NOTE BY THE ACCOUNT HOLDER: THIS STORY IS NOT MINE!

WRITTEN BY KARLA GREGORY

Chapter Three

The two bandidos, with Diego, had arrived at the outskirts of the town of Santa Barbara just a little before sunset. Joaquin left Rodrigo with the unconscious Diego and went down into the town to see about finding a fishing boat that could take them out to the ship which should be off the island of Santa Cruz by now. He found a fisherman mending his nets and hired him to do the job. He raced back to Rodrigo and they made their way to the dock taking precautions not to be seen. The fisherman wanted to know what was wrong with the young man and Joaquin told him that the father of the young man had wanted him to go to Spain for an education, but the young man did not want to go. So the father had hired them to make sure the young man got on the ship and that is what they were going to do. They had to knock him out and tie him up, but he was going, and that was that.

"But, no luggage?" the man asked.

Joaquin was growing tired of trying to explain. "Do you want to earn twenty pesos or not? I am sure there are other fishermen who can do the job?" he asked.

With that, the fisherman shut up and helped them put Diego in the bottom of the small sailboat. The horses were just left tied to the dock. The fisherman figured the two men would come back to get them after they got the young don on the ship.

And so they sailed into the night. It took almost an hour before they caught sight of the ship's lanterns and pulled up along side of it. Sailors with pistols challenged them until the captain could be summoned. He quickly gave orders that they were to help get the unconscious man aboard. Just as they were all standing on the deck, Diego started to come around. Joaquin hit him on the head again, sending him back to oblivion.

When the captain looked a question, he said, "Believe me, it is much better for all of us if he is unconscious until we have him locked away. We will put him in the in the small forward room below decks. Make sure anything loose in there is removed. The door does have a lock? Well, give me the key. You won't be needing it for this trip."

When Diego came to, he found himself on the floor of a small room - soaking wet. Someone had just thrown a bucket of seawater on him. He shook his head and a headache split his brain. He raised one hand to feel of it and found a manacle locked on his wrist.

Squinting in the dim candlelight he saw that his other hand sported a manacle too. Both had chains dangling from them that were attached to the wall behind him.

"So, my sleeping beauty, you are awake at last?" said Joaquin. "You must have a pretty tough skull to take so much punishment and still be alive. Not like my poor Marcos whom you killed." Diego looked surprised. "Oh yes, his head hit a rock when you threw him. He was like a son to me and only the thought of how much money I am going to get for you keeps me from killing you now. Look around you de la Vega, this will be your home until we reach Spain. Oh, I see you do not believe what you are hearing. Believe it. We are taking you to Spain to someone who is very anxious to be reunited with you. You will not be allowed out of this room before then. Behave yourself and we will treat you well. But do not give us any trouble or you will have cause to regret it. We were told to deliver you alive, but he did not say how alive."

Diego tried to speak, but Joaquin cut him off, "Here is some water and some rags that you can use on your head. We will bring you food later. Remember my warning!" And he left, clanking the lock as he turned it from the outside.

Diego sat in stunned silence. Only the creaking sounds of the ship could be heard. He was on a ship bound for Spain! Of all the things he had expected from the bandidos, this would never have occurred to him in a million years! He held his head and wished it would stop aching so that he could think. He took some of the rags and got them wet and began to minister to the lumps on his head. He drank most of the water left to him. The candle fluttered and he could see that it wasn't going to last much longer, so he began looking around the room to see if there was any way to escape. There wasn't. He must be in the room under the forecastle. A small room, there was no entrance or exit save the one door.

And these chains! Never had he been in chains before! He pulled experimentally on the chains to test how well they were attached to the wall. They didn't move. He examined the manacles in the dim light as best he could. If he had access to some piece of metal or a nail, he thought he could, given time, pick the lock and get them off. But as he looked around the small space nothing like that presented itself. In something like despair, Diego sat back and leaned his head against the wall. For now, there was nothing he could do.

The candle finally went out. Left with nothing to do but think, he tried to remember everything that happened. His first thought was of Bernardo. With fear in his heart, he wondered if his most trusted friend was dead. That man, Rodrigo, had certainly hit him hard enough. If so, Bernardo had died trying to preserve Diego's other identity, for Diego was sure that Zorro's costume had been in that bag. Bernardo believed in being prepared in case Diego should have need. He always seemed to know even before Diego did. Diego bowed his head and said a prayer for his friend.

He couldn't remember much about the fight itself. He knew his guise as a weak dandy was ruined with that group of bandidos for he was sure he had injured quite a number of them before they all jumped him at once and he was knocked out. He thought he might have seen the leader of the bandidos in town, but he wasn't sure. Finally, exhausted, he fell asleep.

The clanking of the lock and the banging of the door as it was opened awakened him. Through the dim morning light that came in through one little porthole, Diego could see that someone was bringing him a plate of food. As the man leaned to put the plate down, Diego could see that it was Rodrigo, the man who had hit Bernardo.

Surging upward, heedless of the pain and dizziness in his head, Diego grabbed Rodrigo by the lapels of his coat. "Where is Bernardo my servant?" he cried. "What has happened to him?"

Rodrigo tried to pull away saying, "He is not here. We left him back there in the ravine." He shrugged, "Maybe he is dead..."

Diego tried to throttle Rodrigo, but suddenly found a knife at his own throat. He froze, but did not let go of Rodrigo. Looking to his left, he saw that it was Joaquin who held the knife. "Let go de la Vega . . . let go," he said and nicked Diego's throat a little. They locked eyes for a moment, then Diego let go, pushing Rodrigo back.

