After reading this chapter, I think there's possibly two reasons you will not like me :) So here's the trivia: what would those two reasons be? Answers at the end of this chapter!
Also, I am looking for a beta reader, I have made numerous requests around but it seems the beta readers are either not active anymore (despite their active tag on their profile) or not interested. If any one of the 30+ silent strangers reading my story would be interested, please let me know, I would really, really appreciate the help. I seek support and feedback on story structure, plot pacing and, of course, vocabulary (being a non native English speaker, I feel I could improve in that area).
2008-10-25 edit: I changed a few details, mostly based on IcyWaters review of this chapter (I totally agree!) Thanks for pointing out a weak part :)
Chapter 12 is in beta process right now. Coming soon!
The door of the oficina closed behind them with a soft squeak. Now it was time to go back in the heat, and the tremendous effort required to ignore it. As Sergeant Garcia's eyes squinted in the bright sun, he thought night patrol would not be such a bad idea after all. The only thing that kept him barely alert in this hot temperature was the comforting thought of a good glass of wine at the tavern. Even now, the mere idea made him smile inwardly, and he heard his stomach growl in the expectation of some good food that could accompany such a refreshment.
The large man rubbed his belly distractedly, dreaming of the forthcoming meal, and the nap that he was now allowed to have freely. What a heavenly gift!
"Sergeant, what kind of man do you think Zorro is?"
Garcia shrugged as his thoughts shifted to the masked man. Corporal Garat's voice sounded excited. Young men, these days! Any occasion was good to run around and disturb the peace any Spanish citizen should be able to enjoy freely. The Sergeant never had such boiling blood in his veins, and he had always wondered why everyone around him was so energetic, hot-tempered, and impatient to get things moving.
"I don't know, Corporal," he ventured, unsure of what to say.
"Sergeant, you can be honest with me, I won't tell anyone," Garat winked at him as he wrapped his arm around his shoulders.
"The Capitán is pretty sure he is a caballero," Garcia said in a lower voice. "I mean, he saved the Torres women from prison. He also warned the rebellious—"
"Sergeant, I read the reports. I want to know what you think of him."
Garcia's thoughts came to a stop. How did he feel about Zorro? Why was Garat interested in his opinion? The Capitán never asked him what he thought of anyone.
"Well, Corporal," the rotund man's fingers fumbled on his chest and hips. The question made him very uncomfortable. He clearly remembered the strange, unfamiliar feelings he had experienced when the Comandante kicked out of the army. Even though it was part of a scheme to get closer to Zorro, all Garcia had ever known was life in the Army, and he felt totally lost without the routine of a soldier's life, and the assurance of his officers. When had been about to give up and return to the cuartel, the masked man had replied to his request to join his ranks. How elated he had felt!
Garcia had also felt relief when Zorro helped the natives the Capitán had ordered beaten at Mission San Gabriel. Were those forbidden thoughts? Would cheering up an outlaw be considered treason?
"Yes?" Garat was staring at him, and the intensity in his eyes made Garcia look down.
"I don't think he is such a bad man," he finally whispered, unable to actually admit he really thought he was a good man. "He never more than scratched or humiliated our soldiers, and I never saw him kill anyone. I'm pretty sure he would save any good citizen from ... danger." Garcia's head slightly turned away from the Corporal. He felt uneasy. The way he had said things, Garat could infer he meant the Capitán had put people into danger, if Zorro had deemed necessary to intervene.
The young man's silence unnerved Garcia. The Sergeant took a deep breath, ready to blurt out excuses. "Listen, I—"
"Sergeant, you're the best!" Garat declared loudly with a pat on the large man's shoulder, a large grin creasing his features.
"I am?" Garcia asked. The soldier's glee made him smile though he had no idea why. "What did I do?"
"See you later for night patrol, Sergeant!" Without further ado, the young man hurriedly walked away, leaving his puzzled superior behind.
"What did I do?" Garcia repeated to no one in particular.
