Antoine sat on the small bunk bed, the reports he had been reading for the past hour lying all around him in a disorderly fashion. It had not been two months since Zorro's first appearance in the pueblo, yet he had managed to stir the populace in a very strange manner. As his friend Diego told him last night, he helped the alleged traitor Don Ignacio Torres escape, rescued the de la Vega's vaquero Benito Avila from being hanged, warned the rebels of the trap the Comandante had set up for them, and helped Don Alejandro escape. After all of this, he even found the guts to put up a flag on the cuartel's pole, a flag bearing his symbol of a "Z".
Even though in another time and place, Antoine might have found this amusing in a way, he was now a soldier serving His Majesty the King of Spain, and the duty that came with the uniform was not to be taken lightly. The young man understood how important the role of the army was, especially on such a distant continent, so far from the capital city. Order was key to being efficient, and having the citizens know and respect that was a must if they were to protect the population from other threats such as those recent bandit attacks. The army could not afford playing on two fronts, dealing with outside problems and inner rebellion at the same time.
Zorro had so far disturbed this order on more than one occasion, and people seemed to cheer him up for it, as he had seen with his own eyes yesterday, when the masked man had brought in the bandits. He may have been right to do so, but the arrogant, defiant manner in which he had done it was unacceptable. Antoine felt it was such a waste for one to be so skillful, and yet an outlaw. He had no idea why one would choose such a path. What a formidable officer he could have made instead!
With a deep sighing breath, Antoine lied down on his back, wondering how he could catch the fox. He obviously had great sources of information, or an amazing intuition, as he seemed to know of every scheme to capture him before they were carried through. Kicking Sergeant Garcia out of the army to befriend Zorro was a great idea, but even that the outlaw seemed to have known about. Could he have infiltrated the army in a way? Was there a traitor among the soldiers?
The only way to find out if Zorro was as smart as he looked was to outsmart him of course. Then, to remove the possibility of him learning of a trap, Antoine had no choice but to keep it a secret, even from his commanding officers. He did not suspect Sergeant Garcia or the Capitán to be traitors, but they may be under closer scrutiny than others, if indeed there was a traitor in their ranks. Only one problem remained: how could Antoine catch this fox?
With a flick of the wrist, Antoine flipped his coin in the air, and caught it with his left hand as he stood up from the bed.
We reach Heaven faster by leaving from a house than from a palace.
Why could Antoine not stop thinking about this one line? His father had ordered him back to California without giving him a reason. It was odd that the Capitán was interested about the young soldier's motives for coming over, though he could not blame him for it. Was there something the Comandante was aware of, that he himself didn't know? Did it involve the Escudero? Too many questions to answer... and there were definitely no palace or castle in Los Angeles. Though one very specific house could still be around: his parents'. It was far fetched, but maybe something had been left over there. Antoine would have to look it out, in due time.
Now there were bandits to question. Maybe they could give him a clue or two about this Zorro.
It seemed the inn would never run out of noisy customers. Don Diego had left about an hour ago, and Imelda had sat alone at her table, lost in her thoughts, interrupted only now and then when some caballero or courageous man got the nerves to walk up to her and politely ask to sit down at her table. She had dismissed the poor souls with a distracted gesture of her hand, wishing to remain undisturbed. While in town, playing her character always required the utmost focus, else somebody might suspect something odd about her. People were so easy to dismiss her giggling and talkative self, but now she was thankful for the momentary break, and the half-anonymity the bustling crowd offered.
It surprised her that her thoughts again drifted towards past memories. Unconsciously, she was caressing the small, red flower pinned at the neck of her dress. The flower that would not even blossom every year, the one that reminded her so much of the first day she met Jacques.
"I've got what you needed, Mother," a soft voice suddenly said from behind.
As usual, Mateo was discreet as ever. Her son was such a subdued version of his father, though from time to time she recognized the familiar glare in his eyes and the clenching of his jaw when he was angry at something.
"What did the Corporal have to ask you when he left?" she asked, not even turning toward him.
"About something he lost," Mateo shrugged.
So, Antoine had already noticed the disappearance of his token watch. Imelda wondered if he would ever find out where it had ended up, thanks to her. The woman smiled inwardly, and finally stood up and took her son's arm.
"Let's go home, dear."
