1. May 14, 1813

**Saving the Fox III: _Scachki, fokuchik, i rebyenka_**

_For reasons that are not even egregiously ahistoric, the title this time is in Russian. (And, okay, yes, I admit it. My Russian is bad, but I don't speak Spanish at all.)_

_As always, thank you Martha, for taking this odd ride with me. _

**May 14, 1813**

Felipe couldn't remember Jose Macias's father. He'd died about a year after Diego brought Felipe home, but he'd been the foreman of the de le Vega copper mine over near the Puente Hills, and so he hadn't come to the house often. He'd been killed in the mine collapse along with two of the miners. Don Alejandro had been so upset that he'd closed the mine and settled a small farmhold on Macias' wife and son.

Jose Macias was the same age as the twins. He was a hard worker, but there wasn't much choice in that, since farming in a colony was hard work. He was enthusiastic and optimistic, as well, though, and the de le Vegas had always approved of him.

Right now...as far as Felipe could tell, Diego still approved of him. Certainly, he seemed sympathetic. He'd bought wine and was listening patiently as Macias complained about his terrible luck, his unhappy fate. Gilberto, however, sat back in his chair with his arms folded. He refused to touch the wine and occasionally cast his eyes impatiently skyward.

"A miracle dropped in my hands, and look how I've squandered it. What an idiot I was."

Gilberto looked ready to agree.

Diego shook his head sadly.

"How am I going to tell my wife? All the time I spent on that horse, and nothing to show for it."

"Well," Gilberto drawled, "since he's been taken in lieu of taxes, I'd say you're paid up with the government for the next several years. That's not nothing, exactly..."

Diego gave him a look that said don't be unkind. As usual, Gilberto ignored it.

Macias drained his cup. "I want to see Zeus," he said glumly.

"Yes, well. He's in the cuartel," Gilberto pointed out unsympathetically.

Diego drummed his fingers on the table and cast a thoughtful look at the garrison sergeant who was sitting a few tables away. "Give me a moment," he said. "I think I know someone who can help us."

The sergeant offered him a seat at once. Felipe couldn't see their faces, but he could well imagine the gist of the conversation as Diego leaned forward, serious and hopeful in his request...and the sergeant shifted nervously...and glanced around...and sighed...and stood up. Diego signaled Macias and his brother to follow them. Felipe, sitting discreetly in the corner, rose and followed as well.

Diego's lancer friend was alternately reassuring and nervous as they crossed the plaza to the cuartel. "It doesn't do any harm to look at a horse." He chuckled. "I see them all the time. But the alcalde...he is, well, so grumpy sometimes."

The guard at the gate gave Macias a dark look, but Felipe was sure that was for losing the race (the lancers had lost money-not a lot, but then, they hadn't had a lot to start with) not for trespassing on the fort.

Mendoza hustled them around into the barn. "If the alcalde finds us here, I'll be saluting corporals."

Zeus was lying down in his stall, snorting, skittish. Not good. Macias froze in drunken horror. "Surprise, surprise," Gilberto said and rolled his eyes.

Diego knelt in the straw and laid his hands on the shining brown flank. "What happened? He's sick." He pressed his hands flat against Zeus' neck, then his belly. He glanced at Gilberto. "Something he's eaten, I think. Or something that's been given to him."

Gilberto snorted and turned on his heel, storming out impatiently.

Diego looked up at Sergeant Mendoza. "Go call the garrison blacksmith."

Stepping carefully around the downed horse, Felipe crouched down where Diego could see him. "What's going on?" he signed.

Diego made the sign for cheating. He added, "Say nothing."

Say nothing? About cheating? Diego saw his surprise. He rose and drew Felipe aside. "Without proof, to mention it would be simply insulting, not a matter of law."

Oh. And Macias couldn't fight. He was just a farmer, he didn't even own a sword. And Diego was too ill to fight. And Gilberto obviously didn't want to, and that only left Don Alejandro, who was just adequate with a sword and an old man besides...

No, they couldn't afford to toss around unsubstantiated accusations here.

The sergeant came running back with another man. Diego watched them go into the stall, then collected Macias and returned to the tavern. Felipe was curious-he would have stayed to watch the blacksmith, but of course it was better to be out of the garrison.

Gilberto was waiting at their table. Victoria was sitting with him and they were talking amiably enough about the year's orange crop, but his eyes glittered in irritation. He poured a cup of water from a pitcher for Diego, but he said nothing at all in greeting. Macias sat glumly with his elbows resting on the table. Diego sipped his water and ignored Gilberto's ire and chatted about oranges and beans and rain. After about twenty minutes, the sergeant returned.