So, this was the pueblo of Nuestra Reina de los Angeles. Martínez looked around with a dejected gaze, unimpressed by the scene in front of him. Dusty buildings, dusty peónes, dusty horses, and the ever present dusty air, the intense heat of noontime making sure it would not settle for a while. The tall man sniffed with disdain as he spurred his horse forward to find the nearest inn, slowly making his way through the half-crowded streets among strangers who did not even look up to him.
One delicious thought has been occupying his mind for the last few days. Without shame, Martínez let his possessive feelings and desires overcome his bored self for a moment, and a smile lit his face. Pilar Fuentes. What an amazing, fierce woman. Everything about her demanded attention: the way she spun her wrists, cocked her head, her sure steps, the curls of her black hair, her hips... Eventually, he would have the nerves to talk to her, and one thing that may help towards that is the duel with the Frenchman.
Martínez had ridden ahead of Pilar to make sure he would be in town before her, but also to give himself time to find the boy and finish what he had started. The tall man's lips suddenly turned to a full grin when his lucky star shone upon him. His eyes spotted a white and blue uniform out of the crowd, and he instantly recognized the one he was looking for. The young man was also bearing a grin not unlike his own, but he hadn't looked in his direction, and seemed very intent on getting somewhere from the speed of his steps.
"I see you're still around, Martínez," a voice suddenly said next to him. Martínez kept staring at the Corporal until he disappeared at a corner, and finally turned his head to look down at the man who had just spoken.
"Got something on your mind, amigo?" he said coldly, the smile disappearing from his face. "I'll be busy, no time to do your dirty work."
"If you're still looking for the other half of the payment, I might have something for you. Just thought you might want to hear about it."
Martínez let a few seconds pass, considering his options. "Speak up."
"I got to do something in town for now, but if you could follow Garat for the next couple of hours and report what he did and where he's been, you'd get the other half." The stranger paused. "Just make sure you do this before you fight him... and if he dies, well, kiss the money good-bye."
"Garat, eh? What's he got that's so important he needs to be watched?"
The man glared at him. "I'm not paying you to ask questions."
Martínez looked up at the sky for a moment, trying to figure out what the stranger wanted. There had to be something going on, and it must be related to money. Lots of it. What else could he possibly want from this youngster?
"Hmmm," the tall man finally muttered with a slight nod.
"I'll find you later then."
The stranger slapped Martínez's horse on the rump to send it forward, and when the rider looked back the man was already gone, disappeared in the busy crowd.
Hidden among the peasants, one unnoticeable person was trying to look more interested in the object he was examining on the street merchant's table, than with what he had just seen happening a short distance away. Martínez was in town!
Bernardo's heart was racing, and he was already worried his friend Antoine might be in trouble. He had heard the man saying he would be back for another duel, and at that time the look in his eyes had told he would keep his promise, at any cost. What was even more worrisome though, is that he seemed to have an accomplice. Though he did not hear a word of what they had said to each other, the way the other man was able to conceal his features from most people around him told a lot about what he had to keep secret. If Martínez was to be believed, could this stranger be the other one who had been following Antoine since Monterey?
Thankfully, Martínez had not seen him when both men parted. However, Bernardo almost lost sight of the other man as he mingled in the crowd with ease. Without wasting one second, and trusting his instinct more than logic, the dumb man dashed forward and followed the stranger. Martínez had seemingly no ambitions other than a duel, and though he was a threat to his friend Antoine, this other man's hidden intentions could be worse... and there was only one way to find out.
Bernardo tried to be discreet as he fought his way through the people. When he turned at the street corner, he frantically tried to spot the man among all the movement, to no avail. If he could speak, he would have uttered a curse, but he simply shook his head and tried to figure out where the man could have gone. There were not many possibilities, and again, out of intuition more than reason, the mute ran into a small, empty alley nearby.
