Bernardo was lying comfortably on the ground, hands crossed behind his head, enjoying a peaceful afternoon while munching on a long blade of grass. The mission was quite a serene place, and if it were not for the fact that he was expecting Don Alejandro to be back in a few moments, Bernardo might have slumbered the rest of the afternoon away.
Initially, Diego's friend had felt guilty for leaving him behind in Los Angeles all by himself, especially after hearing about those rumors of bandit attacks at the farms. Zorro would surely be roaming about to take care of these men, and Bernardo would have been glad to help in any way. However, Diego had insisted that Bernardo accompany his father to the mission, adamant in his belief that his servant needed some time off his duty to Zorro.
It so happened that Don Alejandro was visibly glad of the company, even though it was one that could not partake in any conversation whatsoever. The old man, uneasy at first with a deaf and dumb person at his side, had warmed up to Bernardo's presence after a few hours of traveling. He started talking about stories of his youth, some childhood anecdotes concerning his only son, and he even mentioned his deceased wife Chiquita. Bernardo was amazed at how talkative the old man was, unaware that ears were swallowing each one of his words without really wanting to.
Bernardo, upon hearing some of the tales, could not suppress a silent laugh now and then. Don Alejandro, first surprised at these reactions, dismissed the behavior with a pat on his mute companion's shoulder, probably on the account that Bernardo was only reacting in a natural way to his own smile and laughter.
The servant was a little disappointed at having to carry out this act in front of the old don, a feeling probably akin to Diego's own shame at lying to his father. He felt bad for listening to all these stories, which Alejandro might not have so honestly told if he had known Bernardo could hear very well.
And sooner than later, the mute man thought with a frown, this situation would get even more complicated.
"Bernardo... where are you?" the servant heard from afar. However, he did not move one inch and kept his eyes closed. Don Alejandro was fumbling around, looking for his companion, until he found him lying under the tree next to the church. Bernardo felt a steady gaze being cast on him, but stayed still with some effort.
"Diego was right... You did need a vacation. Poor Bernardo," he said with a soft laugh, bending down to gently pat the man's shoulder.
Bernardo jumped as if he were startled, and tried to look embarrassed while running to the carriage. As he had expected, the don laughed, gaily teasing him, and the servant discreetly chuckled as he groped for the mule's bridle while the old man climbed into the vehicle.
"Fray Luiz was quite happy with the cattle we brought, Bernardo. The two bovines will provide them with much needed help for farming the land around here. I also... met..."
Don Alejandro trailed off, and Bernardo acted as if he didn't notice while he unfastened the tether. When he turned around, he saw the old man squint his eyes as he looked at something into the far distance. Bernardo's gaze followed the don's, and he too saw it after a few seconds. Small clouds of dust were seen at the horizon, but they did not grow bigger as one would expect if a rider were coming towards the mission.
Alejandro frantically gestured for Bernardo to climb in, and he turned the carriage around.
"Let's check it out," he muttered to himself, eyes kept onto the conspicuous bright flashes coming from the same area.
As they came closer, Bernardo heard the distinct sound of blades clashing, the sunlight occasionally reflecting on them. When Don Alejandro parked the carriage a short distance away from the nearby pond, it became quite clear to both men that a fight had been going on for some time. The two adversaries were quite dusty and panting, and the taller one was visibly winning, though the soldier whom he was pressing back and compelling to retreat had not yet given up and seemed uninjured.
Alejandro jumped down the carriage in a swift motion, his face clearly showing his intent to leap to the rescue as he grabbed his sword's hilt.
"Halt, señores!" he yelled with a stentorian voice, surprising everyone including Bernardo.
The soldier turned around to look at the incoming stranger, and Bernardo gaped dumbfounded, instantly recognizing Diego's friend from Spain. This was none other than Antoine! However, the young man had obviously not seen Bernardo, busy as he was staring at the imposing caballero while keeping a check on his opponent.
"Stay back, old man, this is a duel good and proper, not to be interrupted!" the dark-skinned man declared.
