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“This is the absolute last straw, do you hear me?”

Diego stifled a sigh, in truth his ears had been ringing for the last twenty minutes with the alcaqclde’s rising voice and heating temper. His strident tones might as well carry all the way to Santa Barbara. De Soto had always been a blowhard, but when his face had finally passed the red shade of his uniform and headed straight for heart attack purple, Diego couldn’t quite find the strength to care.

“Maybe I could hear you better if you spoke a little louder,” he said quietly, rearranging himself to spy the other way from their lookout point without rattling the chain to give their position away. Though the only reason he bothered was sheer stubborn adherence to good tactics. If the bandits were close enough and couldn’t hear the yelling, then they were the worst desperados Zorro had ever faced.

“These were my last good pants! You’ve ruined six pair this month!”

Counting to ten has ceased to work nearly an hour before when this debacle had gone from bad to worse. Diego’s morning had started out so promising too, with a sunrise ride with Victoria, only to go completely sideways when they had stumbled upon the alcalde’s latest foolhardy get rich quick scheme.

At least he’d managed to get Victoria turned around to ride to the garrison for help. Unfortunately, he and de Soto were now miles from where the soldiers would start the search. Even more unfortunately, he would need to defeat the bandits and get the key to their chain from their leader before he could allow Mendoza close enough to rescue de Soto.

“Señor, if you want to know who to blame for your current wardrobe woes, I suggest you look in a mirror,” Diego said, sighing when he caught sight of a plume of dust rising over a far hill. The bandits were still on their trail, even if he had managed to stretch the distance between them. The sun would set soon, and shackled as he was to his nemesis, he would actually be hindered by the usually welcoming darkness.

“Yes, Because I so often carve letters into the seat of my own trousers,” de Soto scoffed, running his fingers over his neatly trimmed beard and down his throat. He was looking rather bedraggled, and even the tassels on his jacket swung limply.

If any higher power had any love for Diego or Zorro at all, then the alcalde would soon lose his voice completely. “I find my alterations both aesthetically and spiritually pleasing,” Diego said, tugging on the manacle rubbing his wrist raw. He wished he had one of his ubiquitous handkerchief to protect his skin; he would have to be careful visiting the pueblo later, that no one saw his wound and connected the scars. “Now do shut up. I’m sure the collected blows to your head have no doubt addled your brains and I would hate to add to your derangement.”

De Soto slowly trailed off his angry mumbling, and they spent a very uncomfortable night shivering in the shallow made from the exposed root system of two trees that grew too closely together to share the sparse water of the Californian environment.

Diego tried very hard to ignore the heavy handed symbolism that had become his life.

The final confrontation, when it came, was entirely anticlimactic. The desperados, instead of being bandits, were actually a troupe of out of work Shakespearean actors. They had seen the alcalde prowling around the tar pits and decided to take him for ransom. Being new to the area, they did not know Zorro’s true nature and assumed he was the alcade’s bodyguard.

Diego had needed that laugh.

Once he disarmed their leader and managed to explain the situation, they were very amenable to unlocking the shackles keeping Diego and de Soto locked together, and then bolting at the first sign the garrison’s lancers had finally found their trail. For whatever else the soldiers many good qualities, timing had never been one of them. Diego would have liked to see the group perform under different circumstances, and as it was, he couldn’t help quoting a small scene from King Lear.

The rough terrain necessitated the soldiers lead their horses, hope to curry favor with the alcalde led nearly half to run ahead, rifles held securely before them. De Soto, winced as Mendoza tripped and executed a somersault that would have made the pueblo’s children jealous. “I’m okay!” he yelled, lifting his knees to avoid the cacti patch. “I’ll save you mi alcalde!”

The tassels on de Soto’s shoulder bars swung as he sighed and gave up his military posture, accepting for the moment at least how outmanned his garrison was if mere actors could nearly capture Zorro on their first attempt. “Maybe,” he said, gathering his reins in one hand, “I’m getting softer in my old age.”

The canyon’s sides were too steep for Toronado to climb, the box that had secured the safety of the actors worked just as well to trap him. “Old maybe, but soft?” Diego asked, quickly counting the oncoming lancers. Too many to take on head to head. “Did you or did you not attempt to tax litters by the kitten last week?”

“They are a menace and a burden on the good people!” de Soto argued, his voicing rising again despite the ravages he’d already wrecked on the soft tissue. “They are dirty, they carry diseases, and they get into everything. They are irritatingly sure of their own assumed superiority, much like a certain fox I could name.”

Diego still had his suspicion that the entire ordeal had been set off by a stray cat stepping in the alcade’s paint and ruining what was sure to be his latest horrific rendition of a classic piece of art. “Yet they saved you from the rat infestation in the garrison,” he said, letting his mouth twitch up as he remembered dropping the rodents in de Soto’s bed. As much as he looked forward to the day he put the mask down, when he could declare himself to Victoria, he admitted, there were certain perks to anonymity. De Soto’s face when he woke cuddling one of the bigger rodents was a memory he would cherish.