The sudden quietness was almost eerie, and made Bernardo slow down. There was no one here, but the servant listened intently for any sound that could give the stranger's presence away. He speedily walked forward again, darting his eyes here and there among the piles of rubbish against the dirty walls.
The ground was too hard for anyone to leave footprints. Bernardo sighed, annoyed that he had lost track of the dubious figure. He stopped walking and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath, suddenly noticing the faint, disgusting smells tainting the air.
"Hola, Señor," a voice suddenly whispered in his back.
Forgetting all about his deaf cover, Bernardo readily stood up in genuine surprise, already regretting the gesture as he gave away his secret. He tried to turn around to see who had spoken, but he suddenly felt a sharp pain at the base of his neck. His mouth opened but could not let any sound out, and his vision blurred as he lost his balance and fell to his knees. He clumsily grabbed his temples to will away the dizziness, and with a flash of good sense he remembered to look up to identify the attacker. For one brief moment, his eyes met those of the one who had hit him, but before he could register his features, everything turned to darkness and the last thing he heard was the thumping sound his body made against the ground.
The bare landscape and its rocky outcroppings rapidly passed by unnoticed, their oppressive and eerie effect lost on the lone rider. As he rode further and further from Los Angeles, the young man urged his steed to run faster, until he felt the big brown could maintain a steady speed without becoming tired too quickly.
Antoine had been warned by his fellow soldiers that he should be wary of the spirited horse he picked for his afternoon errand, but his instincts had told him the animal was of no danger to him. He was initially surprised at the strong, impetuous character of the animal, but after a few awkward minutes of getting back into horse riding, Antoine was rapidly filled with elation and a sense of freedom he had not felt for many months. He had not realized how long he had gone without riding a horse, the months aboard La Princesa depriving him of this pleasure, and the joy of running across the plains seemed to be happily shared by both rider and beast.
Still, the young soldier had only a vague idea of where he was heading, not knowing the area around the pueblo. He had quickly stopped at Don Alejandro's hacienda to get some directions, as the old man was probably one of the very few in town who had known Jacques Garat from more than twenty years ago. The don had told him he had spoken but a few times with the Doctor, and had not personally known the man very well, but he remembered the general location of his house.
Antoine was not surprised at being told his father had been distant. A look at the surroundings told Antoine the area was probably uninhabited, a fitting place that only his father could have chosen to settle in. He wondered if there was anything left of the old house, and if finding it would trigger some long lost childhood memories.
Shaking his head to return to the present, Antoine suddenly slowed down his mount by pulling on its reins. The soldier noticed numerous hoofprints on the ground. Someone had been in the area recently, though he wondered why, as the area was of no particular interest, nor was it close to any major road.
An escalating sense of foreboding gripped his chest, and with a grunt Antoine dismissed it as he once more spurred his mount forward, following the clean tracks to where they were heading. After a moment, he could make out an old adobe house not too far ahead of him.
As Antoine approached it, he slowly looked around and took a deep breath. This must be his parents' house, there was nothing else remotely close in the neighborhood. He tried to stir up some memories, but nothing specific about his first home would come up. Antoine had left California when he was six, but he could hardly remember anything, except for his mother's smile, the comfort of her arms, her smell... but most vividly, the feeling of awkwardness after she passed away. The young child he was had never fully understood what had happened, nor why his father became so distant, so difficult to talk to.
Still deep in his thoughts, the soldier dismounted and tethered his horse to the nearby fence, which had dried up and fell apart, except for a pole which still had a piece of wood nailed to it. It vaguely looked like a cross, as if it were marking the final, resting place of—
No. Antoine had to stop his thoughts from going down that path. He did not understand what had possessed him to come here in the first place. He should let the ghosts of the past rest in peace, and just get on with his new life in California. He had good friends here, he had found a good challenge in trying to capture an outlaw, a possible way to go up in rank... why would he screw everything up by trying to figure out some meaningless message left by his father?