Don Alejandro grunted, manifestly torn between duty and honor.
"If His Majesty's soldier confirms so, I swear I will not interrupt your quarrel," he finally said after a pause. Bernardo understood how Don Alejandro tried to open a door for Antoine to request help, since a duel would normally have seconds, and there were obviously none present.
Anger flashed in the tall man's eyes, but he kept silent, waiting for Antoine to give his answer.
"I... Yes...Proper..." the young man replied, breathing heavily. Bernardo could tell from his sunken eyes and tired looks that he would not last much longer, but he officially refused Don Alejandro's help, too proud to bail out on this duel for unknown reasons.
The furious man did not waste a moment to jump back on Antoine, resuming their intense swordplay without hesitation.
Bernardo bit his lower lip in anxiety, unable to stand in place and watch without doing something to help his friend. Don Alejandro's eyes were fixed on the fight, so he did not notice the servant climb down the carriage and run toward the duel.
"Bernardo, no!" Don Alejandro yelled.
With one hasty and agile motion, Bernardo effectively put himself between the two fighting men, avoiding their blades while pushing them away from each other.
"What is this idiota doing!"
"Do not hurt my servant, señores, he is deaf and dumb!" Alejandro yelled, stepping forward to drag him out of the fight.
Yes, Bernardo thought. He was supposed to be deaf, why not act it all the way through? He stood still, not budging one bit though he felt his shoulder being pulled back.
"Bernardo... What? You... here?" Antoine whispered, his dilated eyes locking with his friend's for a moment.
Don Alejandro was about to say something, but he was cut short when the tall man's sword hissed pass his face in a quick thrust. It was pulled back with a swift motion, and Bernardo saw Antoine grab his shoulder, his face contorted from the pain of his wound.
"You swore not to interfere, old man! Grab your stupid manservant and begone!"
Bernardo was distressed by his friend's condition. He shook his head in despair, as Alejandro firmly yanked him back to a safe distance.
"I beg of you, señores, stop this duel, the soldier is wounded. Are you fighting to the death?" the don asked, the same feeling of anguish audible in his question.
"Are we, soldado?" the man asked with a laugh, mockingly pointing the tip of his sword at Antoine's heart.
The young soldier fell down on one knee, his body seemingly unable to cope with his wound and tiredness. Bernardo's heart sunk at the same time.
Monastario may have been in a foul mood not so long ago, but he was now merrily laughing, and he could even feel the tears forming at the bottom of his eyes. He gasped for some time until he could control his mirth, then carefully wiped his eyes with his little finger. He finally took a deep breath to try and make sure he would not have another laughing fit.
"I am glad to be an object of ridicule to you, Comandante."
The soldier looked up to his offended guest, his face now serious as if nothing had happened. He put a hand to his heart as though hurt by the accusation.
"Señora Escudero, you will have to forgive me, I am but surprised that you would bring such concerns to me personally," Monastario declared as he bowed slightly. "I have to be honest with you. This is the first time I hear of such an unusual... story, and my rather practical mind has a difficult time grasping the scope of this matter."
Of course, the mere mention of a treasure had kindled the Comandante's curiosity more than his anger, but when the señora had mentioned that the fabled loot she was looking for was cursed, his reaction had been instantaneous.
"What needs to be done then, so that you believe it?" the woman said, fanning herself and trying to hide her pout by turning her back to the officer.
"Well... some sort of proof would surely support your case in a solid manner, Señora," he replied, containing his amusement behind false humility. "I would also like to know why you are requesting my help, as I understand the Church might be more of assistance with this issue than a mere soldier such as myself."
"This is where you are wrong, Comandante," the woman suddenly purred, brushing aside in one slow sweep all the documents sitting on the desk.
Monastario felt his fury boiling again. He hated it when people touched his things and did not respect authority so blatantly. However, the volcano of angry words he was about to blurt out was kept in check by one little pouch that Señora Escudero gently put down in the middle of the desk.
