Chapter Text
He sat up, his mouth opened in a silent scream, struggling to escape Morpheus's hold on him. It took him a few moments to realize that he was in his own bed, his nightmare having seemed so real. Diego thought he should be used to their horrible realism by now: he had relived the moment over again every night since that ghastly day.
Gasping for breath, Diego laid back down. He stared up at the ceiling. In all the years he had lived in this room, he had never noticed all of its texture. With so many recently sleepless nights, he was now familiar with each and every line embedded into his room's canopy.
He learned that first sleepless night not to look around his room. Tired and ashamed, he had turned towards his window, seeking comfort in the mysteries of the moon. Instead, he had noticed how much his curtains looked like blood.
He closed his eyes as he heard the familiar night whispers. Coward, they whispered. Murderer, they chanted in his mind. He no longer argued against their claims, tired of trying to defend the undefendable. He scrapped his hands across his bed sheets in an effort to wipe the invisible blood away, the blood of a child. He knew it was useless, just as useless as trying to get more sleep tonight.
* * * * *
He didn't get much sleep again last night, Victoria thought as she watched Diego sitting in his usual seat by the pillar. It was becoming an everyday occurrence. He would be waiting for her to open her doors, making a huge effort to smile. She could tell that it was forced, but she was glad that he was trying.
She walked over and refilled his water glass. Not that he noticed. He spent most of the morning staring at her wall, showing all the energy of a corpse. Victoria shivered at that thought, refusing to think about such a horrible idea.
Don Diego was one of her best friends, if not her closest. His gentle nature had made it easy for her to take him for granted, but his recent absence in spirit made her aware of how much he involved himself in her life: from the gentle teasing comments to get her out of a snit, to the soft laughs at her jokes, to the amused grin at her latest passionate outburst—all practically unnoticed until they were gone.
Leaning on her counter, she studied Diego. He was wearing one of his customary blue outfits, but she noticed it hung loosely on his body. He had lost weight. She hoped he was not ill, but Victoria quickly dismissed that thought. Ever since he had returned from Spain, he had no problem letting anyone and everyone know when he was sick. A mere cold could keep him in bed for a week. If he were sick, she would have known about it, either from his lips or Alejandro's.
His lips . . . the usual smooth and healthy pink lips were chapped and pale. It looked as if he had spent a lot of time nibbling on them. Maybe he was lost in thought about one of his many experiments . . . He often spent days at a time thinking about one of his science projects. Victoria picked up a rag and absently began wiping the counter. No, it couldn't be that because she knew what he looked like then: a little absent-minded perhaps, but full of excitement at the possibility of learning something new.
His beautiful, lush hair was different, too. It had lost its usual shine, a sure hint that he was not eating healthy, but then the way his clothes hung on his thinner frame had already told her that fact.
Those beautiful blue eyes were what worried her the most. They were . . .dead. No, another word, Victoria! she ordered. She looked down at the cloth in her hand as if she had never before seen it. She could not think of another word for his eyes. They were usually full of excitement and joy, but now they were . . . lifeless.
Victoria turned, walking quickly into the kitchen. She told herself that it was because she had work to do, but she knew better. Passing through the curtain, she wiped at her eyes—because of the sun's brightness was the excuse she gave herself. She reached up and grabbed a pot down from the shelf. Minutes before, she would have told anyone what was on her menu, and arroz con pollo was not on it. Now, she had overwhelming desire to make the dish that just happened to be Diego's favorite.
She raced around the room, gathering ingredients, trying to stay ahead of her traitorous thoughts. It was an old custom for her in many ways, but today the voice inside her mind seemed louder.
You notice a lot about man that you claim to take for granted.
Chop. Chop. Chop. I do not, she answered angrily.
Oh, really? Just his body, his hair, his lips, and his eyes. The only thing you forgot to look at earlier was his hands!
His hands are just fine!
So you did notice? Could someone's conscience be so mocking, so condescending? It was laughing at her. You dream about him at night.
I dream about Zorro! I love Zorro! She didn't like how desperate she sounded in her own mind.
True, true, the little voice mocked. Diego is a close second though. You fantasize about him putting that body next to yours as you run your hands through that hair. You want him to kiss you hard, where the last thing you see, before closing your eyes in joy, is his eyes looking at you with an incredible desire.