The young man was about to get back on his horse, but after struggling with his own twisted logic about leaving this place, curiosity took over. He had to at least have one look inside. Before he could change his mind, Antoine walked briskly to the side door and opened it. He was greeted by a foul smell, which rapidly faded away as it went out with the draft. It seemed to come from something that had been burned on the ground, possibly a fire lit up by some poor soul seeking shelter in this abandoned place. The footprints looked fairly recent.
However, nothing was left in what seemed to have been the kitchen, except for a few broken pieces of ceramic plates and jars partially buried in the ground. The door frame against the next wall led to another empty room, larger than the kitchen.
With a sigh, Antoine wiped his forehead with his sleeve, realizing just now he had been holding his breath since he had entered the abandoned house. He had anxiously expected memories to come flowing back, but nothing was familiar with this bare place, not even the view through the small windows. An oppressive silence surrounded him, and all he could hear was his own heartbeat, so loud it almost covered the sound of his footstep and his rapid breathing.
His own overreaction suddenly brought out a chuckle, which totally sounded out of place. Holding on to the thought that Diego had been right all along to call him insane, he slowed down his breathing and continued his stroll through the adobe house while examining everything in sight for any clue, and finally ended up in the master bedroom.
Unlike the other rooms, a bookshelf had been left against the wall, probably too large to come out through the door frame. Small, broken drawers lay in pieces on the ground, and Antoine slowly bent down to examine one. The wooden handle was shaped into an oval, and upon touching it, the young man realized with a pang in his chest that these were from the chest of drawers right next to his parents' bed.
Where Mother died.
With a shudder, Antoine stood up and finished examining the room. Whatever his father had meant by the odd message on the handkerchief, he would not find the key to this puzzle here. There was nothing left around, no dubious object to examine, no scribble on the walls, not even a symbol or a mark laid down.
"Did you find what you were looking for, amigo?"
The voice made Antoine jump so hard he yelped. Grabbing his sword's hilt and spinning on his heels, he turned to face the familiar presence, face flushed with embarrassment from having been caught off guard.
"Martínez," he muttered between clenched teeth, wondering how the man had been able to sneak in without a sound. Could the hoofprints Antoine had noticed earlier be his? How could Martínez have known where he was headed? This didn't make sense at all.
"Hey, I found you," he smirked, pointing at his shoulder. "How's that wound?"
"Why do you care?"
"We got something to finish, remember?"
"How could I forget..." Antoine whispered to himself, unconsciously scratching his right shoulder. It felt like a bruise, nothing more, but dueling could very well make it worse.
Eyes flashing with eager anticipation, Martínez deliberately unsheathed his sword with a slow gesture. "So, what's this place to you? The way I scared you, I guess someone died here. With my help, maybe you can join the other ghosts of this dirty place, eh?" Martínez taunted.
Antoine knew the man was trying to make him angry, but he was able to control his emotions and calm himself down. His heartbeat returned to normal, and after a moment, he took out his own weapon in the same leisured manner.
"En garde," Antoine simply replied with a feeling of déjà vu.
Martínez grinned as the tip of their swords clinked together.
The cuartel's prison cells were facing south, for a very good reason. In Los Angeles, afternoons could get hellishly hot, and today did not seem an exception to the rule even though it was not even summer yet. Still, despite the fact that he was sweating like a pig, Hernán Sanz sat against the wall of his cell with an arrogant smile on his face, the only means he had to annoy the soldiers on guard duty watching over he and his friends. The temptation was great to simply take a nap, but he had to remain awake and alert, and be ready for their upcoming task. The other should not be too long now.
"Hey, would it be too much to ask for water?" Vinicio yelled to no one in particular.
"Oh Vini, come on, at least ask for some wine, no one here feels like drinking water," Manolo complained loudly. Hernán laughed silently at the stupid comment, but he heard his friends roaring in their cells.
