The Rabbit

When Diego got to his room he found Felipe curled up in a chair, fast asleep. That was only a small improvement over an hour before, when he'd found the boy curled up in Toronados's stall. A light touch on his shoulder brought him awake. Felipe blinked in the candlelight and held out his hands entreatingly.

"No, I didn't tell him about Zorro. I told him I was doing something...." He sighed. "I probably told him too much. He may figure it out."

Felipe frowned and pointed at Diego.

"Oh. Yes. I did tell him I wasn't dying." Diego ran his fingers through his hair. "What a horrible thought. Though I can see how he drew the conclusions. I had never noticed how often I was 'sick' these days."

Felipe grimaced and shook his head.

Diego nodded miserably. "I never meant...." He sighed. "But now I may have told him too much. If he figures out I'm Zorro...."

"He won't stand by and watch you fight alone," Felipe signed.

"Well, there is nothing to be done about it now. Might as well get to bed." He caught Felipe's arm as he reached for the door. "I mean it. Go to sleep. There's nothing to be gained by worrying."

The next day Diego let himself sleep late, then spent the rest of the morning in the experimental garden with Martina. When he returned to the house his father had already left for town, which rather suited Diego. A few more hours between them could only make it easier to slide back into their accustomed roles. He brought out his paints and set about doing studies of a vine growing along the wall.

He lost himself in the simple, organic lines. In the smoothness of the paint under his brush, the worries and regrets of the last few days faded into the background.

The series of studies that he'd completed a few hours later were hardly masterpieces, but the work had been satisfying. Diego was putting away his paints when Felipe appeared to say that Diego's father had returned and brought a guest with him.

Abashedly wiping the last of the paint on his handkerchief, Diego hurried to the front of the house to greet them.

"Diego, this is Don Emilio Alonzo. He's here to examine the garrison records and transport the tax money back to Monterey. The Alcalde won't have his report ready until tomorrow, so I thought he would prefer our hospitality for the wait."

"Well, certainly we can offer better company," Diego said cheerfully. "Welcome to Los Angeles, Don Emilio."

When Felipe led their guest to his room, Alejandro stepped over to examine the small paintings that Diego was leaning against the wall to dry. "I wasn't sure about bringing Don Emilio here...but you know de Soto. He's quite attached to the tax money. It seemed to me everyone would be better off if I just removed the temptation."

Diego shook his head ruefully. "No doubt a wise precaution."

Alejandro hesitated, frowning slightly. "I wasn't certain...." he began.

Diego assumed his father meant that he was unsure what--if any--plans Diego had, and that he was worried about hindering them. "Your instincts are usually right," Diego said easily. He turned the conversation to beetroot. It was a completely normal discussion, similar to many they had over the years as they discussed the business of the ranch. As he often did these days, though, Diego continued on in minute detail long past the point that most people would have considered the issue well finished. He talked about the length of growing season and average rainfall and the growing requirements of beets until Don Alejandro looked more than a little irritated. When he was sure that his father looked reassured as well, Diego excused himself to go clean up for dinner.

It was a very pleasant evening. Don Emilio was friendly and well-spoken. His stories--recent events in Madrid, news from the colonies to the south--were usually amusing and always well told. After a meal their guest enjoyed with enthusiasm, Diego played the piano. Don Emilio seemed delighted with both the more formal pieces and the folk songs, and he was not stingy with his praise.

Diego did notice that while Alejandro brought out very good wine in honor of their guest, he drank only two glasses throughout the entire evening. Perhaps he was worried about guarding his tongue. Certainly, his stories about life in the territory were a bit more circumspect than they usually were. He did not mention local unrest, the predations of the military government, or the folk hero Zorro once.

It was another late night, but on Tuesday Diego was up early and on his way into the pueblo. He had not even looked at the articles for this week's Guardian, let alone begun the job of setting type.

The contributors had left their pages in the basket that sat under a slot in the door. He carried the thin pile of papers to the desk and spread them out: Victoria's advice column, two death notices, a marriage notice, a change to the stage coach schedule, Private Cordoba's summary of the news he'd picked up from travelers passing through the pueblo, Mendoza's report of criminal activities...not Mendoza's food column, but it was likely he hadn't had time. A couple of advertisements--and the few pesos they brought in--made up the last of the pile.

When Diego had first taken the paper, his father and Victoria had helped with the press, but they were both too busy to continue after the first couple of weeks. Felipe and Pedro, one of the mission boys, would come in the afternoon to do most of the typesetting. Or normally Felipe would be doing typesetting. Probably, Diego should have him write up his account of the coach robbery.

Quickly, he lost himself in the work.

All of Tuesday and most of Wednesday were spent on the Guardian. At home, it made a safe topic of conversation, the few times Don Alejandro had a moment to speak without the distraction of their houseguest.

On Thursday morning, it turned out that their houseguest, Emilio Alonzo, was not, in fact, the royal tax collector, but a famous swindler who had made off with both the pueblo's taxes and Don Alejandro's prize stallion.

The rest of Thursday was spent tracking him down. At first it had seemed almost amusing--even though Diego had had to play out his part in the search as himself and with his father, instead of much more efficiently alone as Zorro. Alonzo was a thief, but he was personable and charming and nearly as crafty as Zorro. Diego enjoyed the challenge.

Then they had discovered the Alcalde and his party of lancers trapped by a landslide, making it clear that for all his cleverness and charm, Alonzo was much more ruthless than Zorro. He obviously didn't care if the people who impeded his quest for wealth were hurt or killed.