Gilberto ignored him. Diego offered him a seat and filled his cup from the wine pitcher.

"It was something he ate. The blacksmith gave him some herbs to calm his stomach. He's going to be fine."

Macias groaned. "Oh, thank God."

Gilberto sighed, but Victoria and Diego murmured their support.

Macias glanced around and said softly, "Do you really think that Senor Herrera would poison my horse?"

Diego glanced at the bar, where Herrera was trying to charm Luisa, who was serving. "We don't _know_ one way or the other," he answered.

One of the local men, a young caballero, stepped between Herrera and the tavern maid. "You could boast a little less loudly," Felipe saw him say. Oh, boy. This might well be the fight Diego had been so carefully avoiding...

"If only you had the sense to bet on my horse instead. Well..." Herrera shrugged, his gesture taking in the entire room of disgruntled Angelenos. "Live and learn, hm?"

The caballero opened his mouth to respond when Senorita Victoria stood up. "You don't have the fastest horse in California, you know." Felipe wondered if she was attacking on purpose, since Herrera could hardly find offense and challenge a _woman_ to a duel. And if he were rude in response, well, then he would be rude to _his hostess_ (since it was her tavern) and she could shame him and ask him to leave.

Herrera just chuckled. "Really? Then who does, Senorita? If there is a better horse, I have yet to see him."

"Zorro has a better horse," she said it almost casually, as though the fact was obvious, but Diego nearly dropped his glass.

"Zorro? Oh, that bandit they're talking about in the presidios."

"He has an amazing horse. Incredible. Huge-nineteen hands-at least-and as fast as the wind."

Diego rested his elbows on the table and hid his face behind his folded hands. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

Several people put in, now, to add bits of description or opinion. The black horse was a demon with four legs. The black horse was the most perfect in the New World.

"And nearly as smart as a man," the sergeant added.

Senorita Victoria laughed, "And smarter than some." She was looking at Sergeant Mendoza when she said it, and he winced and looked away. Felipe wondered what he (or one of his men or the alcalde) had done to irritate her this time.

Herrera looked around interestedly. "Then where is he? This legend and his wonder horse?"

Diego had gotten his face under control. When he shook his head and sighed he actually looked a little disapproving. "Zorro is a terribly unpredictable character."

Mendoza nodded. "It's true. He has a price on his head and he only comes out with good reason."

Herrera smiled. It was the sort of smile that set Felipe's teeth on edge. He drained his glass, set it aside, and sauntered over. His gaze lingered on Mendoza and Macias. "Then let's give him a good reason. Another race. If I lose, I return all that money."

"And if you win?" Diego asked.

"My winnings so far against this 'incredible' horse of Zorro's. If the horse is as good as you say...then surely he will accept my challenge. If not, perhaps it is not so special after all, and Zorro is not such a hero."

Senorita Victoria snorted inelegantly. "Why would Zorro risk his freedom to race _you_?"

Herrera shrugged. "Put the word out. I hereby challenge Zorro to a match race tomorrow at noon." He smiled at Luisa. "Barmaid, drinks for everyone."

Mendoza leaned over and said something-his voice was too quiet to hear and the angle was wrong to see-to Diego.

Diego sat back. "Why should he?"

"Because we lost our money unfairly," Mendoza answered earnestly. "Macias's horse was drugged."

Macias looked up from his drunken slump to nod at this. "That's true...my poor Zeus."

Senorita Victoria shifted uncertainly. "_Was_ the horse drugged, Diego?"

"There is no proof," Diego answered in a tone that meant "yes."

The sergeant looked around and then leaned over the table to confide, "The money the Alcalde lost was from the governor's tax fund. He'll do anything to get it back."

Gilberto cursed and looked about to laugh. Diego kicked him under the table, and Gilberto begged the senorita's pardon.

Diego set his glass aside and rose slowly, like an old man. "Well. It's been a rather exciting day. I believe it's time to go home."

Gilberto gave him a thoroughly mutinous look. But he stood up and followed his brother to the door.

Don Alejandro was sitting on the porch of the tavern with a thoroughly glum and somewhat intoxicated Don Carlos. He had lost money, again. Gilberto looked frankly disapproving as he paused to explain that Diego was tired and wanted to go home.

"Shall I come with you?"

