Alternate Conspiracies

                                             By Linda Bindner

A/N: Some excerpts taken from S4.E13 The Discovery by Robert McCullough and Philip John

        Taylor

The Truce

Noon precisely thought Zorro as he leaned from Toronado’s saddle to peer at the ground of Diablo Canyon, looking for tracks to prove that Emissary Risendo was already at the destination of his offered truce.  When he didn’t find any evidence of previous footprints, he wheeled Toronado so he could gaze up at the canyon’s sides towering above him.  So much for punctuality.

“Not so fast, Zorro.”

The words instantly drew his attention to Risendo standing beside his horse far above at the upper right side of the canyon.  His pensive arrogance was evident even at this range.  “I find it amusing that you are so prompt for your own death.”

Zorro calmly took everything in, from the man’s insolent expression to his aggressive stance to his strangely relaxed hold on his horse.  He could never fully trust the Emissary, especially after the way he had used Señorita Escalante just a few days before.  His promised truce was more likely an invitation to a fight between the two of them, or maybe an ambush.  Yet, if Emissary Risendo had changed due to the incident involving a Z whipped into his cheek, he deserved the chance to prove it.

Cautious, Zorro said, “Your message promised a truce.”

Risendo pulled a pistol out of his belt.  “I lied.”

He’s going to shoot me! Zorro instantly thought, and instinctively jerked away from the coming pain as Risendo squeezed the trigger.

But Risendo’s shot hit one of the boulders just beyond Toronado’s shoulder, starting a spark that fizzed straight through a line of gunpowder.

It was fairly obvious now what the Emissary had in store for his nemesis.

The spark quickly crawled along a ridge directly above Zorro, following the trail recently laid down by Risendo.  Zorro swiftly followed the line that led straight to a small keg of more gunpowder wedged near a pile of boulders at the topmost part of the entrance to Diablo Canyon.  Knowing full well that the entrance also happened to be the exit to what was a frequent hideout to outlaw gangs as well as the occasional rattlesnake, Zorro wasted no time in urging Toronado into a fast gallop to race that fast-moving spark.  The horse instantly surged forward.

Zorro leaned onto the black neck to help his mount in any way he could, but the spark remained just behind his left shoulder.  An uncharacteristic kick to his side encouraged Toronado to go even faster.  Almost there! Zorro thought, and dug his heels into Toronado’s side a second time.  He would make it up to the stallion if they managed to get out of this death trap in one piece.

They were two paces from the entrance to Diablo Canyon when the explosion split the air.  Toronado’s momentum carried him forward those last two paces, but the first rocks and debris of the planned landslide caught Zorro just as he reached the entrance.  More prepared to urge the horse on ever faster than to hang on for dear life, Zorro felt himself knocked from the saddle.

Rocks, dust, tree limbs and twigs relentlessly rained down on him from above to echo loudly against the sides of Diablo Canyon.  More rocks joined the landslide to quickly block the only entrance and exit.  In seconds, except for one black gloved hand, Zorro was completely buried.

The weight of the rocks settled heavily onto the masked man’s shoulders, pressing him into the ground.  Lungs starved for air instinctively tried to draw a breath, though the cloying dust and jumbled boulders halted anything except the tiniest of movements.  But in spite of his predicament, a sense of gratitude briefly engulfed Zorro; nothing had hit him on the head.  At least his mind would remain clear.  Now however, two rocks squeezed against his temple, and he felt the sharp jagged edge biting into the mask covering his hair.  He grunted once as pain lanced through his head.

He moved his hand back and forth, noting how easy the motion was, concluding that it, at least, was free of the rocks, not that it did him any good.  No matter how he flexed his wrist, he couldn’t reach the rocks on either side to move them in any useful direction.  He was good and trapped.

He thought he heard hooves galloping away at a steady clip, and assumed Risendo had decided he was dead and left the scene, going to cause more mayhem that he’d be unable to prevent.  A feeling of helpless anger flooded him from head to toe; why had he been so willing to hope that Risendo’s truce had been the real deal?  Risendo had been cruel to the point of evil every time they’d met.  The man hadn’t learned anything from their encounters, doing nothing except attacking the innocent, hurting individuals, and terrorizing the pueblo, promoting an atmosphere of fear.  Once again he loosed a low groan at his own expense.

But self-recrimination wasn’t going to help him to get out of his current fix.  Zorro resolutely turned his mind to his predicament, willing inspiration to hit.  But nothing came to him, and more dust settled on the surrounding rocks with each discarded idea.

Then a rock near his feet unaccountably shifted.  The entire rock pile loosened up, letting him draw the first deep breath he’d taken since his plunge from Toronado’s saddle.  He instantly wanted to cough as more dust settled, but he swallowed instead, forcing himself to remain calm.  Then a horse whickered; he’d recognise that sound anywhere.  It was Toronado, not far from his head.

The unmistakable sound of a shoed hoof striking rock reached him.  A boulder slid away, then another.  There was a second whicker, and hope engulfed Zorro.  Toronado was outside and unharmed, beyond the landslide.  He could move the rocks, maybe, if only Zorro could somehow communicate to the horse what he wanted him to do.

Another sound of a hoof striking a rock reached him.  Another boulder rolled away, freeing Zorro’s head.  Mind swirling, ears ringing, Zorro was still able to thank his lucky stars, for clearly Toronado already knew exactly what to do.

“Atta boy, Toronado,” Zorro mumbled, and before he knew it, he was free.

Zorro slowly pushed himself up to cautiously look around.  So much dust shifted through the air, it was difficult to see very far in any direction.  His mind swam as he peered at the empty landscape, settling only after he finally heaved in the first dust-free breath he’d enjoyed in what seemed like ages.  One thing was instantly certain - he was alone in Diablo Canyon.  As he’d thought, Risendo had indeed left the scene.

The Aftermath

Then suddenly Don Alejandro was there, kneeling in front of him.  “Zorro,” he quietly said in a voice full of concern as he moved aside several smaller rocks.  “Don’t move.  You’re safe.  Catch your breath first.”  Then he paused and grinned.  “You have one amazing horse.”

But…  The truce had said to come alone, and he had.  What was Don Alejandro doing here?

Before Zorro could force his stunned thoughts into a semblance of order, he felt the light touch of a wet rag pass across his cheeks and jaw.  With a jolt, he brought Victoria into sharp focus.  “What..?”

“Don’t talk or you’ll start coughing,” she quickly said.  A second wet rag dripped water into his abruptly parched mouth.  “You’re bleeding,” she next announced like she was commenting on the weather.  Without flinching, she pulled her skirt aside to show her white underskirt and using the knife from his boot, cut a length of cloth to use as a bandage.

Someone else had already pushed the buttons through the cuff of his right sleeve and pulled the black material up far enough to show the bloodied bandage underneath.  “We’ll need to wrap this,” a male voice declared.

A second male he didn’t recognize took the length of cloth from Victoria and quickly wrapped it around the old bandage, tying it off tightly to stop the bleeding from the remnants of the musket wound he’d received when he had rescued Toronado.  Surprisingly, no one asked what had caused the wound, though Zorro was aware enough to notice Victoria’s face blanch at the sight of the injury.  “Can you move your arm?”

“Yes.”  Zorro put a gloved hand up to halt this stranger’s administrations.  “I owe you my thanks.  But a condition of the truce was that I come alone.  For your own safety, you can’t be seen–”

“The Emissary lies more than the Alcalde,” Victoria scoffed.  “We never thought the truce was real.”

The second man snorted his own disbelief.  “We decided to come and help if you needed it, but not interfere if you didn’t.”

The first man put up his hand to halt the conversation.  “Zorro, I was hiding near the Emissary when…”  He visibly shook his head as if to order scattered thoughts.  “He said something about the masked legend, then said, ’Now for the de la Vegas.’  Do you think that’s important?”

Zorro’s eyes met those of Don Alejandro.

“What could he still want with us?” asked the don in confusion.  “Hasn’t he already done everything he can do?”

Zorro huffed an angry breath.  “Whether real or not, Risendo clearly believes he has every reason to harass your family.”

“That’s true,” Alejandro admitted, nodding.  “He’s caused us nothing but trouble.  I only hope Diego can…”  His face whitened the minute he said it, and Don Alejandro stood upright with a start, as if just realizing something very important.  “Diego… Felipe… the servants… they’ll be caught completely unawares.  I have to help them.”  He frantically scanned the surrounding area, obviously searching for something.  Then without waiting for whatever it was to appear, he yelled, “Dulcinea!  Come here, girl!”  A whinny reached them as Alejandro turned to Zorro and explained, “I can’t whistle like you do, but there are other ways to call a horse.”

Dulcinea’s white form trotted around a bend and over to them, presenting her freed reins to her master.  Don Alejandro climbed into the saddle.  “I’m glad things worked out, Zorro, but forgive me…”  He quickly reined Dulcinea around.

Zorro jerked his sleeve down and quickly buttoned his cuff.  “I’m right behind you, Señor.”  He grabbed Toronado’s beaded reins and vaulted into the saddle as Don Alejandro galloped away.

“I’m coming with you,” Victoria stated, skirt in hand, prepared to run for her horse.

Horrified, Zorro said, “Victoria, no!  I can’t guarantee your safety if–”

“I don’t expect you to,” she announced in a determined voice.  “But if you think I’m going to just let you go into obvious danger after seeing that arm, you–”

“Señores,” Zorro said to the two unfamiliar men, overriding Victoria.  “See that she gets to the tavern in–”

“If you do that,” Victoria argued, “I’ll… I’ll…”  The fight abruptly whooshed out of her,  leaving her to stare beseechingly up at him.  “What would you do if our places were reversed?  Please don’t make me.”

Zorro stared into her dark eyes, trying to see the situation from her point of view.  It wasn’t hard: they’d been in that exact same position fairly recently, and he wouldn’t have left her alone then even if his life had depended on it.  Fortunately, it hadn’t.

Coming to a swift decision, he reached down a gloved hand to help her up.   “Señores,” he said to the two strangers instead.  “See that her horse is returned to the pueblo.  I am in your debt.”

“There’s no debt,” one of the men said.  “You’ve already come to our aid years ago.  Adios.”

“Adios.”  Zorro hauled Victoria into the saddle in front of him as the two men disappeared as quietly as they’d arrived.  “You must stay away from Risendo,” he tersely instructed her in a firm voice.  “If he’s outside, be sure you’re in the hacienda.  If he’s inside, you hide in an outbuilding.  And don’t interfere no matter what happens.  Comprende?”

“Si,” Victoria instantly said without argument.  She settled in front of him, then grasped Toronado’s white saddlehorn, her knuckles equally as pale.

“Hang on.”

The Fight

Toronado immediately broke into a fierce gallop as if he understood just what was at stake.  After the amazing last few minutes, he probably did.  Victoria’s hair streamed behind her to mingle with the flying tail of Zorro’s black mask, their double weight barely affecting the stallion’s thunderous pace.

They covered the miles to the de la Vega estate in record time.  Toronado skidded to a halt just outside the hacienda amid a rain of dust and pebbles.  Zorro quickly lowered Victoria to the ground just prior to vaulting out of the saddle himself as the sound of clashing swords reached them.  He pushed her unceremoniously behind him, then peeked around the corner of the wall surrounding the hacienda.

It was as he’d feared: Don Alejandro knelt on bended knee, nursing an obvious cut to his upper thigh.  Red blood pooled wickedly on his trousers as Emissary Risendo laughed in manic glee at the injury he’d just caused.

“Had enough, old man?” Risendo rhetorically asked, still grinning madly, his expression filled with malicious enjoyment.  “I promise to get to Diego when I finish with you.”  And he slashed his sword downward, intending to injure the old don again.

Alejandro awkwardly parried, but from his angle on the ground, he didn’t stand a chance.

Risendo let out a wild laugh just as Zorro’s blade abruptly stopped his sword.

Risendo quickly backpeddled, clearly astonished to see Zorro alive and well.

Not taking his eyes off Risendo for a second, the masked man tersely asked Don Alejandro, “Can you stand, Señor?”

“Yes,” Alejandro said, rising painfully.

“Victoria,” Zorro next ordered, “take Don Alejandro inside and tend to his injuries, por favor.”

As per her promise, Victoria crossed to Don Alejandro, helped him the rest of the way to his feet, then without a word, led him through the side door and into the hacienda.

Risendo ignored them to glare at Zorro in hatred.  “Why won’t you just die like you’re supposed to?”

“I have the bad habit of not doing what’s convenient,” Zorro said, his tone as jocular as he could make it.  He tried hard to see the humor in this situation, just like he always did, but Risendo wasn’t like the Alcaldes.  It was easy to find the humor about Ramone and de Soto; they were both so absurd.  Humiliating them had always been even easier.  But now that he was facing Risendo again, he inherently knew that humiliation wasn’t going to be enough.

The Emissary’s sword scraped against the blade of Toledo Steel as he drew closer to the man in black.  “I blew you up!” he hissed in fury.  “I saw you buried under tons of rock!”

“So you did,” Zorro agreed.

“You were dead!”

“Then I’m a ghost who’s had just about enough of you,” Zorro replied, his tone no longer so affable.  He threw the Emissary back prior to swinging his sword in an arc to connect again with Risendo’s blade.  The sound of metal on metal echoed off the hacienda’s outer wall as the two men grimly faced each other.

“You’ll find I’m not so easily dealt with as Don Alejandro,” Zorro said as he followed the arc with several cuts that Risendo barely pushed aside in time.  “Not up to your usual standards, eh?” he said, and pushed the Emissary’s blade aside once again to hold out his arms in mock supplication.  “But then, there’s nothing to blow up here.  You’re clearly at a disadvantage.”

“I’ll show you how disadvantaged I am!” said Risendo with gritted teeth.  He swung his sword straight down at Zorro’s head, and it was the masked bandit who barely turned the strike aside before it connected with his scalp.

Zorro felt a renewed ache engulf his right arm.  He’d succeeded in stopping the powerful move, but his injured arm had paid the price.

And Risendo had noticed.  Another manic smile took over his face.  “Not up to your standards is what you mean.”  And he cruelly dug his fingers into Zorro’s musket wound.

Zorro grunted in pain and wheeled away, but Risendo was merciless.  His fingers dug in even more painfully.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” the Emissary goaded.  “Musket wounds tend to do that.”

Teeth gritted against a wave of pain, Zorro flipped his sword up to slice into Risendo’s arm.

Risendo recoiled and lost his grip.  Zorro immediately followed Risendo’s backpeddle with a downward arc of his own, feinted, and kicked out to knock the man back some more.  It hardly registered that he had finally broken the promise he’d made to Sir Edmond Kendle that the blade he’d won would never draw blood.

“I needed that cut to remind me you’re nothing but a bandit,” retorted Emissary Risendo.  “A bandit who bleeds!”  And he slashed straight out towards Zorro’s wound.

Zorro shoved hard on Risendo’s blade, pushed it back, then attacked as fast as he could with an arm that was surely bleeding again.  His swipes were a trifle slower than normal, a trifle less powerful.  No matter what he did, he couldn’t penetrate Risendo’s defenses.

Realizing this, Risendo’s annoying smile grew more and more derisive and his eyes gleamed with malice.  “What’s the matter, Zorro?”  The taunting was back in his voice.  “Not so easy to deal with me now?”

Without wasting a second, Zorro switched hands to fight with his uninjured left arm.  “I have a score to settle with you.”

Not surprisingly, Risendo attacked.  Zorro met him blow for blow, often confusing the government man with more creative swordplay than most ever saw.  Zorro’s sword was a blur as he met Risendo on equal footing for the first time that day.  He dodged and parried, danced and blocked, dipped and twisted until his blade scraped against the Emissary’s, his masked face now only inches from Risendo’s bitter expression of hatred.  “Why target the de la Vegas?”

“Do you really expect me to tell you?” Risendo sneered.

“Better to tell me than I tell the governor how you’ve ceaselessly threatened a relative of the king.”

Risendo laughed in disbelief, “As if the governor would ever take a bandit’s word against a royal emissary’s!”

It was the sheer confidence of those sneering words that fueled Zorro’s subsequent attack.  Forgetting everything he had ever learned about controlling his emotions, he let his anger take hold of his sword.  “You seized their hacienda,” he announced and pushed his sword roughly against Risendo’s, “you froze their assets,” he declared and fiercely carved a Z in the Emissay’s exposed cheek, “you forged letters, you goaded and baited and wounded Don Alejandro… and I want to know why!”

“The de la Vegas owe me!” Risendo yelled, swiping furiously at the blood on his cheek.

This diatribe truly puzzled Zorro.  “Owe you?  How?”

Instead of responding, Risendo used Zorro’s momentary puzzlement to drive his blade downward and straight at the bandit, aiming to pierce through Zorro’s defences and disarm him.

Zorro wasted no time in blocking the attempt, sending his sword into a dizzying series of feints, rounds, complicated patterns of jabs mixed with blows, and disarmed Risendo in one final move.  He quickly shoved the end of his sword right into the Emissary’s throat.  “Perhaps now you feel more willing to share?”

Not remotely willing, Risendo sneered again.  “Like I said, Zorro, why would I ever tell you?”

Zorro’s blue eyes flashed.  “Let me put it another way.”

The sword went from encouraging the Emissary to talk straight to wounding him again; a trickle of blood slid down Risendo’s neck to chase the blood oozing from his cheek.

Risendo slowly raised his arms in surrender, the sword tip barely giving him room to swallow.

“That’s better,” Zorro tersely said.  “Now start talking.”

“Don Alejandro is my father.”

Zorro’s eyes widened.  The blunt statement wasn’t remotely what he’d been prepared to hear.  “That’s impossible.  In order for Don Alejandro to be your father, he would have had to have taken a mistress, or had an affair while married to Doña Elena.”  While Zorro admitted to himself that Don Alejandro would hardly have advertised such activities, someone, somewhere, at sometime would have mentioned such things before now.  The truth had a way of becoming known even if the participants wanted to hide it forever.

Zorro wondered now if Risendo was that person who was Don Alejandro’s ‘someone, somewhere, at sometime’ who would tell dirty secrets.  Still, his eyes narrowed in skepticism.  “How do you know anything about this when no one else does?”

“I am Diego’s twin brother.”

This second blunt confession caused Zorro’s brows to shoot up into his hair hidden by the mask.  “Brother?”

“Older brother,” Risendo snarled, as if now that he had decided to talk, he was going to get every ounce of sick enjoyment out of the ordeal that he possibly could.  “I’m two minutes older than Diego.  The de la Vega fortune is mine!”

This just didn’t make sense.  “Don Alejandro has never mentioned having another son.”

“He may not have mentioned it, but he knows,” Risendo spat.  “The minute I was born, that pig took one look at my twisted legs and promptly denounced me.  Now I’m back, perfectly healthy, and demand my inheritance!”

”Ridiculous!” Zorro argued.  “How could he denounce you?  Don Alejandro wasn’t even at Diego’s birth!”

Risendo surged forward, held back only by Zorro’s blade pricking his throat.  Cowed, he glared anew.  “And how would you know something like that?  You’re nothing but an outlaw!”

Zorro blinked, thinking fast; how would he know?  Diego’s mother had told the story of his birth many times before her death, but he was Zorro now and not Diego, so he’d have to invent another credible tale.

“Because I was Diego’s roommate at the University of Madrid,” Zorro said in a hard voice.  “We often lamented how the military kept our fathers from attending our births.  We even looked up their postings in the military records; his was at Calas while mine was in Barcelona.”

“I don’t believe you,” Risendo roughly spat.

“You don’t have to!” Zorro spat back.  “You can look at the records for yourself.”

Risendo’s left eye twitched for just a second before he retorted, “This is nothing but a lie!”

That eye twitch had focused Zorro’s attention.  He’d been in too many altercations where body language had inadvertently given him valuable information, making it look like he could read minds.  While avidly listening to every word Risendo said, he was busy thinking There’s someone behind me.  Zorro automatically shifted his weight to his other foot even as he demanded, “Why would I lie?  I’m not the one after Don Alejandro’s money!”

“This is about far more than money!”

“What’s it about then?”

“Revenge!  Shoot him, Mother!”

But Zorro was already falling to the side the minute the first word was out of the Emissary’s mouth.  He swung his sword up in a wild arc to leverage himself away from Risendo and to fall backwards against the garden wall covered in rose vines.

At precisely the same time, a gun went off with a boom so loud that it rivaled the explosion in Diablo Canyon, causing the ground to momentarily shake.  Zorro felt the leaves of the climbing vines soften his fall just as the bullet intended for his back pierced a hole through the far side of his wildly swinging black cape.  The cape, however, was not enough to alter its ultimate trajectory, and since Zorro was no longer there to stop it, it slammed right into Risendo’s chest.

The Emissary stretched straight up and stiffened, blinking his surprise.  In the next second, the menacing gleam in his eyes vanished as he slowly toppled back to land on the hard stones of the de la Vega garden.

“No!  Gilberto!” came an anguished wail to Zorro’s right.

Zorro whipped his sword up to fend off this new threat, but the move was unnecessary.  A woman he had never seen before, wearing a long cloak, with dark hair drawn severely back, ran right past him to crouch next to Risendo’s head.  She gently touched the forehead of the dead man, smoothing his windblown hair out of sightless eyes, at last cradling his bloody cheek.  Her broken sobs were the only sound in the garden.

Zorro slowly stood, sword at his side, instinctively wanting to pull her away from Risendo and demand answers before she could flee the scene, but he needn’t have worried.  It was quickly apparent that she had no intention of going anywhere as she buried her face in Risendo’s military uniform, sobbing, “My son!  My son!”

Her son?  How could he be her son, Zorro again wondered, if Risendo himself had suggested that he was Diego’s twin brother, and Diego was undoubtedly a de la Vega?  Zorro felt sure that there was more to this story.  Because as it was, this just didn’t make sense.

Zorro moved toward her to encourage her into the house to answer questions, but Don Alejandro got there first.

He curtly dragged her to her feet.  “If this is my son, as he said, but called you ‘mother,’ then you have some explaining to do.  Come on, move.”  And with his own pistol that was clearly still loaded, he motioned the sobbing, gulping woman into the hacienda.  Still stunned, Zorro sheathed his sword and followed.

The Truth

They met Victoria just inside the door.  “I heard gunfire!’ she exclaimed, “is Zorro-?”

“I’m fine, Victoria,” Zorro quickly soothed.

“Risendo’s dead,” Alejandro informed in a voice that was devoid of emotion.  “She shot him.  Right after claiming he was my son.”

“What?” came a thunderous chorus of voices.

Zorro looked around the hacienda’s front rooms to notice for the first time that it was full of every servant and vaquero who worked for the de la Vegas.  He briefly wondered how he had possibly missed so many people, but his attention was once again riveted to the woman Don Alejandro had gestured to a chair.

The woman sank down onto the upholstered seat, tears no longer streaking her cheeks but with a look that said she didn’t quite know where she was.  Don Alejandro settled stiffly onto the settee facing her, favoring his injured right leg, a supportive Victoria on one side of him and Felipe on the other.

“Now talk,” Don Alejandro commanded the moment he was settled.  “He called you ‘mother,’ I heard him.”  A cloud of anguish crossed the old don’s eyes.  “He also claimed to be my son.  But I’ve never seen him before.  And I don’t know you.  You’re not…”  He swallowed harshly, and didn’t go on.

The woman raised her head defiantly.  “I am Ynez Risendo,” she announced, sounding sure that Don Alejandro would know who she was.

The silence that followed this announcement was deafening.  Don Alejandro finally broke it when he said, “And who is Ynez Risendo?”

Not being remembered clearly rankled the woman, who briefly lost her grieved look to become obviously irritated.  “I once lived in Madrid - perhaps you remember now?” she waspishly suggested.

The blank look he shot at her rankled her even further.  “Am I supposed to know you?”

She bristled.  “I was the midwife your wife hired to–”

Alejandro’s eyes lit up.  “Of course!  Now I remember - you delivered Diego… and Gilberto?”

“Gilberto first,” she retorted, as if that was an important distinction.

Don Alejandro stared, puzzled, sizing the woman up.  The woman said nothing more, but her pursed lips said plenty.

“Wait.  I don’t understand,” Victoria interrupted, one hand supportively in Alejandro’s.  “You say that… Diego had a twin brother?”  She shot Alejandro a confused look.  “Why have we never heard of this?”

Alejandro met her gaze with a befuddled look of his own.  “Because he was kept a secret?” he suggested in a voice full of uncertainty.  He turned his confusion onto Ynez Risendo.  “Why?”

Recalling all that the Emissary had sporadically informed him, Zorro finally understood.  “Because she kidnapped him.”

The room was again blanketed in silence as they all stared in astonishment at the woman in the armchair.  Forehead wrinkled, Victoria finally asked, “But why?”

The woman again said nothing, so Zorro told them, “For the money, like Risendo said.  This was all about money.”

        Don Alejandro’s confusion intensified.  “But… what–?”

        The woman bristled anew.  “Midwives aren’t paid well,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“‘Aren’t paid well?’” Don Alejandro vaguely repeated, still obviously befuddled.  “So… kidnapping my eldest son was your way of protecting your future assets?  Because, if you could… I don’t know… somehow make sure he was the only de la Vega alive, he would inherit?”

Ynez Risendo gave a defiant look, remaining mute once more, and it was once again Zorro who stated, “Then Gilberto would inherit everything.  And it didn’t matter who was hurt in the process.”

Abruptly Don Alejandro’s head jerked up, and he looked at Ynez Risendo with eyes that suddenly saw the truth.  “I heard Gilberto claim I knew of his twisted legs, but his legs were fine, weren’t they?”

Once more, she remained stonily silent.

Alejandro went on, “I came home on leave when Diego was a month old, thrilled that he and Elena were so healthy.  So many mothers and newborns die in childbirth.  I was so relieved, I planned to give you a huge bonus on top of your regular salary, but I couldn’t find you.”  His expression hardened even as he spoke.  “Because you were hiding my son from me.”

Ynez Risendo sat unmoving in her chair, the gleam of guilt in her eye, but refused to apologize for past actions.

Not willing to feel too much sympathy for someone who had just tried to shoot him, Zorro said, “She still hasn’t explained why she did this in the first place.”

More silence met this statement as the group waited.  It eventually became clear that Ynez Risendo wasn’t ever going to explain herself.

“So be it,” Don Alejandro softly said.  Turning to the group of vaqueros standing awkwardly by the piano, he said, “I’m afraid there’s a mess in the garden.  The body…”  He swallowed, visibly shook himself, and continued, “Put it on a cart or wagon.  I’ll take it to the pueblo and testify that…”  He gazed at Zorro then.  “Even in this instance, the way de Soto is–”

“The Alcalde will blame Zorro for the Emissary’s death no matter who really did it unless we set him straight right now,” Victoria interrupted.

Alejandro added, ”And let’s not forget the Royal Guardsmen.”

Felipe pantomimed shooting with a rifle.

“Yes,” Alejandro agreed.  “They’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”  His gaze returned to Ynez Risendo.  “If you won’t explain yourself to me, perhaps you will to the Alcalde.”  He looked again at his vaqueros.  “Take her out and lock her in the shed, por favor.  I’ll come get her later.”

“And post several guards,” Zorro suggested.  “If she escapes now…”  He didn’t have to finish his sentence for everyone listening to understand how dire the consequences would be.

The vaqueros and servants filed quietly out of the room, some glancing quickly in Don Alejandro’s direction as they went, but all seemingly glad to have something to do.  The last two men each grabbed one of Ynez Risendo’s arms and hauled her to her feet, but she didn’t resist.  It seemed the defiance wore out of her the minute Don Alejandro had mentioned dealing with ‘the body.’

“I should go too,” Zorro said.  “My presence will only make matters worse.”  He turned towards the side door leading into the garden.

Don Alejandro’s voice stopped him.  “Zorro, something puzzles me.”

Zorro turned back, but Don Alejandro didn’t speak again until every servant and vaquero had left, leaving only himself, Felipe, Victoria, and the masked man.

Alejandro straightened up from the leaning position he had adopted while dealing with Señora Risendo to stare directly into Zorro’s eyes.  “I was outside in the garden for quite awhile listening to you and the Emissary.  I don’t think you even knew I was there.”

“No, I didn’t,” confessed Zorro.  “The Emissary must not have known either or he would surely have attacked you again.”
        Alejandro waved aside the threat.  “Probably, but my point is… Diego didn’t have a roommate at the University of Madrid.”

Zorro froze after that quiet statement, not knowing how to respond.  Or in actuality, so many plausible ideas spiraled through his mind all at once that he couldn’t zero in on any one of them.  He glanced once in Felipe’s wide-eyed direction, but it was immediately clear the young man was so surprised by the simple comment that his mind was frozen.  The masked bandit was on his own.

Zorro again stared Don Alejandro straight in the eye.  There was really only one thing he could do.

Heaving a deep breath, he calmly said, “I know.”

Then he strode through the side door and vanished.

THE END