The bearded man looked up at Nuestra Señora Reina de los Angeles Asistencia, the brand new building established by the frailes from Mission San Gabriel. It was decorated with so many flowers it made it look like some painted fireworks standing still in time. Everybody close by was wearing their best clothes and their largest smiles, bearing gifts and getting ready for the festivities that were about to begin. An almost tangible effervescence could be felt over the sound of guitars being tuned.
Jacques was walking with ease among the small crowd, though he could feel Deiña tensing up. Her pregnancy had made her sensitive to people, and she had chosen to spend most of her time in seclusion at their small house built far from the town center, preferring to send Gaspar out for anything she needed. Jacques had finally been able to convince her to at least spend a short time with the community for this one occasion, if they ever wanted to be part of it. They had missed the wedding ceremony but at least they could give their best wishes to the new couple.
At first, the doctor had been surprised when he received a formal invitation from Don Tomás Escudero Manrique, and his soon-to-be wife Imelda. He knew the Don was one of the most influent people of this young pueblo, along with its leader Comisionado Vicente Feliz, but it surprised him greatly that the man had made the effort to invite him and his wife to his wedding, since they did not know each other at all.
"Buenas dias, Señor, Señora."
Jacques and Deiña turned around, to see a woman calling out to them. She was carrying a young child in her arms.
"You must be Doctor Garat," she said while putting down the young boy. "I am Chiquita de la Cruz, this is my little boy Diego," she added with a warm smile.
"Nice meeting you," the tall man replied. "Here is my wife Deiña."
"Buenas dias," she nodded, smiling fondly at both of them.
"You ought to feel lost among all these strangers. If you would like I could present you to my husband Alejandro de la Vega, and to the community. I can assure you, everyone is so glad to have a doctor among us, your skills will come in handy for sure!"
"We appreciate your kindness, Señora, but I am afraid we won't be around for long. Deiña is a little... tired and—"
"Mamá! Look at her belly! It's huge!" Diego said, pointing a finger at Jacques's wife.
"Diego!" Chiquita scolded her son with a gentle slap, while Deiña and Jacques tried to suppress their laughter at her embarrassment and the little boy's childish pout.
"Please forgive my son, he can be very energetic and inquisitive at times," she said.
"It's all right," Deiña waved her worries off. "I will eventually have to go through that as well." She smiled, rubbing her stomach emphatically as all pregnant women seemed to do.
"I hope it will also happen to me in due time," another voice added with a chuckle.
"Doña Escudero!"Chiquita beamed at the newcomer. "May I present to you Doctor Jacques Garat and his wife Deiña."
Jacques looked at the newly wed woman. She was radiant in her opulent wedding dress, and there was something about her that spoke of a certain dignity, though he could not figure out exactly what made him feel odd about it.
"Enhorabuena!" Deiña bowed slightly.
"Congratulations, Señora," Jacques added with a curt nod.
"Gracias, to you both," she nodded with a smile. "Doctor... I can't help but notice this beautiful, delicate adornment on your vest."
Jacques looked at Señora Escudero and frowned, instinctively reaching to his lapel to brush with the tip of his fingers the dry, red flower he had pinned there.
"It seemed like the occasion to wear it, Señora," he answered hesitantly, the frown still creasing his forehead.
"It must mean something special, for you to have conserved it so well."
There was a moment of awkward silence, where Jacques stared into the eyes of the woman in front of him, not understanding this strange, uneasy feeling in his gut. He could not figure out why the Señora seemed vaguely familiar, yet he had never met her.
Something in her eyes flickered, and he sensed his wife's hand tightening on his.
"Señora!" Chiquita jumped forward, catching Deiña by the shoulders before she could fall. Jacques panicked, feeling guilty for having brought his pregnant wife to the wedding festivities. There were too many people around, and she had trouble being in a crowd.
"I'm... all right," she whispered to her husband, reassuring him with a weak smile.
"We're going home, Deiña. Señoras, please forgive us," Jacques said firmly without taking his eyes off his beloved.
They slowly walked back to their cart, Jacques clutching his wife's shoulders in a protective manner. He bit his slower lip in anger, unable to forgive himself for being so selfish about their social status. He silently promised he would not make that mistake again.