"What is this?" he finally asked after a long pause.
"The proof you seek," the señora gestured with her fan.
The Comandante looked at her, wondering what kind of trick she was trying to pull on him. He picked up the silken pouch and unfastened its string. The object was so light it could just have been empty. With a sigh, Monastario poured the content in his left hand.
As if the whole scene had been staged, the small pierced earring dropped right in the middle of his palm, the gem inlaid in its gold frame breaking into a hundred sparkles the afternoon sunlight that was coming in through the window.
Upon closer examination and careful scrutiny, Monastario could not find any clue or flaw that would hint at the gem being an imitation. The diamond, if real, was a pure beauty, and its pale blueish color was a sure hint at its value and rarity.
The Comandante brought up his gaze to the señora once more, trying to keep his face a perfect expression of neutrality.
"I fail to see how this earring would hint at the existence of a treasure, or of its alleged curse, Señora," he declared, unsure of what to think of this new fact.
"Well... How shall I put this... " She smiled, grabbing his hand and closing his fingers around the piece of jewelry.
"Ha! Whatever is going on with your 'curse', señora, it will not work!" Monastario smiled, trying to detect what was behind the woman's thoughts. The only curse he knew of was real flesh and blood, and it was this damn curse of Capistrano, who could never refrain from stamping every wall in Los Angeles with a 'Z' wherever he went. Zorro, the curse of his career, destroyer of uniforms, and supreme annoyance.
"Ow!" Monastario suddenly swore, jerking his hand back and dropping the earring, a sudden burning sensation stinging the inside of his hand.
Señora Escudero caught the jewelry before it hit the desk, and shook her head, a crooked smile lighting her face. She quickly put it back in the pouch.
"Tut tut! Comandante, please be careful with my belongings!"
"What is this trickery!"
The officer rubbed his hand against his uniform, but the burning remained the same. When he examined his palm, he could see the redness and some swelling.
"A mere hindrance in the way to profit. A treasure cursed by a doctor, husband of a beautiful lady, after her tragic death at the hands of an incurable disease... Something I am sure you could not care less about, dear Comandante, though I felt the need to warn you about it. Here," she added, standing up and walking to the table where a bottle had been left. "Have some wine, it will help dull the pain of your hand."
As the señora poured the liquid into a cup, Monastario was trying to collect his thoughts into something coherent. Curses were stories to make children scared, they were most certainly not things of this material world. Yet, the pain was real, and its cause unexplained. As far as he knew, diamonds never burned anyone before.
"Señora," the Comandante smiled, his countenance back to perfection. "I am afraid I still do not understand how I am to be linked to your treasure hunt, and how I could be of help."
"My, Comandante, haven't you read the full curriculum of the soldiers under your command?"
"Are you hinting there is something about one of them I am not aware of?" he frowned, unsure of what Señora Escudero meant by this allusion, and how she could know about his men's background.
"Unlike most fairy tales, Comandante, ours has real characters. The couple I mentioned earlier... are none other than soldier Garat's parents."
Something odd about Señora Escudero's aura shone at the mention of this name, but Monastario simply smiled at her and sipped at his wine.
Carlos Martinez was mad even though he was sneering. It did not work out as planned at all. His opponent was quite pigheaded, not giving up even though he was pretty much beaten. The man in Monterey was right when he had said the young soldier was tired, but he had not really seen the stubbornness behind his seemingly weaker constitution. The fight had simply lasted longer than expected.
With the sudden appearance of those two strangers, it made things even worse. Martinez thought they would have left them be, but the caballero sense of honor was too strong in the old man for just that to have happened. With things as they were now, the plan would just not work out in any way.
Martinez craved challenges and had rarely been defeated in duels, and though his own sense of honor was probably crooked in most people's eyes, he still would not kill a man on his knees for sports. The young boy in front of him had been able to defend himself, but Martinez felt through the exchange of thrusts that the soldier could do much better if he were in top condition. Thus, with a mixture of gloat and regret, he pushed his sword back in its scabbard.