Diego stood there breathing heavily, his arms held slightly in front of him dangling their lengths of chains.

Joaquin said, "Maybe your servant is dead and maybe he is not, but my Marcos was killed on that road by you. As I have said, he was like a son to me. Do not concern yourself about a mere servant. What is in the past you cannot change and I hold your future in my hands."

Looking to Rodrigo he said, "Get yourself out of here. You were stupid and careless today. Do not let it happen again. Give me the key and I will lock up." He turned and left.

Diego was alone again. He wasn't interested in food right now. What he wanted was a way out of here! If he stretched the chain on his right arm tightly, he could just see out of the porthole. There was not much to see but blue ocean as far as the horizon. The ship seemed to be making good speed judging by the spray from the bow. He stood there a long time just looking out. Then with a sigh he turned to his meal and began to eat it. It was hard biscuit and a piece of boiled beef with only water to wash it down.

The day passed drearily. The dimness of the room seemed to mirror Diego's mood. Late in the afternoon, he heard someone coming and he quickly positioned himself so as to have the best view through the door when it opened. He wanted to get an idea of what was out there. He saw that straight ahead of him was a stair that looked like it led up to the main hatchway. It was only twenty or thirty feet away.

Rodrigo held a pistol this time and told Diego to get back. He put the new plate of food down and picked up the old one with the cup. Stepping just outside, but never letting the pistol waiver from Diego's chest, he filled the cup from the cask located there. He brought the cup in and set it next to the plate. Then he fairly leaped back outside the room and locked the door fast.

Diego smiled grimly as he realized that at least he had been able to scare Rodrigo half out of his wits. If he could only finish the job!

Several days passed without any opportunity for escape presenting itself. He thought about the only two other ocean voyages he had ever made and tried to recall how the ships traveled. He knew that the ships hugged the coast as much as possible so that land might only be a mile or two away at any given time. He also remembered they put into several ports in South America along the way.

If he could only get out of this room and over the side of the ship, he felt that he had a reasonable chance to make it to land and once there, to get help. But, (as he looked around the room once more in disgust) first he had to get out of this room!

Finally, after about four days, he got his chance. Rodrigo came in as usual with drawn pistol and set about leaving Diego something to eat. As usual, he had left the door open. A fight broke out among some of the sailors who were down below and Rodrigo stopped to look, forgetting about Diego. He never knew what hit him.

Diego quickly pulled him out of the line of sight of the doorway and got the keys from him. He found the ones that unlocked his manacles and had them off in an instant. Grabbing the pistol, he ran out of the room and headed towards the stairs. Just as he reached the top, his feet were pulled out from under him and he tumbled back down.

He landed on his back with his breath almost knocked out of him. Rolling over, he had made it up to one knee when he saw that it had been Joaquin that had stopped him. Quickly he pointed the gun at Joaquin and said, "Throw down your weapon, Señor. I do not wish to shoot you."

"Go ahead," was Joaquin's reply as he advanced on Diego.

Aiming to wound and not to kill, Diego pulled the trigger and heard nothing but a click. Joaquin said, "I couldn't let Rodrigo near you with a loaded weapon. You are too clever and dangerous. I was afraid something like this might happen. Now give me the pistol." He was pointing his own pistol at Diego who threw his on the floor in resignation.

Feeling someone behind him, he had just started to turn when a cargo net that Rodrigo had thrown over him entangled him. After considerable effort, Diego soon found himself back in the little room, again shackled to the walls. He was much battered and bruised as the two bandidos had taken the liberty to take out their frustrations and anger on him. Rodrigo had taken particular delight in this.

Diego was stiff and sore, black and blue. It took several days before he could get around very well. Joaquin brought his meals now. But he had Diego toss his old plate and cup out of the door and then he put the new plate and cup just inside the door and pushed it towards Diego with a stick. There would be no further opportunities for him to catch either of them again.

Although Diego resolved to keep looking for a chance to escape, he had to admit to himself that he probably was not going to get off of this ship until it reached Spain two months from now. He spent a great deal of time trying to figure out who was behind his abduction.

Neither of the two bandidos had ever mentioned Zorro in his presence, so he felt that they did not know who they had beyond the fact that he was Diego de la Vega. Other than some fencing rivals, he did not know anyone in Spain from three years ago who would hold ill will towards him. He did not think those he had bested in fencing would go to such lengths to bring him to Spain. They would have much better things to do with their money.

All of his political enemies he had made as Zorro, and Zorro was only known in California. If any word of Zorro had reached Spain he was sure he would have been regarded as a legend; made up by backward Californios. No, he could not imagine who this mystery man was who was bringing him to Spain.

He decided he was going to be in bad shape physically if he didn't do something. The small room and the chain limited his options, but he began to exercise. He did hundreds of sit-ups, push-ups, and stretching exercises. He ran in place. There was even a bar that went across the space that he could do chin-ups on to strengthen his arms. Then he would discipline himself and perform fencing moves even without a sword.

Sometimes when he was sitting in the dark of the night he would find himself reviewing his fencing moves, his hands tracing patterns in the dark. At other times, he would imagine himself playing chess or drafts with his father or Bernardo in the sala. He could imagine each of the moves, and the caustic comments his father would make if he were losing, which he usually was. He recited poetry to himself and quoted great parts of the Bible.

He imagined himself riding Tornado faster than the wind for the sheer joy of it! And he remembered with great detail the escapades of Zorro, and the satisfaction he had gained from making a difference as the masked man. He spent many hours forgetting he was in a stifling little room on a ship bound for Spain. It was the only way to keep his sanity.