The day was getting hotter by the minute as the sun rose higher in the sky. It was especially hot inside the cuartel, its court offering little shade, the wooden fence too high to allow wind to blow through except for a weakened, warm breeze which brought some strange odors from the pueblo.
Monastario was feeling the sweat trickling down his back, and he distractedly pulled at his collar to offer temporary relief to his dry throat. The interrogation of the four bandits had given him nothing so far, except the sour feeling that they had been playing with him for the last few hours. No threat could bring the faintest amount of fear in their eyes, and they simply sneered at every one of his questions.
Though they had been separated from each other into distinct, adjacent cells, the prisoners had been very consistent in their behavior and reactions, and Monastario was at the end of his patience with them. He wanted to know what had been these four men's motivations, who was their leader, and how they had been captured by Zorro. The Comandante could not shake off the uneasiness he felt at their overly confident behavior, as if he were the one having a gun pointed against his head. There must be something going on, and he had to find out what.
"Capitán," Corporal Garat came to him, saluting with a brisk gesture. The young soldier waited patiently in silence, shifting his weight slightly to stand at attention.
Monastario barely glanced at him, and simply grunted in anger. He was looking at Sergeant Garcia's incompetency at imposing order and respect from Rafael, the prisoner he was interrogating, and for one rare occasion the Comandante felt some sort of kinship with his clumsy officer.
"Sergeant, Corporal," he suddenly ordered, pointing a finger in a beckoning gesture to both of them.
"Hey, guys, it seems they finally got tired of asking dumb questions over and over," the one named Manolo sneered, disrespectfully pointing his thumb at Monastario through the metal bars. The comment elicited derision from his three friends.
"You think he's going to let us go?" Hernán snickered, putting his hands together in a mocking prayer. "Vinicio, pray with me, will you?"
"Ah! I forgot how to—"
"Silence!" Corporal Garat barked. The Comandante and the Sergeant both jumped at his unexpected, violent reaction. The tone in the young man's voice left no room for mockery and taunts, and though the smug, offensive smirks were still showing on the bandit's faces, they at least remained silent, scowling at the soldier who had interrupted their fun.
After a short, awkward moment, Monastario headed out with a brisk pace to his office, both men following him, and finally slumped into his leather chair with a heavy sigh, a sudden tiredness overwhelming him for a short moment. He then pull on his uniform and straightened his back, annoyed at having let his men see this momentary weakness from him.
"We are obviously going nowhere with these four bandits," he declared. "They did not admit to any of their crimes, yet they did not refute any of our arguments. Their arrogance is frustrating, it's almost as if they were... stalling, waiting for something to happen. "
"You think so, Capitán?" Sergeant Garcia shrugged. "I would've thought Zorro—"
"Zorro has nothing to do with this!" Monastario cut him, the tingling, burning anger at hearing the name of the outlaw reddening his cheeks slightly.
"You thought Zorro would've caught all of them, right?" Garat finished his sentence with a frown.
"Well... yes. He is... Zorro," Garcia shrugged.
Though it was annoying, Sergeant Garcia had a point. Would Zorro not have been so thorough, and left one or more of those bandits roaming free? Why had he, and everyone around him, assumed the fox to have dealt completely with this issue? Monastario made a mental note not to count on Zorro for anything, ever... except to be an annoyance, of course.
"Suggestions?"
"We could bring in the people who got attacked, maybe one of them would recognize these men," Garcia offered.
"They have already told us they saw nothing. Those men attacked at night, wearing a scarf across their faces," Garat explained. "Their relentless persecution of the neighborhood was done in a silent, coordinated manner. It's like the four men we have behind bars are totally different people than the bandits described in our reports."
"We don't even know exactly how many of them there were," Monastario added, the hopeful yet disturbing thought that Zorro may have made a mistake creeping into the back of his mind.
"I suggest we keep patrolling at night, Capitán. We can double the guard in case someone attempts to free these men. The soldiers could watch them closely, maybe they will tire and reveal something."
"All right," Monastario stood up. "Sergeant, Corporal, assemble two groups, you are on duty tonight. Try and understand where the bandits could attack next, you will patrol those areas, in case our... friend brought us the wrong men."
"But, Capitán..." Sergeant Garcia hesitated, visibly annoyed at having to stay up through the night.
