NIGHT OF A THOUSAND ZORROS

By Susan O’Brien





Diego de la Vega carefully pulled the printed sheet of paper off the press. He had been hard at work all morning, printing this week’s issue of The Guardian. All Saint’s Day was tomorrow, and the padre had requested he print a psalm in this issue. He carefully hung the sheet up to dry, absently scratching his face, leaving a black streak of ink across his nose and cheek. It gave his handsome features a rakish look. He looked up as Victoria Escalante came in the office, carrying a basket.

“Victoria, thank you! I would have come to the tavern for that; I know you are busy preparing the food for the dance tonight.”

“That’s quite all right, Don Diego; I have finished. I need only deliver the food, then come back to get ready.” She placed the basket on a work table and began pulling items out and setting up a lunch. “I am looking forward to the costume dance tonight, although I am a bit surprised that Don Ricardo, of all people, would go to this expense! Rather unusual to have a dance on All Hallow’s Eve, and to invite everyone in the pueblo. Well, I wonder what spirit got into him!”

“What ‘spirit,’ indeed,” Diego commented, as he set aside the mask he had bought earlier in the day. Several stalls in the plaza had the traditional decorations, as they did every year. He had thought it more prudent to use one of the skull masks with brightly-colored feathers, than a cloth mask that could invite comparisons. Diego smiled at the lovely señorita. “I did see Don Ricardo and the alcalde talking yesterday, and anything those two agree on can’t be good. Don Ricardo is obsessed with dueling with Zorro.”

“Yes, and because of him, Zorro has hardly been seen, lately. He has defeated Don Ricardo once, but he doesn’t want to kill him. So he avoids him, and the pueblo.” And me, she added to herself silently, slamming the bowls down with unnecessary force.

Seeing her frown, Diego walked to where Victoria was setting out the lunch, noticing the fresh bread, hot savory stew, and a slice of his favorite flange for dessert. There was even a cool clay bottle filled with lemonade.

“What could Don Ricardo be serving tonight that is better than this?” Diego said, lightly, pulling up the cloth to peek at the flange.

Victoria looked at Diego, pleased by the compliment, and the fact that he’d noticed the effort she’d put into a simple lunch for him. Their relationship had gone through some changes, and sometimes, she wasn’t as sure about him as she once had been. She admired the tall caballero more than she cared to admit, for his learning, his dedication to the truth, his willingness to argue for justice, his compassion, and admittedly for the fact that he was the handsomest man in the pueblo. Sometimes, she thought there might be more to Diego than anyone suspected, but then he would do something like trip or act foolish, and she would realize he was just Diego.

She glanced at his face as he leaned down beside her, and noticed a black streak running from his nose across his cheek. Puzzled at first, she realized it was ink from the presses. Putting her hand on his cheek, she turned his face to her, not noticing how he froze and held his breath when she did it.

“Oh, Diego.” She shook her head reprovingly, picked up a cloth from the table, and began wiping the ink off. But the more she wiped, the wider the smear got. Diego stood absolutely still, his eyes on Victoria’s face.

Frowning, Victoria looked at the cloth, and realized it was covered in ink. She had been putting more on, not taking it off! Looking up at Diego, she couldn’t help herself; she started to laugh. He had ink smeared over half his face now.

“What?” Diego asked, puzzled. He looked at the laughing Victoria, then at the cloth in her hand, and realized what had happened. Grinning, he picked up a small mirror he used to check the type set with from the work table.

“Very lovely, thank you; perhaps you should complete the job, then I would not have to wear a mask at all for the dance tonight.”

Victoria laughed even harder; she couldn’t help it. Diego could always make her laugh, and he really did look funny.

Diego grinned, and picked up the ink-stained cloth. “Perhaps I should return the favor? I could paint your own Zorro mask on you; that would be appropriate.”

“Diego de la Vega, don’t you dare!” Victoria took a step back and tried to look serious. Her attempt was marred by more laughter as Diego advanced on her, cloth in hand and a comically determined expression.

“Perhaps just the nose.” He took a swipe at her, and she dodged around the hanging sheets, almost doubled over in laughter. They dodged in and out of the papers, until Diego surprised her by suddenly appearing and grabbing her around the waist from behind. She gave a surprised yelp, and squirmed as Diego held the cloth in front of her nose. Quickly, she grabbed his arm, holding it away with all her strength.

“Diego,” she warned him, still laughing. She noticed that, despite her efforts, the cloth was slowly getting closer. She had not realized Diego was so strong! She could feel him silently laughing, and twisted to look at his face. He was grinning in delight, a familiar expression, but not one she could remember Diego having before.

Intrigued, she looked into his face, questioning. Perhaps it was the black ink spread across his face that looked so familiar, or the way she could feel his heart beating through the thin linen shirt. Suddenly serious, he leaned into her, and for a heart-stopping moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. They both looked up as Don Alejandro came in the door.

“Diego, are you through…?” The elegant, silver-haired caballero’s voice trailed off as he realized he had interrupted something. Smiling slightly, he raised his eyebrows at the scene in front of him.

Diego released Victoria, and set aside the cloth. “Until tonight,” he warned her with a smile, letting her know this was only a reprieve.

Victoria gave him an impish grin. “If you can find me among all those costumes!” She turned to leave; as she closed the door, she heard Don Alejandro’s voice.

“Diego, what was going on here, and what happened to your face?!”

ZZZZZZ

Diego walked into the tavern; there were few patrons, as it was late in the day. Most people were getting ready for the dance. He walked to the curtain over the doorway to the kitchen.

“Victoria,” he called, and looked inside. The kitchen was empty.

“Señorita Escalante is not here, Don Diego,” Sergeant Mendoza said, behind him.

Before he even turned, he knew something was wrong by the tone in the sergeant’s voice. The sergeant stood behind him, his hat in his hands, dismay on his features. Several of the local farmers and lancers from the garrison stood behind him.

“Where is she, sergeant? Surely she is back from delivering the food for the dance by now.”

“She hasn’t come back! Don Ricardo says that she has decided to be his guest, until such time as Zorro appears.”

“What about our esteemed alcalde?” Don Diego asked, angrily.

“He said there is no proof that Señorita Escalante doesn’t want to be his guest. Unless she is hurt, or he has proof she is being held against her will, he can do nothing. He did try to talk him out of it, but Don Ricardo has powerful friends in Madrid, and threatened Alcalde de Soto if he tried to stop him.”

“Hmm.” Diego paced back and forth for a moment, thinking.

“What are we going to do, Don Diego? If Zorro doesn’t come, Don Ricardo is going to do something terrible to Señorita Escalante.”

“So, all this just to get Zorro to come to the dance?’ Diego said thoughtfully.

Si, but what if Zorro does not come?”

“I think we can be sure he will be there,” Diego said, with a grin. He looked at the crowd that had gathered in the tavern. “Would you all be willing to help?”

The crowd shuffled a bit, then one farmer stepped forward. “I would do anything to help, Don Diego. If not for the Señorita Escalante’s generosity, my family would have starved last winter.”

Another stepped forward. ‘She took my wife in when she was sick, and watched over her. Even paid her for folding linens as she recovered.”

Several more spoke out; all, it seemed, had been the recipient of Victoria’s compassion. Sergeant Mendoza addressed the lancers. “Just think how terrible it would be if we had to exist on garrison rations.”

“What can we do, Don Diego? How can we help?” was shouted from the back, with echoes of agreement all around.

Grinning, Diego motioned everyone closer. “Listen carefully, everyone…”

ZZZZZZ

Cool breezes stirred the hanging lanterns and decorations, as the sound of violins and guitars filled the evening. The garden at the hacienda of Don Ricardo Perez was filled with guests quietly talking, many dancing near the musicians. Don Ricardo stood on the balcony, looking out over his guests. The wind ruffled the dark curls sprinkled with gray on his head, and caressed the saber scar on his cheek. His concession to the costume theme of the party was a simple white cloth mask. It did not, however, lighten the disdainful expression in his dark-brown eyes. He was a proud man, proud of this house he had built with its two floors surrounding the central garden, the only one like it in the territory. Proud of his family name, but most of all, proud of his skill with a sword. He had never been bested—until Zorro! Snarling, he turned to the Alcalde de Soto beside him.

“Where is this Zorro?!”

“I told you, Don Ricardo,” the alcalde said politely. “Zorro is no fool; he will know this is a trap.” The white-haired alcalde covered his smile by fingering his beard, as the irritable don turned back to scrutinize the people below. He had developed an extreme dislike for this high-handed, arrogant don, and he enjoy Zorro making a fool of him…again. Zorro would be there, he knew, and whether he defeated Don Ricardo again or not, he would be captured by the lancers who filled every corner of the estate.

Don Ricardo stared at the people milling about below. “What a dismal, backward place! Look at them! Most of them can’t even muster up a proper costume.”

“Yes,” de Soto agreed, wholeheartedly. He looked out over the group below, noting the large number of people in simple black, with the skull masks sold in the plaza. They were scattered evenly through the crowd. Something about this disturbed him; they were placed too evenly, as if it was planned. “Don Ricardo…” he started to say, when he heard a familiar sound down below.

“Zorro!” the crowd was whispering.

The tall, slender figure in black turned to the balcony, raising a glass of lemonade in salute. “An excellent repast, Don Ricardo!” his voice rang out, silencing the crowd and the music. “I compliment you on asking Señorita Escalante to provide it. So where is the lovely señorita herself, to accept the compliments of all guests?”

“The whereabouts of a common tavern wench do not concern me; all I care about, is that, now, I have you! Get him!” Don Ricardo whirled around and raced for the stairs to the courtyard.

De Soto started to follow, but paused, looking below. The garden was suddenly filled with Zorros! Each of the figures in black with the skull masks had tossed them aside, and were fighting with the lancers and Don Ricardo’s men. De Soto looked to where he knew Zorro had been, but it was impossible to pick him out. The simple fact was that, in the costume of Zorro, anyone looked like Zorro.

De Soto saw Don Ricardo fighting his way through the crowd after one Zorro, then another. He shook his head, laughing. Zorro had outsmarted the proud don, just as he, de Soto, had known that he would. He wondered when it would occur to the don to go to where he had Señorita Escalante imprisoned, because surely that was where Zorro was now.

He leaned on the railing, and looked to where his lancers were. He noticed a rather short Zorro sitting at a table eating. He knew that form quite well.

“Corporal Sepulveda!” he roared.

“Si, mi alcalde!” The corporal stood stiffly at attention.

De Soto glared down at the crowd. “Do you see that Zorro, right there?!” he growled.

“Si, mi alcalde.”

“Please extend my invitation to him to come up here immediately!” de Soto ordered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The lancer saluted, and ran down the stairs.





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