Tossing the chicken into the pot, she shook her head at her own thoughts. I'm almost making myself cry, she told herself, trying to find some humor. Diego is my friend, and I do care about him deeply. Those dreams . . . those dreams are just schoolgirl fantasies. I dream about Zorro more.
The voice inside her was quiet for a moment. If there were no Zorro . . ..
She stopped for a moment, lost in a truth that she usually refused to admit. "If there were no Zorro . . ." Refusing to hear the wistful desire in her own voice, she forced her thoughts back to her cooking. She had made a promise and a vow. There was no turning back for her. Besides, she really did love Zorro. It was just sometimes—not often—that she thought she could fall in love with Diego, too.
* * * * *
Diego started when she put the bowl in front of him. Anna Marie was here now, so Victoria decided to take a break. "Eat," she said with a smile. "You look like you could use it."
He began to shake his head, beginning to refuse her offer. "I'm not really hungry, Victoria—"
"Eat." It was a plea more than a command.
He looked down at the bowl with almost a mild sense of revulsion on his face. Victoria would take it personal except for two things. First, she knew how much he loved her cooking, and second, she understood that, for whatever reason, any thought of eating was revolting to him right now. She thanked the Lord when he picked up a spoon. He was taking small bits, but even small ones put food into his body.
"Diego," she said softly, topping off his water with her pitcher. He had only drunk a few drinks from it since she filled it earlier in the morning, but she wanted something to do with her hands. "What's bothering you?"
He looked at her for a moment. "Bothering me? Nothing's bothering me," he lied to her without blinking. She refused to admit how much it hurt.
Leaning forward, she looked into his eyes. Their dullness made her want to shiver. "We are friends. You can tell me," she said, unknowingly echoing his words from an early time.
She saw the indecision on his face, the burning desire to tell someone, anyone. It was then that she made her mistake; she reached over and touched his hand. He jerked his away as if her hand was made out of fire, and she watched the emotional shutters close. He would not open up for her again today. She wanted to cry in pain, ask what she had done, but she kept silent. Fear was a horrible enemy to truth.
They sat silently together for a few minutes, neither looking up at the other. It was Mendoza who broke the silence. He slowly walked over to their table, his usual bounce missing. He sat down, seeming not to notice the tension between his two friends. Victoria looked up and saw the relief on Diego's face. It hurt, but it also made her worry even more. The Diego she knew would be demanding, in his own kind way, to know what was wrong with the sergeant. The one sitting across from her, the pale ghost-like version, saw his arrival as an opportunity of escape.
"I'm afraid I’ve got bad news," Mendoza finally muttered when no one asked.
Victoria tore her eyes away from Diego. "What is it, Mendoza?"
He sighed heavily. "I'm afraid the gallows are being prepared."
"The gallows?" Diego's voice only held a spark of interest. Victoria wanted to scream, to shake him out of this new apathy. He may have never been a man of action, but he’d always had a big heart.
"Sì, amigos, the alcalde has ordered the hanging of Señor Torres." Diego's face, for just a moment, showed his surprise. Mendoza nodded sadly. "He has accused him of treason."
"Treason? Señor Torres is one of the most loyal men I have ever met. I have spent years hearing him telling me why Spain and her King are the best in the world. Now, the alcalde thinks he's guilty of betraying that Country and King? It's one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard, Sergeant." Even as Victoria feared for a friend's safety, she also rejoiced in hearing some life come back into Diego's voice.
She and Mendoza exchanged glances. It was then that she realized that the friendly man had also been worried about Diego. She saw the relief she was feeling reflected in his eyes, too. Diego stood suddenly. "If you will excuse me, I need to go find my father." With those few clipped words said, he was gone.
Mendoza's eyes met hers again. "At least he was interested." Victoria nodded her agreement, wishing the gnawing feeling in her stomach would leave.
* * * * *
Felipe was experiencing the same feeling. He watched as Diego put on the black outfit of Zorro. It was something the boy had done many times over the years, but something was different now. Diego's actions were stiff, as if he was forcing himself to put on those clothes. If Felipe did not know better, he would have sworn he saw a look of distaste crossing Diego's face when he first touched the mask today.
Zorro turned towards Toronado without even looking in the mirror. He usually adjusted the mask on his face after a quick glance to see where it was, but today his eyes had stayed lowered, like the mirror would show some horrible sight.