"Too bad, chico, now we've got to reschedule this thing," Martinez said, the smile now gone from his face. "Your two friends here can bear witness that I ask for a rematch, once you'll have taken care of that scratch. I know you can do better than that, and I find it most insulting that would not give it your all during a duel."
He spat on the ground and whistled. A moment later, hoofbeats were heard and a horse came running toward the small group.
"I don't even know if I should thank you for sparing a life today, señor," the old man said, as he gestured for his servant to help the soldier back on his feet.
Martinez laughed out loud as he climbed on the saddle. He thought maybe he could spark up the situation a bit, since it hadn't turned out as expected anyways.
"It depends. Maybe the soldado would prefer to cross blades with the other one on his trail since Monterey, though that would be a setback for our little rematch. What say you, nameless Frenchman?"
The soldier stared at him, the hint of a smile shining in his tired eyes.
"I hope you will at least spare me the effort of finding you, Martínez, I've certainly got better things to do with my time," he said with a grunt.
Martínez chuckled at the comment. In a strange way, he liked the boy's attitude.
"Hasta luego!" he finally said, tipping his hat as he suddenly spurred his mount with his heels. He was most definitely looking forward to fight again, without a doubt. In the meantime, he would try and find out where Pilar would be performing her dances tonight.
Right hand close to her chest, Imelda walked in ladylike fashion out of the cuartel, escorted by the imposing Sergeant Garcia whom she duly ignored. She was hoping that the Comandante had not detected her weakness when she mentioned the name of Garat. Under many circumstances, she had been able to play all kinds of roles, like she just did with Monastario, but that one flaw in her performance could very well upset her crafty scheme.
Jacques still had a very powerful effect on her. She could not simply dismiss the flow of emotions she felt when she first read Gaspar's terse letter announcing his death, and the parchment still showed proof that she had shed a few tears upon its lecture. Those tears had surprised her tremendously, as if they had been a stranger's. Imelda had thought she had put this whole story behind her, but things from the past were still haunting Los Angeles in a subtle manner.
"Ay, perdone!" Imelda heard as a strong hand grabbed her gently to stabilize her. The young man who had bumped into her smiled shyly as he picked up the book he had just dropped. Back into character, Imelda opened her fan and hid her chuckle, waiting for the proper apologies.
"This is most definitely my fault, Señora, I should not be reading while I stroll in the pueblo. I hope you do accept my humble excuses," he politely said with a honest smile, grabbing the hand she was offering.
"I most certainly do, considering the pleasure I have of gazing at such a charming young man," she replied with a giggle. "To whom do I have the honor?"
"Diego de la Vega, Señora," he said, kissing her hand. "I am afraid I have to excuse myself a second time. I cannot recall ever seeing your beautiful smile in Los Angeles."
Imelda giggled again, taking another look at the gentleman who seemed so eloquent with the ladies. Don Alejandro de la Vega's son was certainly a man who could make many señoritas faint with his mere presence, yet she intuitively sensed there was something more troubling to his contained, polished behavior.
"I am Imelda Escudero Galván. Pleased to meet Don Alejandro's unique son."
"Señora, are you acquainted with my father?" he asked, surprised.
"He and my husband, Don Tomás Escudero, knew each other, a long time ago. But those are old stories which would not interest a young caballero such as you, Señor de la Vega," Imelda said, brushing her fan lightly against Don Diego's left cheek. The young man did not look like one who would blush, but he did. How amusing.
"Well..." he hesitated. "The pleasure was mine, Señora Escudero."
"Send my regards to your father, " Imelda said with a nod as Don Diego took his leave. With interest, she watched him walk to the cuartel with decided steps, his bearing somewhat different from that of the young intellectual he was a few moments ago. The Comandante of Los Angeles would probably be having a second encounter with one who pretended to be someone else.
Imelda turned around and walked away from the plaza, distractedly fanning herself to provide relief from the thick afternoon heat.
Don't worry about Zorro... he will be coming up pretty soon! :)