Gilberto looked about to say yes, but Diego interrupted quietly: "There is no need. Why don't you see him safely home, Father? We'll see you at supper."

Because the morning had started with Gilberto challenging Herrera to a race against Don Alejandro's precious Dulcinea, Gilberto had come into town in the open carriage with Diego and Felipe. Now he consigned them both to the back and took the reins himself.

Seeing Gilberto in such a black mood made Felipe nervous. It was hard to predict what he'd do. Or say. Or to whom, since he had never seen the necessity of sparing someone from his ire just because he hadn't been the original cause of it. Diego patted Felipe's hand, signed "relax," and leaned back in the seat with his eyes closed. Felipe watched him for a while: it wasn't entirely clear how much their sudden exit was due to Diego's need to get his brother out of town before he exploded and how much was due Diego's limited strength.

When they were about halfway home, Diego leaned forward and touched Gilbert's shoulder. "Let's pause here a moment. If we're going to argue, it's better to do it out here than at home with the servants about."

"We're not going to argue," his brother said. He didn't slow the horses.

"Talk, then. Seriously. If I have to shout at you from behind, I will."

With a curse, Gilberto reined the team and hopped down to pace beside the carriage for a moment. Diego waited placidly until he paused and looked up. "Fine. What would you like to say?"

Diego leaned forward. "What I want to know is why you're so angry. It isn't the gambling you disapprove of. I remember your Classical History examination our first year." He turned to Felipe. "He stayed up all night playing cards and showed up at the oral exam wearing the same clothes he'd worn to the party..."

"Of course I don't disapprove of gambling. With friends. Using money one can afford to lose! But this...rank stupidity! To gamble with a stranger-no, with a man who is obviously hustler and likely a cheat as well-and then to be _surprised _when he takes every last peso! To complain and piss and moan about it! God in Heaven, what were those men using for brains, goose shit?"

"Language," Diego murmured.

"If you don't want me to talk, don't ask me questions!" He turned away and breathed deeply. "Every last one of them deserves to lose his money. Frankly, given the vast scope of their stupidity, poverty is the least of what they deserve. And on top of that, drunk in public-"

"Jose Macias-"

Gilberto fairly spun around and all but shouted up at Diego's face. "Could have waited a month and made his money at the Corpus Christi fiesta. There are always races. Or he could have taken it up to Monterrey for the festival of San Juan. But no. He was greedy. He was impatient. He was so amazingly stupid-"

"It is so very easy to condemn others for 'greed' when we've never wanted for anything," Diego said mildly.

"I'm not going to do it, Diego! Saving people from their own foolishness is_ not_ Zorro's job."

"A predator came into your town, preyed on your people. Fooled them, yes. Played on their weaknesses, yes. Manipulated them and made a game of poison and cheated them. Your neighbors. Your friends...right here, in your pueblo."

"Perhaps they'll learn a valuable-"

"Right or wrong, they are your neighbors," Diego shouted.

Gilberto opened his mouth. Shut it abruptly. Turned away.

"Think of the goodwill it will engender with the townspeople. Just for tactical reasons, it is an opportunity too good to ignore."

Gilberto folded his arms. Felipe suspected he'd already conceded the argument and anything from here forward was just for the appearance of things.

"Think of what it will do for Ramone's morale-having to come begging to Zorro for the tax money. One more little sign of his own powerlessness..."

"Yes, I know. All right?"

"And it will be fun. Tell me you weren't disappointed when he pulled up and threw the race with Dulcinea."

"Enough, Diego."

Diego stopped talking.

Gilberto said heavily, "I always liked Macias."

"Is that who has disappointed you?"

"Everyone has disappointed me," he snapped. "Where shall I start? Don Carlos? Father needs to hit that man about the head with a board! Maybe that will bring him to his senses. And every last lancer was taken in-I suppose I should be pleased that they are _uniformly_ stupid?"

"Very funny."

"Would they have kept their money in their pockets if Herrera had been wearing a sign that said 'swindler'?"

Diego sighed tiredly. "You will have to go in tonight and have a word with the alcalde."

Gilberto turned around, smiling wolfishly. "Well, that part I'll enjoy."

"Keep your temper, for pity sake!"

His eyes rested on Diego's face for a moment and something in Gilberto softened. "_Such_ a mother hen. _Yes_. I will remember that I am in control of the situation. _No_, I won't get ahead of myself. _Yes_, I know how to play the game-_and_ I know it's not a game."

"My. Have I started repeating myself?" Diego didn't look entirely convinced, though.

