Hello, everyone! Happy Sunday! I didn't realize that there was a formatting issue with the last chapter (a few of the paragraphs ended up being bolded when they shouldn't have been), so I have gone back and fixed that. Again, I am so thankful for the response to this you all have. I've already said that this was a labor of love and it had taken many, many, many rewatches of the series to get a few of the characters just right.

I'm also really enjoying the theories you all have about where this is going. Some of you are on the right track, but be prepared to get thrown for a loop in later chapters. Now, let's get back to the mystery, shall we?

Enjoy!

Linny

Chapter Five

The hacienda of Don Cristofer Orellana and his son was dark; quiet. The entire house was asleep when the black horse rode up to it, allowing Zorro to sneak in undetected.

Leaving Tornado outside the surrounding wall of the main house, the outlaw climbed up and over to reach the roof. He had visited the sprawling rancho many times as Diego, which made him familiar with the layouts of the rooms inside.

Don Cristofer's bedroom was at the far east of the house, while his son's was west. And from what he remembered, each bedroom had a balcony attached to it.

That was where he would make his entrance.

Careful of his footing, el Zorro silently and skillfully moved over the tiled roof with speed and agility. Only stopping when he was directly above Don Alfonso's window, he saw a faint light visible.

Pausing, he listened carefully. A dog was barking in the distance and there was the familiar sound of the wind blowing through the trees of the orchard. No sound came from the house, though. The boy must have fallen asleep with a candle still lit.

Sliding down onto the railing of the balcony, the outlaw hid in the shadows momentarily before peering inside.

The younger man was lying on his bed, an opened book resting over his chest as if he'd fallen asleep while reading. The boy had always enjoyed his schooling, which was why it was so puzzling that he'd been expelled from University. Gilberto must have gotten into his head in some way and corrupted the youth. That was the only explanation.

Quietly stepping into the room, Zorro shut the balcony door softly—just as a precaution in case they might be overheard—before moving to the bed. Drawing his rapier silently from its scabbard, he pointed it at the chest of the other man and reached out to cover Don Alfonso's mouth with his free hand.

The young hildago's eyes flew open, and he would have screamed if not for the outlaw's immediate warning.

"I warn you, señor," he said in his commanding tenor, "make one sound to alert the house and I will run you through." He put a bit of pressure on the sword at the boy's chest for emphasis. "Understood?"

Face suddenly ashen, the boy nodded, allowing the intruder to pull his hand away. "I have done nothing wrong, señor Zorro. I swear it."

"I'll be the judge of that. Where were you when the Comandante was being shot at?"

"I was in the plaza with everyone else." Relieved that he would not be attacked without reason, Don Alfonso closed his book and put it on the bed beside him as he sat up a little straighter. In his eyes, there was confusion and a hint of betrayal as he shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe Gilberto would do such a thing. I thought it was all just talk."

"So, you knew about the attempt on the Capitán's life?"

"No! Of course not! My father is a well-respected man in Los Angeles. I would never do such a thing as that to taint his name."

"So, then what is all of this about talk?"

"They never said anything about killing anyone. Only that if we wanted California to prosper, then we should rise up against tyranny." Still obviously stunned about the day's actions, the young man didn't realize he was speaking aloud.

"Who is 'they'?"

"Gilberto and his friends." As if suddenly remembering who he was in the presence of, the boy looked up at the masked vigilante. His eyes were wide with fright. "I swear to you, señor, that I was not involved in what Gilberto was doing... I thought it was all talk," he repeated with a stunned shake of his head.

"What about the others you met with? Did you know any of them?"

"I recognized two of them, but I do not know their names."

Zorro concluded that Alfonso was telling the truth. He had most likely been brought along because Gilberto thought him to be sympathetic to his cause. Satisfied by what he had heard, he eased his rapier away from the young man's chest and placed it back in its scabbard. "I believe you. But, heed my warning. This man, Gilberto, and the group he is in league with are dangerous. You should keep away from them."

"You sound like my father," Alfonso scowled like a petulant child.

"He is a wise man. You should listen to him."

The boy shook his head dejectedly as he lowered his gaze to stare at his hands. "I have dishonored my father so much. I don't even know where to begin to regain his trust."

"It will probably take some time, but it will be worth it in the end. As long as you stay on the right path. After all, he is still your father and you are still his son."

Alfonso choked out a laugh. "It sounds like you are speaking from experience." He did not receive a response, which puzzled him. Lifting his gaze again, he found that the outlaw had vanished, and he was once again alone in his bedroom. "Gracias, Señor Zorro," he found himself saying before blowing out the lamp beside his bed and going back to sleep.

It had been a long, tiring day. He hadn't been in the pueblo five minutes before being shot at. That had to be some kind of record. Ramon heaved a heavy sigh as he paced the width of his new office. The hour was late, but he could not sleep. But, it wasn't the attempt on his life that left him so restless. No. He'd stared death in the face many times before. It was who was behind the assassination attempt that bothered him most.

Throughout the entire journey from Spain, he felt as though he was being followed. It almost felt that there was a target on his back. Lieutenant Allende fought to reassure him of his safety, yet there was always that little niggling feeling in the back of his mind.

Now he knew his beliefs were completely founded. Before departing for Los Angeles, there had been stories circulating about a group of individuals who felt Spain was losing favor among its citizens and the people of California no longer supported their home country. Could that have been the reason for the attack?