Four guards instead of the usual two were patrolling the inner courtyard, and they were visibly annoyed at the men they were watching over, though one of them shook his head with a sigh and left his post to fetch a bucket and some cups at the well. He grudgingly carried it back to the cells, making sure not go to Vinicio's first.
The soldier deliberately put down his musket against the stone wall and glared down at Hernán. "What are you waiting for, stupid. Come up and drink," he growled, throwing a cup through the bars.
The prisoner picked it up slowly, and finally looked up at the guard. The man was grinning. Hernán's eyes widened in genuine surprise, and it took him a moment to recognize his captor.
He smiled back. It was time.
Focused as he was onto writing the report about this morning's interrogations, Monastario did not really hear at first the commotion outside his office. He dismissed it as routine practice, until he realized that both his Sergeant and Corporal were theoretically not around to lead the regular exercise.
With an angry grunt, the Capitán put down his quill and rose from his chair, intent on finding out what was going on in the middle of the afternoon. Could it be Zorro again? It was certainly not his style to be annoying the Army during daytime!
As he put his hand on the office door to open it, Monastario was violently thrown back a few steps as it got pushed in by someone's back. Disoriented, the officer tried to make sense of the situation, but before he could reach for his sword he was grabbed by the collar and a pistol was forcefully pushed against his jaw.
"Greetings, Comandante," the prisoner he recognized as Rafael said. "I recommend you sit back in your chair, it will make things easier for you."
"How—" Monastario started protesting.
"Wrong question. You should ask 'What now?'"
"Spare me the witty humor," the officer growled as he was slowly coerced back into his chair by the big man. As Rafael dutifully kept the pistol against Monastario's cheek, he took the Capitán's sword out and threw it at Manolo, who caught it with his free hand. The other was holding a musket stolen from one of the guards.
"Step back, everyone, else we hurt your friend and your Comandante here!" Hernán barked over the noise. Monastario realized this bandit was also armed with a pistol, and it was aimed at the guard he and Vinicio were gripping by the shoulders. All three of them had their backs to him as Hernán closed the door of the office with his foot, successfully keeping the soldiers outside with his threat.
Monastario was baffled. How could four prisoners in four different cells escape so easily, during day time with double guard duty, and manage to capture one of the soldiers and the commanding officer? Were his men that incompetent?
"Check that door, Manolo, and make sure to shoot anyone who dares come too close to it," Hernán ordered. He and Vinicio then walked behind Monastario's desk and bumped the unarmed guard against the wall.
"You're not going to get out of here!" the Capitán managed to say before the pistol was pushed even harder against his cheek.
"Don't try to make a commitment you won't be able to respect, Enrique," one of the men said in his back.
Monastario's chest inflated with anger and he jumped out of his chair, dangerously forgetting about the weapon aimed at him.
"Who—"
"Calm down, calm down, we certainly don't want any mistake to happen now, do we?" A hand grabbed his shoulder and forced him back into a sitting position.
Monastario turned his head to look at it, and he could not refrain from gasping when he saw the blue fabric of the sleeve. The hand belonged to someone wearing a uniform.
The captive guard. He was the one who helped the bandits out.
"He knows," Manolo said with a smile when he saw the look on Monastario's face. Quiet laughter erupted behind the officer.
"We're deeply sorry about all this, Enrique, but we'll have to drag you out of here, and you don't seem to be in the mood to quietly walk out with us acting as your bodyguards," the soldier said. "Someone... special to you would not be too happy about it if you got hurt in the process."
Before he could say a word, Monastario felt a damp piece of cloth cover his nose and mouth. He shook his head and tried not to breathe, but it was too late. His muscles went limp, and his last thought before losing consciousness was about who on earth the man had meant by 'someone special'.
Answers to trivia:
1. I did not mention Zorro once in this chapter :) He still got a pistol pointed him... poor Diego.
2. More cliffhangers... don't we love those?
Next: Diego gets into serious trouble, Antoine sweats a lot, and it's panic time at the cuartel. By the way, where is Imelda? I might be able to throw in a flashback too...