"Endlessly." He climbed back onto the drive's seat. "But I have resigned myself to it."

Felipe could see one more issue that they hadn't addressed. He tapped Diego's hand. "Can he win?"

Diego laughed aloud.

"What?" Gilberto asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"He brings up a good point. Can Toronado beat Herrera's horse?"

"Well, how nice to be the object of so much faith!" Gilberto laughed.

"He did pull up when you tested him with Dulcinea..." Diego said.

Felipe nodded vigorously. It was no small achievement, to outrace Dulcinea. The name wasn't just a literary reference-it was a very pointed joke. _Sweetness_? Dulcinea was a demon, a monster. She was fast. She had wind. She didn't mind the roughest terrain...but she often balked and she had a tendency to rear if her rider let her get away with it. Actually, she had improved...she used to bite the stable boys, too. A horse that could outrun her was no easy competition.

"Very funny, both of you."

That night, after supper, Gilberto excused himself to "go for a walk in the garden." Don Alejandro started to head for the barn, as he often before bed, but Diego caught him with a hand on his forearm. "Would you care for a game of chess, Father?"

It was clear to Felipe that he didn't want to...and equally clear that he saw no graceful way to refuse his son's request. Since Diego didn't signal him to leave, Felipe took a book and sat down in the corner.

Diego won the first game in ten minutes. He won the second in fifteen. "You know, Father," he said, resetting the board, "my game hasn't improved this much."

Don Alejandro apologized. "My mind was elsewhere. I'll try a little harder."

His play didn't improve, however, and a few minutes into the third game, Diego suggested, "Perhaps you'd like to talk about what's bothering you."

"It's nothing important," he said quickly. He slid his queen forward. "Check."

If he meant the offense as a distraction, it didn't work. Diego took the queen with a bishop and said casually, "That business with Zeus today...How much did Don Carlos lose?"

Don Alejandro grunted irritably. "Two hundred and fifty pesos! Certainly more than he can afford just now."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Diego answered.

Don Alejandro hesitated, glancing up from the board. "Victoria says you believe the horse was drugged?"

Diego nodded. "I believe so, yes."

"Can you prove it? The alcalde would have the matter before the magistrate if you could give him any evidence at all."

Diego shook his head. "I can prove nothing."

Unhappily, Don Alejandro sat back and regarded his son in uncomfortable silence for a moment. "Diego...you must stay out of this matter."

Diego looked up and Don Alejandro flinched away from his gaze. "You wish I could do something." It was sort of a question.

"No, of course not," he denied quickly. "Accusations...could only lead to a matter of honor. It wouldn't do anything to help Macias or Don Carlos or get our tax money back..."

"But you wish...that I could do..._some_thing."

"No. Diego. I promised myself..."

"I wish I could, too. But even if my heart were up to making an issue of this, nothing useful would come of it, as you say..."

Don Alejandro wasn't listening. "I promised myself I would not do this."

Diego frowned. "Do what, Father?" he asked gently. "Ever mention my illness? I have to say, I think that will make living with me rather difficult."

"I promised myself you would never have to comfort me."

"Ah." Diego nodded slowly and motioned to the chess board. "Very well. It's your move, Father."

Don Alejandro pushed back from the table and stood up.

Diego's face fell, but he squared his shoulders and said firmly, "Don't run away. Again."

Don Alejandro only fled as far as the fireplace. He leaned against the mantle and muttered something Felipe couldn't hear.

"Oh," Diego said. His fingers dug into the arm of the chair as he stood up. "No. No."

Don Alejandro turned around, but stepped further away. Retreating, even as he protested, "It _should_ have been me. If I could take your place..."

"I don't need you to face my fate for me! I just wish..."

"Anything. Tell me."

"I wish you would forgive me. I know you had such expectations..."

Diego's sadness broke something in Felipe. It seemed to break something in Don Alejandro as well. He gathered his taller, broader son into his arms and held him tightly for a moment. Speaking very softly, he brought Diego back to his chair and squeezed his shoulder tightly. "You mustn't distress yourself, Diego. You need to stay calm. This isn't good for you."

Diego made a show of leaning back and being placid. If anyone asked, Felipe would have pointed out that he looked deliberately cow-like. But no one asked him and he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

After a few minutes, Don Alejandro drew his own chair closer and sat down. "Until you said it, I didn't realize...You're right, Diego. I'm very angry. And I'm very...afraid." He spoke very reasonably and carefully. "It seems I don't have your strength, or your brother's-even _he_," his hand swept toward Felipe, "is handling this with more courage than I am."

