorro in—at most—two or three months. After that there would be promotion, transfer to Monterey…in under two years he would be commanding the garrison at the colonial capital. California was rich and would only grow more so. Madrid these days was full of unrest and hungry people. California was more stable and certainly more prosperous. In a decade or so, when things had improved and beautiful Madrid was civilized again, he could return home a wealthy, respected man….

Damn the fox anyway.

There was a knock at the door, and Ignacio jumped. What new problem could it be at this time of night? In this weather? "Come in!" he shouted above the hiss of the rain.

The parish priest entered, his cowl pulled up against the rain and a blanket held over his head.

"Gracious, Father. Come in, come in!" He scrambled to his feet. "Please, have a seat! Can I get you…" What did he have? "Some very stale orange juice?"

"Nothing, thank you, Captain. I can see that you are busy. I only need a few moments of you time."

"Yes, of course." Ignacio realized he was actually grateful for the interruption to his thoughts.

"I would like permission to see the prisoner tomorrow."

"Of course. That is standard procedure. You do not need to specifically ask."

"Thank you, Captain, yes." He smiled slightly. "We must all do our duty."

"Is there anything else…."

"Well, since you ask. I was wondering about your plans for Rivas and Mendoza…?"

For a moment Ignacio could not speak. Was this shame he felt? Or only rage at his own stupid mistake? "Rivas and Mendoza are free to go, of course. Under the circumstances…."

"Ah. I had hoped you had noticed."

"That I nearly executed an innocent man…? I can think of nothing else! It was only Mendoza that saved me."

"So he faces no consequences?"

"I think I will have to publically thank him or risk losing the respect of everyone in town. A man who is both ungrateful and attempts to hide an unconcealable mistake would have the confidence of no-one."

"Then I think, perhaps, this message I received is for you." He took a scrap of paper from his sleeve and placed it on the desk.

Ignacio unfolded it. There, in broad, water-spotted letters were the words "The broken mill at Mule's Head." It was signed with a flourishing "Z."

Ignacio's breath caught. "He has hidden them both."

"It seems so, Captain."

Ignacio frowned. "Where is Mule's Head?" And what kind of name was that, anyway?

"To the northwest. I am familiar with the place. I will accompany you tomorrow if you wish."

"If…I…." Ignacio cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. "Yes, thank you, Father. That would be helpful. I suppose it would be best if we went alone, in a wagon….it would discourage them from thinking they needed to defend themselves."

"My thought also." The old man gave him an assessing look. "I have kept you long enough, though you have been very gracious. I will see you in the morning, Captain." Clutching his dripping blanket, Father Benitez headed back into the rain, leaving Ignacio clutching the crumpled note in his hand.

~Fin