"You may sleep this afternoon while we let these four idiotas roast in the heat. Dismissed!"
Both men saluted and walked out of his office. Monastario was not sure, but he thought he saw excitement in Corporal Garat's eyes. It seemed at least one of his men would be happy staying up tonight.
"This is totally ridiculous," Diego muttered to himself in self-consciousness. He had donned Zorro's clothes to sneak into the hacienda Escudero, in case someone saw him. He could simply not afford acting like a thief as Diego in the pueblo of Los Angeles, this would totally ruin his family reputation, not to mention incur his father's wrath.
The young man shuddered at the frightening thought, and resumed his search of... he did not even know what he was looking for. Tonio had a way sometimes of making him do things against his will, and he had no idea how he managed to convince him every single time. His baseless suspicions were borderline paranoid, though Diego could not help but feel intrigued by his ideas. It was indeed strange that Doctor Garat had made the effort of writing a message on a handkerchief, and that Tonio maybe had been followed on his way from Monterey.
All the while feeling naked in broad daylight, Zorro sneaked into the various rooms of the hacienda, making sure before entering them to listen for a while, to confirm no servants would be around doing their usual business. The house was big, but Zorro had thankfully not seen many people inside.
Not knowing what exactly he was looking for, except perhaps for some suspicious clue about Mateo, or Tonio's lost pocket watch, Zorro randomly opened closets, boxes, drawers, looked for hidden things on or behind bookshelves, felt for objects that could have been stuffed into the cushions lying on the couch. His frustration was growing by the minute, along with a feeling of shame at his own actions, which were totally un-Zorro like.
Mateo's bedroom was bare of any decorations except for a book lying on the bed, a portrait hanging on the wall across the door, and a small chest of drawers containing various items that had absolutely nothing suspicious about them. No pocket watch in sight. The last room to search was the Señora's, which Diego had kept last, unable to shake away the shame at what he was about to do. Entering a Doña's room felt like violating a sanctuary, and some unspoken caballero rule of conduct. Only Zorro's mask gave him the courage of what he was about to do.
Without a creak, the door opened, and the fox sneaked in slowly. He then closed the door and looked around, unable to refrain from gasping. The bedroom was a bright, refreshing pink, its large three-fold balcony windows adorned by luscious curtains, a faint smell of a woman's perfume permeating the air. The large bed stood in the middle, and its blankets had something about them that made them look more like puffy clouds than actual linens.
As Zorro opened the drawers, he could not help but marvel at the jewels and trinkets, and the quality of the cloth stored in them. Yet, no definite clues to help Tonio. Noting the beautiful and intricate pattern carved on the wooden closet, the caballero opened the doors and was assailed by a regiment of embroidered dresses, scarfs, and veils, their vibrant colors shining in the sunlight. His hands searched in vain for any hidden things again, until a small detail caught his eye.
Slowly pulling on the odd piece of clothing that did not fit with anything else in the wardrobe collection, Zorro ended up unfolding a simple, dirty dress, one only the poorest of peón would wear. It was torn in some places, and was of some undefined color between beige and gray. As he held it up in the air, a shawl fell on the floor.
Zorro frowned, a nagging sensation of déjà vu striking his mind. Where had he seen this shawl? After a moment, he shook his head, and picked up the cloth to put it back where he had taken it.
Instinctively, before his brain could register what his senses had just told him, Zorro froze in place, unable to finish the gesture. He quickly spun on his heels to regain his standing position, and in the same swift gesture reached out for his sword. However, despite his agile reflexes, he stopped when his eyes met the dark muzzle of a pistol aimed at him.
I do not know exactly when Diego's mother Chiquita de la Cruz passed away, nor what she died from, from any "official" source of Zorro I have handy. Diego, in the time frame I am using, was born in 1782, the flashback in this chapter is set mid-1784, so I chose to put her in a "cameo appearance", because I never read a fanfic who featured her alive (disregarding Allende's book of course) :) She gave half her genes to our favorite hero, I wanted to thank her for it, in a way. I always pictured her a with a strong character even though she is most often described as soft and gentle. How else could she stand up to the fiery Don Alejandro we all love so much? And, I picked the name McCulley gave her, not "Esperanza" as Hollywood decided to rename her.
Next: Action!