Shaking away the thoughts that only seemed to confuse him more, he crossed back over to his desk. Five small knives resided there, along with the rifle that had fired the shot. It was the blades that held his attention. They were plain and simply made with no visible identifying marks. Anyone could have made or carried them.

But, they were what had saved his life. If it hadn't been for that bandit Zorro, he would not still be standing.

That was another problem on his list. How does one go after an outlaw that has also saved his life?

It was a question many a Comandante had faced in this garrison, according to the Captain's Log, which lay sprawled open on his desk. And now it was his turn to mull it over.

A knock at the door pulled him away from his thoughts. He checked his pocket watch for the time. It was far too late for visitors. Still, perhaps one of the soldiers needed something. "Enter!" he called out, but the door did not open. Puzzled, he walked over to it and wrenched it open. Not a soul was there.

He stepped outside, clearly confused. A single lancer stood on guard at the cells, and the prisoner was still highly locked inside. There would be only two others on guard outside the gate. "Guard!" he called out.

The one over by the cells looked in his direction, but he never left his post. "Sí, Comandante? Did you need something?"

"All is well, I hope?" he questioned.

Confused at the question, the Lancer nodded. "Sí, all is well."

"Good. Back to your post, then."

"Sí, mi Comandante."

He shook his head at his paranoia as he headed back into his office. Perhaps the lack of sleep was getting to him. Rubbing at his tired eyes, he closed the door with a resounding click and froze in his tracks when he felt the point of a sword aimed at his heart.

Eyes wide, he looked up at his surprise visitor. "Zorro!"

The outlaw smiled a toothy grin and tipped his hat slightly in the officer's direction. "Buenas noches, Comandante. It is a lovely evening, is it not?"

"Splendid," was the Capitán's dry reply as his hand shot to the weapon at his waist, but a tap on the hand from the blade held by the masked man stopped him.

"I do not think that would be wise, Capitán. Also, I would not cry out for your soldiers if I were you."

Taking his hand away from the saber at his side, he measured up the outlaw. The stories of the man had spread even to Spain, but to come face-to-face with the man called The Fox was quite intimidating. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, señor? If you've come for my gratitude for saving my life, you have it."

"But, that is just the problem. I did not save your life."

The lack of sleep only added to Ramon's confusion. "I do not understand."

"The man who saved you was an impostor. That is why I have come to you. Has the prisoner said anything?"

Ramon stood up straighter as he stared down the man in black. "That is a matter for the military, señor."

Zorro grinned at the young officer. He would learn that there wasn't much that remained a secret in Los Angeles. "If you insist, but I believe the impostor was involved in the plot against you."

The Capitán was beginning to think the same thing, yet he wasn't going to tell that to the man standing in front of him. "But, he saved my life."

That might have been true, but he was also a stranger. "Yes, but it could have all just been an elaborate plan to gain your trust, Comandante. That is why I must know if your prisoner has said anything about the attack."

Taking the outlaw's words into consideration, the Capitán seemed to be fighting with his conscience. "He has not said a word." The man clenched his fists slightly in anger.

Zorro was pleased to know that the officer was angry about the attempt on his life, not the fact that he was getting under his skin. "I have to wonder, Comandante, if this wasn't just some ploy to put you in the good favor of the people." It was a low blow, he knew, but it had been a scenario that had come to mind. After all, it would not be the first time a scene like that would have been created to improve one's standing in the pueblo.

"You offend my honor, señor. I have risen through the ranks purely on my own merit. I am not so driven that I would pull such a stunt. And I am insulted that you would have the audacity to ask."

"My apologies, then." Pleased by the officer's response, Zorro strolled over toward the desk. Keeping his rapier in place, the bandido examined the weapons on the desk. Picking up one of the knives, he looked at it closely. "Curious," he murmured to himself.

"I thought the same."

The masked man slipped the knife into the band at his waist, glancing over toward the Comandante as if daring him to speak out about it. The other looked like he was ready to protest the theft of government property, but thought better of it and remained silent. He didn't remain still, though. He turned a signet ring around his finger in a nervous habit.

"I would be careful, Comandante. Something foul is afoot and you are at the center of the bullseye." With that said, the outlaw eased his blade away from the Capitán chest.

Eyeing the bandit curiously, Ramon rubbed at the offended body part as if to check to see if he hadn't been marked. "So, you believe me when I say that I had no part in this?"

"Not quite yet, but I will be keeping an eye on you. That is a promise. Now, if you please, Capitán, I must make my escape. Turn around." With a swish of his sword, he urged the officer to turn. He moved them toward the living quarters and opened the door. "I must say, you are a most accommodating host and I thank you." Lifting his leg, Zorro kicked at the other man, pushing him into the room and slamming the door. Quickly, he jammed a chair underneath the door latch. "Buenas noches, Capitán," he said loud enough to be heard through the door before making his way toward the office door.

Peering outside into the garrison, he saw that the soldier standing guard over the cells was leaning on his musket, his eyes drifted closed. Laughing quietly, Zorro was quick to make his escape. Climbing up onto the stable roof, he checked to make sure he had not been seen.

Satisfied that the soldiers would not come after him, he slipped over the wall to where Tornado waited patiently for his rider.

"There isn't much more we can do here tonight, my friend. Let us go home." The horse lightly nickered in agreement as his rider took his place on his back.

Fast as the wind, horse and rider moved over the hillside and disappeared into the night.