After Diego was sent back to town to get fresh horses and reinforcements for the soldiers (a job which he'd passed along to Felipe), Zorro spent the rest of the long day tracking Alonzo across rocky hills and avoiding his particularly nasty traps. Then, after finally apprehending him, he'd had to ride back and pull Felipe out of one of those traps.

Awkwardly, Felipe's interception meant that Diego's gambit of "going for help" was not followed by the arrival of help, which meant more explanations and excuses were necessary.

Diego arrived at home a good four hours behind his horse, appropriately filthy, genuinely tired, and thoroughly disgusted with his domestic masquerade. Alejandro was in the corral fussing over the stallion Zorro had returned less than an hour before. His father had a good view of Diego's arrival by foot. He stared, looking more confused than appalled or worried. "Where have you been?" he sputtered.

"I got lost," Diego said sheepishly.

"You got lost," but there was no challenge in his voice, just thoughtful puzzlement. "And your horse?"

Diego sighed. "The Rabbit left a number of traps. I was...unlucky and lost my seat to one of them."

Alejandro's eyes widened slightly. "The Rabbit--You didn't try to go after him yourself," he gasped. He stopped and shook his head. "Diego, what did you do?"

Diego looked at him for a moment, wishing he had a good answer, wishing his father could stop asking questions that had such deadly answers. "I took a wrong turn and got lost."

Alejandro's throat bobbed as he tried twice to swallow. "How...how like you," he said. "I imagine you'd like to clean up." He looked Diego up and down in a fair approximation of disapproval.

Inside there was one pleasant surprise: Felipe had finished cooling down Toronado and was filling a bath tub in Diego's sitting room. "You are a saint," Diego said earnestly, sitting down to take off his boots.

Felipe touched his sleeve. When Diego looked up, he signed, "I need to thank you--again!--for saving me."

Diego grinned, "Believe me, this bath pays all debts!"

Felipe was not in the mood to be teased. He shook his head and offered his empty hands helplessly.

Diego pushed a handful of lank hair out of his eyes and stretched backward, trying to ease the stiffness of a day's hard riding. "You've always been there when I needed you. There are days I couldn't do this alone--today was one of them, Felipe, and not even the worst of them. We both know you've saved my life more than once. So don't...dwell on today."

Felipe shook his head unhappily, but it wasn't disagreement. Then he frowned for a moment, took a breath, and whispered, "Thank you."

The wave of sentimentality that rose up at the sound of that soft voice was a distraction Felipe did not need, so Diego briskly said, "You're welcome," tossed his boots across the floor, and stood up. "Let me see your hands."

Wincing, Felipe stepped closer. His nails were torn and the skin abraded badly enough to show a little crusted blood from where he had tried to tear and pick at the knots securing the net Alonzo had used to bind him. The little utilitarian knife Felipe carried had been left in full view, just out of reach, on a rock. Diego ground his teeth until the impulse to curse had passed. "Spiteful," he said, "for all his charm. I'm not at all sorry I left him dangling over the ravine for the acalde to collect." He had only done it because he had been in a hurry, and he hadn't been proud of it at the time, but now it seemed quite just.

Felipe's eyes darkened. "Good," he signed. "He told me, no one would find me, and I'd starve to death."

Diego ground his teeth. "He hasn't actually killed anyone, so he will be sentenced to hard labor rather than death. I almost regret that...." Shutting his mouth on the rest of that ugly thought, Diego ducked into his bedroom for a jar of ointment and held it out. "Wash. Carefully, though I am sure it will hurt. This will help."

He waved Felipe away, stripped off the rest of the clothes he'd dragged in the dust to support the long-circuitous-walk-home fiction, climbed into the tub, and tried to forget about Zorro.

Z

This discussion can go no further, and you cannot think of it in the future. For the first couple of days, Alejandro had struggled to push his questions out of his mind. Today, ironically, he'd been so embarrassed at being made fool of and so furious at losing that stallion that he hadn't given his son's secrets a second thought. Carried forward by his foul temper and impatience, he'd fallen back on old habits, charging off to reclaim his property, ordering Diego along, not listening when his son questioned the trail they were following....

It wasn't until Diego had selected a thick branch and begun to lever out key stones from the rock fall that sealed in the Alcalde's party that he'd remembered that Diego was not nearly as clumsy or impractical as he seemed. And even then, when Diego had volunteered to ride into town to for replacement mounts and reinforcements for the lancers, he'd given it no special thought.

It was only when several hours passed and no reinforcements appeared that he began to wonder--although he had no clear idea exactly what he was wondering....

Diego had arrived home--filthy and on foot--at sundown to find his father irritated and worried. It was impossible not to think on those questions Diego had asked him to put aside.

Plainly, Diego had not 'gotten lost,' and the statement that he'd lost his horse to one of The Rabbit's traps was...plausible, actually, if you assumed that Diego had been pursuing the man rather than riding in the opposite direction. But it was Zorro who caught Alonzo, not a lone caballero or some faction of young men.

Except Zorro hadn't brought Alonzo into the pueblo, or even sent him in tied to his horse. No one had seen Zorro this time but the prisoner himself, and Zorro had left him dangling from a rope over Pine Gorge. The man had been weeping when the Alcalde's party, returning on foot, had found him....

It was not like Zorro to be cruel.

It wasn't like Diego either. And Alonzo had not blamed Diego, he had been quite specific about who had captured him.

Had Diego gone to--however he did it--summon Zorro? Or had he used the opportunity to do...something else?

Life was much simpler in the days when he'd believed that Diego was absentminded and a little sickly. Now, however he looked at the pieces the puzzle refused to resolve. Alejandro lay awake in his bed, staring out the window at the thin sliver of moon until it set. When he finally fell asleep he had none of the answers he'd been asked not to seek.

TBC