He quickly jumped up onto the great stallion and left. There was no smile or gentle adios this time. Felipe wondered what was wrong with his friend. It seemed as if he now carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He hesitated only a moment before walking towards the exit. He pulled the lever and walked through the passage quickly. He needed to work in the cave, but it could wait. He raced towards his room and his rosary. Chores would have to wait until after he had asked that the Lord protect his friend and hero.
* * * * *
The crowd was restless, but DeSoto seemed to enjoy their outcries. Victoria could see the hint of a smile forming as he rubbed his jaw. Unlike the crowd, Victoria remained quiet. She had no doubt that Zorro would be here soon, and that he would quickly wipe the arrogant smirk from the alcalde's face.
" Señor Torres is a loyal Spaniard," Don Alejandro protested. Victoria's eyes strayed around the plaza, hoping to catch site of the man she loved. Maybe I could ask him to look after Diego. A good friend to the de la Vegas, Zorro would be as concerned as she was when she told him.
"Really? Does a loyal Spaniard carry military secrets in his horse's saddlebags?" the alcalde challenged him. The crowd gasped in surprise since this was the first time they had been told why Señor Torres was being accused of treason.
Señor Torres managed to say a few words before being punched in the stomach by the butt of a lancer's musket. "I'm innocent! They weren't there—"
Don Alejandro took a step closer to the gallows. The crowd recognized the signs. An angry Don Alejandro sputtered and yelled, but an enraged Don Alejandro stayed in control, each movement similar to those of a stalking cat. Even the alcalde, standing next to the accused and surrounded by his own lancers, took a step back from the advancing man. "My friend says that he never saw those papers before your men searched his bags."
The alcalde's eyebrow lifted. " Señor Torres has made no such claim."
"He did when I spoke to him earlier in his jail cell."
DeSoto's eyes showed his anger and his surprise. He swirled to look at Mendoza. "This prisoner was to have no visitors!"
Mendoza winced at his superior's yell. "I'm sorry, mi alcalde, but a condemned prisoner always has the right to talk to the executor of his estate and a priest."
Don Alejandro grinned as he crossed his arms. It was not a sign of amusement. "Why is that you did not want Señor Torres to be able to speak to anyone, Alcalde?"
DeSoto straightened in anger at the mocking tone. "He's a danger to the Crown. If we let him talk to anyone, he could possibly pass secrets to those who work to hurt our glorious King."
"Have you even looked at the evidence, Alcalde?" asked a voice that was even more mocking. Victoria turned to look behind her with a grin on her face. It faltered when her eyes rested on her fiancé. He stood on the top of building, a sight that the people of Los Angeles were used to seeing. However, there were no chimneys in the center to duck behind, no easy escape routes. Victoria's face twisted in concern when she realized that she had never seen him use the blacksmith's roof as a means of escape or challenge.
DeSoto's rage exploded. "Of course, I have!"
Zorro's usual amusement was missing. "Really?" he asked softly. "How do you plan to explain to the governor that you hung one of his closest friends for having in his possession an edict that you had posted three months before his arrest?"
The crowd was silent. DeSoto's mouth opened and closed in shock. He then turned sharply to look at the lancer closest to Torres, the one that had butted him in the stomach. Victoria did not like that lancer, had not since he arrived from Mexico City last week. "I took it from the pile you said, Alcalde. I cannot read!" Victoria and Alejandro were the only ones in the crowd close enough to hear, but DeSoto knew his plan had failed. His face wore that all-too-familiar look.
"Let him go," he spit out between clenched teeth. Victoria turned to look over at the blacksmith's, expecting to find her love already gone. Her heart dropped at the sight of him still standing there, his arms crossed loosely. DeSoto also noticed then that his adversary was not quick to leave.
"Shoot him!" he ordered his men. Victoria flinched as the lancers aimed their weapons. She screamed when they fired. Instead of ducking as they aimed, he had just stood there, like a condemned man before a firing squad. At the last second, he ran and jumped off the back of the building. She hoped Toronado was waiting there to race him away from the pueblo.
Her heart was in her throat when she heard the familiar hoof beats pounding behind her. He was racing through the plaza to get away instead of riding away outside the pueblo. Had he gone loco? She turned to look at him, but for once he didn't even look her way. He thundered away as the soldier's bullets whizzed past him. Victoria would have sunk to her knees if not for Don Alejandro's support.
Today, she had not gained an ally in her concern for Don Diego. Instead, she now found herself worrying about both of the men she loved.