“An infestation you were responsible for!” de Soto cleared his throat, undoubtedly doing more damage, but when had he ever listened to Diego? At least the pueblo might reap the benefits of de Soto eventually resting his voice. “Now do you want to hear what I have to say, or not?”

“Please, dazzle me, alcalde,” Diego said, mentally working out what moves he would use if it came to a frontal assault. He couldn’t go toe to toe with them, not as worn down as both he and Toronado were, but he might be able to use the choke point to his advantage. He could use the alcalde as a shield and have Toronado to cover his flank. They could make it to open ground to make a run for it.

“I will give you a thirty minute head start before we ride you down and drag you by the neck to the pueblo square,” de Soto said, taking out a handkerchief that had seen better days to dab at his forehead.

Reining Toronado in, Diego took stock, wondering if the alcalde could be trusted. He didn’t see any of the telltale tics that de Soto usually showed to give himself away. Weighing the pros and cons, he really didn’t have that much to lose and thirty minutes to win. “That is very generous of you, Ignacio,” Diego said, using his hands and knees to calm Toronado down from the previous fight or flight signal he’d given. “I accept.”

While de Soto waved his men to stand down, Diego urged Toronado into a ground devouring lope. He winked at Mendoza, a grin curling up that they shared together. He didn’t look back until five minutes had passed, then he pulled up to a walk and took further notice of his surroundings.

“Señor Zorro!”

Diego wheeled around and then smiled. The actors had doubled back. “Amigos!” he greeting, leaning over to shake their hands again. “What are you doing here? You should have made it to the highway by now.”

“We couldn’t leave you alone to face all of them,” the leader answered, gesturing around at his troupe. “So we thought we might aid you in a little misdirection.”

They were all dressed in their darkest clothes, tight fitting, and from a distance, a decent reproduction of his own costume. Diego smiled; people as a whole would never stop surprising him with their optimism, the general desire to do good and stand up to tyranny. They were the reason he couldn’t give up his crusade, not when he could try to be the inspiration that led to such selfless acts.

“I would appreciate the help,” Diego said, sliding down from the saddle so he could rifle through the contents of his bags. “I have an idea that may be less perilous to your bodies, through slightly more harsh on your hearing.”

“Mendoza, get the men up,” Ignacio whispered, his voice scratching and squeaking as he struggled to continue to speak with authority. “This time Zorro will face the King’s justice.”

“But alcalde!” Mendoza sputtered, struggling to get his large body to rise from his reclined position. He huffed and puffed, straightening his uniform while Ignacio sneered. “It has only been fifteen minutes! You gave Zorro thirty!”

“I lied, sergeant, now get them up!”

Waiting with growing impatience while Mendoza followed his orders, rousing the men with quick words and gentle shoves, Ignacio stared hungrily at the horizon. The unwilling time they’d spent together had given him better ideas for trapping Zorro. Forget the faked relics he’d planned to seed in the tar pits just waiting for someone of import to visit the nearby Missions. If he wanted to finally trap Zorro, he’d need to tempt his genteel affectation. Perhaps a concert, something stuffy that de la Vega moron would approve of, and he could load the trumpets with poison and arm the strings with arrows. Yes, but only if that scoundrel managed to escape today. Zorro would have planned to use the entire head start and he would be sorely mistaken.

The men were finally mounted, though none looked too happy to have their siesta cut short, Ignacio moved to his own stallion. He settled and then lifted his arm for them to fall in behind him. He wanted Zorro to know that nothing would ever stop Ignacio de Soto from bringing him to justice.

He was nearly to the mouth of the little canyon when the first explosion set his horse to rearing. Fighting for control, they all backed up, avoiding the rocks sliding to block their path. When the dust cleared, Ignacio blinked in disbelief. They were cut off; the pile of rocks too unstable to take a horse over, and there were no other paths by which they might escape.

Grinding his teeth, Ignacio dismounted and stomped to the closest pile of debris, kicking it in his fury. He manfully resettled his weight, giving the toes on his newly injured foot a break as he shifted to his back foot. A piece of paper, folded to have wings wafted down and settled in front of him. Knowing he wouldn’t like it, but needing to know anyway, he picked it up and unfolded it.

Dearest Ignacio,

You should take your watch to be looked at. It appears to be running fast. I understand Diego de la Vega is something of a tinker. Maybe he could fix it for you?

Zorro

“Oh, alcalde, you could have borrowed my pocket watch if yours isn’t working,” Mendoza said, having sneaked to de Soto’s side to read the note over his shoulder. He fished out his cheap trinket and held it out proudly.

“Start the men digging,” Ignacio said, his throat clicking with the need to yell his fury. Fine, at least he still had his future plans, and Zorro couldn’t be unaccountably lucky forever. “I want to be home and in the bath by nightfall.”

Mendoza saluted, forgetting the watch clutched in his hand so that it left a bright red mark on his forehead. “Sí mi alcalde,” he said, wincing as he rubbed the wound.