Felipe didn't know how he should take that statement. He was pretty sure he shouldn't be listening to this conversation, but if Diego _was_ going to get upset...no, he wouldn't leave him.

"But I do need to tell you...this isn't about my 'expectations' for you. I'm not disappointed in you. And my anger-I'm not angry at you."

"You can hardly stand to be in the same room with me."

"My own weakness, nothing else... Certainly no fault of yours. I simply cannot bear to face my fear."

"Ah." Diego looked away. "I'm sorry. I should not have pressed you."

"You had the right."

"Father, if it is any comfort at all...it helps. Being home helps. Knowing that you and 'Berto and Felipe are near...that I am not alone...it _helps_."

"Ah. And knowing that you are dearly, dearly loved?"

Diego nodded and brushed his hands across his eyes. His father hugged him hard. "I forbid you to distress yourself."

"Y-yes, father."

Don Alejandro talked softly, then, his hand on Diego's shoulder. Finally, he pulled back and asked if Diego wanted to finish the chess game.

"If you like," Diego said. But he was tired and pale.

"You could retire. It's been a long day."

Diego glanced at the dark window and then at his father's face. "Soon. Not yet."

Don Alejandro went to the shelf and ran his fingers along the poetry books. "Gongora?" he asked.

"Please, no. Gilberto always chooses Gongora. Something by Calderon?"

Felipe stopped pretending to read, and set aside his book to listen to Don Alejandro. Not for too long; Zorro would be back from the pueblo soon, and Gilberto would be irked if he had to climb the ravine and come in through the garden. Felipe was just beginning to worry about the time when Diego glanced at the moon and said that he was ready to go to bed.

Twenty minutes later Felipe was just putting out the candle when Gilberto poked his head in and reported that all was set for the race the next day.

Z

Don Alejandro spent the morning inspecting the shearing sheds, but an hour before noon he returned to the house and changed clothes to go into town. "Where's Gilberto?" he asked as he met Diego and Felipe in the front hall. "We don't want to be late."

Diego shook his head. "He isn't coming. He disapproves of this whole business."

Don Alejandro froze in confusion. "_Gilberto_? Disapproves of a _horse race_?"

Diego made a face. "It's stupidity he disapproves of, betting with a swindler..." He glanced at his father. "He was quite intolerant, actually. We had a little quarrel. He's off sulking, I think."

Don Alejandro's eyes narrowed. "Your brother quarreled with you...and now he's off sulking."

"I'm sure he'll get over it quickly," Diego said easily, picking up his hat and heading for the door. "You know how he is." Felipe followed, carefully failing to meet Don Alejandro's eyes.

The pueblo was crowded, even though it wasn't a market day. The soldiers were out, but not carrying muskets, and most of them were sitting on a bench near the cuartel. Don Sebastian had erected a sunshade near the church so his wife and young daughters could watch in comfort. A couple of Indian boys were wandering through the crowd selling pumpkin seeds and oranges. The race had turned into quite the fiesta.

Don Alejandro found them a place on the tavern porch to watch the excitement. Felipe's palms were sweating. He glanced nervously at Diego who only seemed a little distracted. Felipe wondered if it was an act or if he really were that confident of Gilbert and Toronado.

As noon drew closer, the soldiers cleared the center of the plaza and Herrera rode out to pace back and forth in front of the gathered villagers. "Zorro!" he laughed. "Well, where is he? This so-called man of courage with his horse I've heard so much about? Obviously he has no interest in winning your money back. So-" He caught of something that made him stiffen, his arrogant grin turning into a scowl.

In a moment everyone could see and a scattering of cheers went up: from behind the blacksmith shop came a huge black stallion at an easy canter. His rider was erect and fearless. He bowed jauntily as he passed the alcalde, who bowed back, and then he waved to the crowd and pranced to a halt beside Hererra.

All Felipe could think was _where was Gilberto_? He knew-_knew_-that Zorro was Diego's brother, had known him most of his life, had watched him with the care you watched an adversary for most of that and-and-

Who was this man in black? Gilberto-

In the month since the twins came home Gilberto had changed; distracted, sober, worried by his brother's fragile health. He stayed close to home. He didn't bother to argue about very much. He hovered...

Had it been an act?

Hadn't it seemed strange _at all_ that Gilberto had responded to Diego's illness by becoming subdued? Since when had he met a threat to his brother with anything but aggression? