Chapter 13
Maria stood next to Ramon at Diego’s cell twenty minutes later. She looked askance at the dirt on the floor, but said, “You wished to see me, Master Diego?”
Diego came as close to the bars as he could get. “Si, Maria. I was wondering if you put anything different in the enchiladas you made for lunch yesterday.”
Maria stared at him in confusion. “Do you wish me to make them for you again… in here?”
Diego chuckled. “No, Victoria’s not feeling well again, but she felt much better after eating lunch at the hacienda. We wondered if you’d done something to the enchiladas.”
Now Maria looked offended. “Certainly not! I added nothing different to the sauce, the spices, the filling…”
“Yes you did,” Victoria instantly objected, and together they said, “The liver.”
Maria added, “Now I remember. We wanted to see if it was any good so we could make it again later.”
Ramon made a sour face. “And Don Alejandro ate this… thing?”
Maria took on a frosty look. “Patròn loved it.”
“He would,” Diego muttered under his breath.
“Liver.” Ramon was thoughtful. “Beef, chicken, goat, or lamb?”
“Beef,” Diego said.
“Does it matter?” Ramon next asked.
“We… don’t know,” Diego said with a pensive look cast toward Victoria before turning his attention back to Ramon. “Are you able to get some liver for Maria to make enchiladas at the tavern?”
“Maybe,” Ramon hesitantly said.
“We have enough left for one portion at the hacienda,” Maria answered.
“Good!” The anxiety clouding Diego’s expression cleared away. “Ramon, go back to the hacienda for it. Maria can start cooking.” He softened his commanding tone by adding, “Por favor, both of you. It can’t hurt but to try.”
“Si,” Maria agreed, and led the way out of the jail through the Alcalde’s office.
De Soto came in just as Maria and Ramon left. “What is this, a stage coach station?” he loudly complained, falling heavily into his desk chair. “That’s your last visitor, de la Vega!”
But Diego wasn’t upset by this declaration in the least. “As you say, Alcalde.” He sat on the bed, dust poofing up as he did. He was Zorro (one of the Zorros) and had learned patience at great cost to himself in the early days of the bandit’s inception; he could wait.
Z Z Z
Two hours later, Maria returned bearing a tray, walking with a sure step towards the open door to the jail. De Soto naturally stopped her.
“Ah, lunch!” he exclaimed, taking the tray from her to sniff experimentally. “Spicy!” Just the way I like it.”
Uncowed, Maria took it back. “For my mistress.”
De Soto barked a laugh, and took the tray again. “For me. Make another one for your mistress.”
Maria stepped firmly on his foot, distracting him, and retrieved the tray. “For the mistress!”
Thump.
Thump, thump, thump, thump… thump, thump!
Ignoring Maria now, the Alcalde ran to the office door and yanked it open. There, impaled on the wood, were seven more knives, with seven more notes, all in the shape of a–
“What a pretty Z!” Mendoza exclaimed.
De Soto snatched the first knife out of the wood. “Pretty!” he snorted. “Sergeant, after Zorro… all of them!”
Mendoza turned to the men under his command, instantly the perfect soldier. “¡Apúrate!”
The lancers scrambled over one another in their haste to follow and capture at least one of the Zorros galloping out of the pueblo. But they tripped on each other, falling ignominiously into the plaza dust, more harm to each other than to any Zorro. The bandits raced away in different directions, the lancers barely knowing where to look, let alone what to do.
“Bah!” de Soto grunted, disappearing into his office as quickly as the many Zorros had vanished from the pueblo, leaving the knives and their notes to be pulled from the door by the Sergeant and his men.
The moment the Alcalde had turned away from her, Maria had quickly made her way to Victoria’s cell. “Eat it fast, Mistress, before he comes back!”
Victoria stuck her hands through the bars to grab the fork Maria had thought to provide, but it proved to be too awkward to cut the enchilada into bite sized pieces with the bars in the way. She was understandably reluctant to simply bite into it lest she get sauce all over her clothes.
“Here, use this,” Diego said when she hesitated, pulling up his trouser leg so he could reach the knife hidden in his boot. When the cook, Victoria and Ramon shot similar looks of astonishment at him, he smiled disarmingly. “One never knows when a knife will come in handy in these uncertain times.”
Ramon gazed at him in utter confusion. “Amigo, if you had a knife all this time, why didn’t you use it to try to pick the lock on your cell and escape?”
“Or at least use it to threaten the guards?” Maria added.
Diego shrugged. “I forgot I had it.” It was such a Diego-type answer that he was sure everybody in the jail would instantly believe it.
He wasn’t disappointed. Maria gave a chuckle of affection, though Ramon snorted in obvious disgust, then tried to stifle the sound behind his hand. But Victoria gave a soft smile, as if gladdened by his claim to a poor memory, and held out her hand.
Diego was as astonished at Victoria’s reaction as Victoria had been that he carried a knife in the first place, yet he casually handed her his knife without comment.
It was an easy matter to cut the enchilada now, and Victoria ate half of it in the time it took for de Soto to return to his office.
“It’s not bad, but if I eat another bite, I’m going to throw up again.” She wiped Diego’s knife on the napkin Maria had thoughtfully provided, then held it out to him. “De nada.”
“You better hide it before the Alcalde sees it,” Ramon suggested.
Maria looked alarmed. “If he finds it, he might arrest you… again!”
Victoria was once more oddly complacent as she continued to hold the sharp implement. “You can forget you have it.”
“I think I will.” It was like he and Victoria were sharing a private joke. Smiling, Diego replaced it in his boot, carefully concealing it with his trousers.
“I’ll keep the rest of this enchilada in the tavern’s kitchen for later,” Maria confided, and carried the tray out.
“Keep us updated,” Ramon said, and followed her.
Diego shot a look at Victoria. “And now for the hardest part… the waiting.”
“I hate–”
“... waiting.” Diego’s smile grew. “It’s a pity you’re so good at it.”
Z Z Z
While they waited, the continuous arrival in the pueblo of Zorro or a set of Zorros entertained them for several hours. Twice they even had the pleasure of watching a female dressed as Zorro play havoc with the garrison lancers. The bandits upended carts, ripped down Zorro wanted posters on the proviso board, drove more knives wrapped in notes into the Alclalde’s office door, and caused mayhem in general. The lancers tried to keep up with all this chaos, but the citizens kept getting in the way… often, on purpose.
Diego stood at the bars between his and Victoria’s cell, gazing avidly out the window at yet another power play between a male Zorro and several lancers. One young and clearly inexperienced soldier drew his sword to wave threateningly at the horse and bandit. Smiling widely in response, this particular Zorro spread his arms to welcome such an obvious challenge, then dismounted from his black steed to better face the soldiers.
“Capture him, don’t hurt him!” Mendoza reminded, his voice carrying to the jail on the noonday breeze.
It was evident after only a few seconds of fencing that Zorro hardly had anything to worry about as he dispatched first one, two, three, then all four lancers. As the soldiers splayed helplessly in the dust, he gave a wolfish smile of pure enjoyment and beckoned to Sergeant Mendoza.
Diego frowned. Zorro’s smile never turned wolfish before… did it?
That was all he had time to think as Mendoza skittered to the side, visibly quaking, then dashed backwards, then around a pole, then behind a watering trough in an attempt to engage Zorro without actually doing any fighting. As he darted around another pole, Diego got his first unfettered view of the masked bandit.
Black mustache, black mask, black outfit, black horse (probably Toronado, but he was out of view), and brandishing a shiny silver sword… that didn’t look remotely like Sir Edmond’s championship saber.
Diego’s frown etched deeper onto his face. That’s certainly not Felipe playing Zorro. And it’s not my Zorro. Then who is it?
The fact that Diego had no idea was more galling than he’d expected. Close on the heels of that thought was the memory of all the Zorros he’d seen in recent hours. So many people playing the masked bandit, deviling the Alcalde and his men, throwing knives wrapped in notes at the Alcalde’s office door. How many were there now? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? He had lost count.
A surge of protectiveness suddenly washed through him, followed closely by a wave of jealousy: Zorro was his, he’d created Zorro, enhanced his dramatic side in order to be him, learned the hard way what worked and what didn’t, had successfully kept the masked bandit away from capture and the gallows for many long years, had helped people too numerous to count, had given up his dreams for Zorro, his life, his love…
His eyes turned instantly to Victoria also watching the antics in the plaza. Her placid expression at first puzzled him, then after another logical, unemotional moment, found it very heartening; her face wasn’t as alight as he had always expected it to be when confronted once again with the masked man, wasn’t as besotted. Yes, that was the right word. As much as they’d shared as pueblo hero and ladylove, there had always been a tiny glint in her eye when they met, a hint of hero worship.
But after the wonderful night and morning they’d just shared together as Victoria and Diego, he couldn’t possibly still harbor even a sliver of doubt as to her affections… could he?
He was being ridiculous, he decided. Her expression proved beyond a doubt that his worries were as unfounded as his sudden Zorro possessiveness. He didn’t own the masked bandit any more than he owned Victoria. If anything, Zorro and Victoria owned him.
Diego turned back to the show going on in the plaza, and gave a jerk of surprise. Zorro was talking.
“What, no Alcalde?” Zorro said with arms open wide in invitation. “Is de Soto having you do all his dirty work now?”
Zorro, talking. So, definitely not Felipe. And not him. As Ignacio had said, he was safe in jail.
For the first time, Diego understood exactly what that meant. Without a whimper, without a shout, without him even realizing it, his time as Zorro had come to an end. He wasn’t going to be hanged as a traitor. He no longer had a price on his head. If anything, he’d been replaced. On top of it all, he had gotten the love of his life, and she actually liked him back. For the first time in years, he had an out that didn’t lead to capture and instant death.
Most surprising of all, he wasn’t acting remotely appreciative about it.
What was wrong with him?
So what if this man acting as Zorro was enjoying a persona that he had created? So what if this Zorro seemed very confident about his ability to handle the lancers? So what if he carried a different sword than the bandit normally did? So what if this Zorro was obviously not the original Zorro? This Zorro was clearly having such a good time taunting the Alcalde’s men that no one cared who he was.
And so, who really cared about the identity of the multitude of Zorros they had already seen that day?
The point was that Zorro still lived to fight the oppression of the people, to promote justice, to do what others couldn’t. Zorro didn’t need Diego to give him life. He lived, and would hopefully do more than just devil the Alcalde. The important thing was, Diego wasn’t a single one of them.
And even more than that, Diego could prove it.
Because Diego was safe, in jail, with Victoria. Ignacio de Soto had even said so.
And taking into account how long she’d been standing watch at the window, Victoria was obviously feeling much better than she had been before she’d eaten the…
“Victoria!” Diego exclaimed, startled out of his thoughts.
Victoria whipped around. “What?”
“You’re full of color and energy again.”
Victoria’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What? There aren’t soldiers in the shadows bent on stringing us up?”
“No, of course not. But look at you.” Diego gestured at all of her with a wave of his hand. “You must be feeling better.”
His words clearly didn’t register. She blinked in utter confusion, her eyes showing her slow comprehension that something was going on in the cell as important as what was going on in the plaza. Rubbing any last minute befuddlement from her eyes, she took a quick internal inventory. Then she sucked in a loud lungful of air. “I am!”
“The liver…”
Together they exclaimed, “It worked!”
Diego blinked in complete surprise. In the most unlikely of circumstances, in what was probably the worst conditions imaginable, they had stumbled upon a possible treatment, completely by accident. This was what they’d been searching for for months. This was amazing. This was life altering. This was...
Diego blinked again, beaming. This meant that Victorita wasn’t going to be sick anymore. Victoria wasn’t going to fade away. Victoria wasn’t going to die! She could return to the tavern, things could go back to the way they used to be, she could...
Diego’s beaming smile dimmed. They’d found a treatment, or at least a place to start looking for one. But that meant Victoria wouldn’t need him anymore. She could go back to having energy, to speaking against injustice, to waiting on the various visitors to the pueblo. She could cook her own food, serve her customers with her brother at her side, return to her old life. She could go back to loving Zorro.
She could leave him.
Victoria’s own smile suddenly swooped into a frown of uncertainty until she bore a look that was frustrated, vulnerable, and above all, frightened. “But how much should I eat? And when? Morning or night? A large dose or a small one? And where do we get so much liver? Does it have to be beef, or can it come from a chicken? Or a sheep? Or a goat? And how do we find out?” Brow furrowed in helplessness, she turned beseeching eyes on Diego. “What do I do?”
As if waking from a particularly nasty dream, Diego slowly blinked, the misty haze that filled his mind gradually thinned. “I guess… we have to do things… by trial and error.” His sluggish mind slowly began to whir again. “We have to conduct experiments,” he said, his voice showing his burgeoning interest. “We need to take detailed notes.” His sense of excitement blossomed. “Maybe we can even publish our findings!”
Victoria heaved a heartfelt sigh, and her eyes cleared. Relaxed now, she wrapped warm fingers around his hands curled on the bars, and leaned into the metal. “It’s a good thing I have a husband who’s so good at experiments,” she said in a voice alight with gratitude and affection, “because obviously, now the real work begins.”
Diego blinked once more. Her words had given him a completely new line of thought, something new to latch on to, a new purpose for living. In seconds, the nightmarish fog had lifted completely. “Well then, let’s get started.”
EPILOGUE
One year later:
The front door of the hacienda banged open, then a second later, banged shut. “Victoria!” Diego called, striding through the foyer with a sure step. “Victoria!”
“I’m right here, Diego,” Victoria answered from the library.
Diego turned into the library and watched her take a book from the pile beside her to place on one of the lower shelves across from the windows. “You’ll never believe it! Of all the stubborn, arrogant–”
“What has the Alcalde done now?”
The question brought Diego to a sudden halt. “Oh, not the Alcalde, though that would make sense. It’s Dr. Sanchez that has me so riled up.”
“Dr. Sanchez!” Victoria laughed. “He’s only been in the pueblo a month; he hasn’t had time to become stubborn and arrogant.”
“He may have only been here a month,” Diego replied, “but today he had no trouble treating me like a bothersome child when I told him what we’ve been working on for the last year.”
“You told him about the liver?” she asked, calmly replacing another book.
“I told him about the liver, about the Wasting Disease, all of it. And you know what he did?”
“No.”
“He said he had real patients to treat and didn’t have time to waste on amateurs playing doctor, then pushed me out of his office and slammed the door in my face.” Diego clenched his fist. “Of all the stubborn, arrogant–”
Victoria placed a calming hand on his arm. “Yes, you said that.”
Diego put his own hand over Victoria’s. “You were right earlier; he is just like the Alcalde.”
Victoria smiled. “And speaking of the Alcalde…”
As if dreading the answer, Diego asked, “What’s he done now?”
Victoria’s smile turned into a full blown laugh. “Well, not the Alcalde exactly, but Sergeant Mendoza was just here to tell us the news that they caught the men who killed Dr. Hernandez.”
Diego gave a start. “They finally caught them?”
“Well, no, Zorro did. The men were tied up at the cuartel this morning.”
“How did he know they were the men who killed the doctor?”
“There was a note.”
Diego couldn’t hold back his smile. “Zorro has grown quite fond of notes lately.”
Victoria’s smile turned sly. “I particularly liked Zorro’s note from a year ago.”
Diego couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. “You mean notes. How many did the
Alcalde get? 17? 18? All saying the same thing.”
Victoria laughed as well. “That if he didn’t let both of us out of jail immediately, he would be plagued forever by more Zorros than he could handle… not that he could ever handle Zorro.”
Diego’s laughter turned into a look of inquisition. “Which Zorro caught the bandits this time?”
She shrugged, picking up another book from the pile next to her. “Mendoza didn’t say. There were Zs carved into the vests of the men along with the note Zorro left, that’s all he said. Oh, did you hear about how Zorro saved Pilar’s family from losing their farm when they couldn’t pay their taxes?”
“Yes, Lupè told me.”
“If he’s going to leave money to pay people’s taxes like that, he can leave money for Ramon and the tavern anytime he wants.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him that the next time I see him.” Diego grabbed a book off the pile and placed it between two others on the topmost shelf.
“Not so high,” Victoria immediately said. “I can’t reach it up there.”
“Then someday I’ll get to put my arms around you when I lift you up so you can reach it,” Diego said with a saucy smile.
Victoria grinned at his flirtatious teasing. “At least I’ve gained so much of my weight back that you’ll actually feel like you’re lifting something… if I just don’t get a stool to stand on first.”
“I’ll have Lupè remove all the stools.”
“Then I’ll stand on a chair.”
“I’ll tell Benita to get rid of the chairs.”
“Don Alejandro won’t like that at all.”
“He’ll get used to standing.”
Victoria’s laughter peeled through the hacienda… and even after all this time, after all the experiments they had done, after all the liver that they had worked with, after all they had come to mean to each other, Diego still marveled at the simple fact that she was alive to laugh at all.
As to Zorro: he was absolutely alive, in many varieties… Felipe had surely seen to that… but for Victoria, and especially for Diego, Zorro was definitely dead and buried.
THE END
A/N: So, what disease did Victoria have? It was a disease I made up, right?
Unfortunately, no. Victoria’s disease is rare (even now), but all too real. And truth is, I’ve been working on this story for at least 15 years, ever since I was diagnosed with a simple condition that I realized wasn’t so simple as time went by.
It’s Vitamin B12 deficiency. Vitamin B12 is essential, and can be stored in - you guessed it - your liver! It causes, among other things, shortness of breath, nausea, pallor, every symptom that Victoria showed, and some more that I couldn’t work in.
More specifically, was Victoria’s shortness of breath overly dramatized (it couldn’t be that bad, could it)? Ok, it’s confession time: by the time I realized I had been a bit on the dramatic side concerning Victoria’s breathing (or lack thereof), it was far too late to do anything about it except rewrite the entire story, and I’m too lazy to do that. But when I said something just the other day and had to take a breath before I finished my sentence, the first thing I thought was, I sound just like Victoria! So maybe I wasn’t being so overly dramatic after all.
As to more info on Vitamin B12 deficiency, you can do the research as well - if not better - than I can. You’re welcome to point out all the mistakes I made (I’m sure there are many). Till I hear from you, breathe well, and I hope you enjoyed it. Zorro rules!