* * * * *
Victoria sat quietly at one of her own tables. Anna Maria was taking care of the few customers the tavern had, which was a good thing. Victoria was in no shape to wait on her patrons. She finally noticed what Don Alejandro was saying to his friends: "—magnificent! I thought the alcalde would swallow his own tongue!" He clapped his hands together in excitement as his friends laughed.
She looked over at him in surprise. How could he not . . . Surely, he noticed . . . "Don Alejandro, something is wrong with Zorro."
All eyes rested on her. She rubbed her arms, knowing that the chill was inside of her. "He took so many unnecessary risks today."
"I don't think he took one unnecessary chance at all," Señor Torres said with a kind smile.
Victoria shook her head. "I do not mean rescuing you. I expected that. It's just—" She sighed heavily, aggravated that she could not find the words. Running her hand through her hair, she turned away from the men. "It was as if he were asking them to hit him with those bullets. He just stood there, waiting—"
Laughing, Don Alejandro walked over and put his hands on her arms, trying to comfort her. "I think you are worrying too much, Victoria. He was just having some fun at the alcalde's expense."
Victoria turned in his arms, looking at him intently. "I pray that you are right, Don Alejandro, but I didn't see any joy in him today."
* * * * *
Diego sat in the library. The sun was setting, but he did not bother to light any candles. There was no need. He had no plans for tonight.
He sat silently, his thoughts focused on the past. Today, in the plaza, he had experienced a feeling that he had never felt as Zorro. When the lancers had fired their guns, relief had flooded through his senses, so strong that he could almost taste it. If Don Alejandro and Victoria had not been there . . .
The relief was almost as intense when he took off the familiar outfit. Realizing that the black of the cowl matches the blackness in your soul? the now familiar voice of condemnation whispered. Maybe that was the reason he never wanted to be Zorro again, or maybe it was because he now knew the hero was a living lie.
Coward, the voice of his mind whispered. Murderer, it accused him. Diego sat in silence, surrounded by the voice's allegations.
* * * * *
Victoria sat outside of her tavern, watching the people mill about the plaza. Almost everyone was outside today because of the heat. A few would be stopping by soon for something to refresh them she was sure, but for right now, she had an empty establishment. It was unfortunate, because it gave her too much time to think. Too much time to worry about Diego and Zorro and what was bothering them.
She watched Alejandro hop off his horse and storm over to where the alcalde stood. Leaning forward, she put her weight on her elbow. The old caballero had been quiet since the arrest of his friend Señor Torres. The once-condemned man had—some said wisely—left the area for a vacation. Torres believed the alcalde was looking for a way to embarrass the governor, and he refused to be the bait. DeSoto, enraged by his recent defeat, had begun arresting peasants one after another. Fortunately, Zorro stopped him each time.
Thoughts of the outlaw made Victoria frown. He was becoming even more reckless, if that were possible. She spent every day expecting to hear news that he had been hurt or killed. There had been whispers that he had been hurt challenging the Argüello gang. There was little doubt that it was true. After all, it had been one man against thirty-four of the most vicious banditos in Alta California. It was impressive that he had escaped with his life.
Don Alejandro's voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "—is illegal, DeSoto, as you well know. The governor has worked hard on his peace treaties with the Indians, and I do not believe he would like to hear how you are undermining them!"
DeSoto quietly stood in front of Alejandro. Victoria sat up when she noticed how calm he appeared to be, and she wondered about it. Was he planning to harm Don Alejandro?
"Don't be ridiculous, Don Alejandro," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. Victoria could hear the edge of anger in his voice, but he was working hard to hide it. "The Indians have agreed to pay the tax. They can afford to pay it, even more than most of the peons in this pueblo. Their copper ore has made them wealthy."
Victoria was an expert on the shifting changes of a crowd's emotion. DeSoto did deserve some credit. He was learning to play a politician well. The ability of the Indians to pay, along with the inability of the peons to pay, was a remarkable trump card. The crowd of peasants, too overtaxed for almost a decade, was siding quickly with DeSoto.
Alejandro seemed to understand that he was on the losing side for the moment. "It is illegal, Alcalde, and you know it," he said softly, his hands clenched at his side. "The governor has worked hard to get peace—"
"With savages?" DeSoto taunted. Another trump card. Most of the peasants feared the Indians, having little to do with them.
Alejandro's struggle to remain in control was obvious to see. "The Indians here are good people. We stole their land and then forced them to live like animals. The governor has realized how many good men we have lost fighting the Indians instead of working with them for peace!"
DeSoto grinned, knowing that he was winning this particular argument. It was an unusual occurrence when the de la Vegas were involved. "There is no uprising, Don Alejandro. As I said, the Indians agreed to pay."
He began to walk away. "I wonder what the Governor will think of your blatant disregard of his orders!" the caballero called after him.
"I would not advise you to try to find out, Señor!" All pretense of pleasantness was gone. The alcalde was letting his teeth show.
Don Alejandro had never been afraid of animals. He stepped close to the alcalde, so close that it made the other man uncomfortable. Alejandro grinned. "Your advice is . . . noted, Alcalde." He turned and walked away, leaving an angry DeSoto stewing behind him.
Victoria stood, watching the ranchero storming over to her tavern. She was glad to see him, because she had been thinking about riding out to the de la Vega hacienda tonight to visit with him. She desperately wanted to talk about Diego and Zorro with someone who cared about them as much as she did, and Don Alejandro did deeply care about both.
"I can not believe the arrogance of that man!" he snapped as he stormed past her. She followed him into her tavern, wondering how to bring up the subject. Surely, he had noticed now how Diego walked around like a ghost, and Zorro acted like he wanted to be one.
"Did you hear what he was doing, Victoria? He forced the Indians to agree to taxation with vague threats and then acts as they walked into his office and asked to pay taxes! I don't understand what he is up to," Don Alejandro said, clenching his gloves in his right hand.
She poured him a glass of lemonade and watched as he drank it. He appeared to be calming down but lost in thought. She considered putting off talking to him—he had not been open to hearing her concern after Señor Torres's escape, and she was not sure that he was any more willing to listen now. Then, the gnawing feeling in her gut made itself felt, and she knew that she could not put it off for a minute longer.
"Don Alejandro?"
"Hm?" he answered vaguely.
"Don Alejandro, what's wrong with Diego?" she spit the question out in her nervousness. What if he were ill? Maybe even dying?
He finally focused on her. "What? Nothing's wrong with Diego, as far I know. Why do you ask?"
Victoria hesitated a moment before answering. Had he truly not seen what was so obvious to her? Maybe she was wrong? "He's walking around like he's a ghost! He barely eats. You can see how much weight he’s lost from the way his clothes hang. He's hardly talked to a soul this past month, and I don’t know why."
Alejandro waved his hand. "Oh, he's probably focused on one of his pointless experiments."
Victoria shook her head. "I don't think so, Don Alejandro. He seems angry. And hurt."
"I think you are just worrying too much, Victoria. Just like you were worried about Zorro," he said kindly, lightly clasping his hand over hers across the bar.
Victoria looked down at her hands. "I am worried about them. Diego acts like a dead man, and Zorro acts like a man who wants to be dead."
Alejandro started to say something more to her, but Don Fernando walked into the room with some other caballeros. "What do you think the alcalde is trying to do to the governor, Don Alejandro?" the man's voice boomed across the room. Alejandro gave her an apologetic smile and turned eagerly to talk to his friends about recent events.
* * * * *
"You'll not believe what the alcalde is doing now, my son," Don Alejandro said, walking into his library.
"What's he doing now?" his son asked, sitting in a chair.
"Well, not surprisingly, he's disobeying the—" Alejandro stopped speaking when he realized how weak that voice sounded. For the first time in over a month, he focused on Diego. The sight before him shocked him.
Diego's skin was pale and gaunt, and his eyes had large dark circles under them. Victoria was being kind when she said that his clothes were hanging loosely. They were practically falling off of him! He shivered a little when he thought about Victoria's comments. Diego looked—Diego looked—He looked exactly like Alejandro had pictured ghosts looking like when he listened to one of the numerous tales usually told around a campfire. How had he not noticed?
"Diego, are you all right?" His voice hinted at both his surprise and his concern.
His son smiled. "I'm fine, Father."
"Are you sure?" Thinking over the events of the last few months, Alejandro could think of nothing that would be bothering Diego. Still, he did look rough.
The smile grew larger. "Honestly, I'm fine. I've been a little distracted by one of my experiments. You were saying that the alcalde was breaking the law again? Which one?"
As had become his habit over the last few years, Alejandro believed what his son said with little question. He turned his attention back to the illegal taxation, forgetting his momentary concern.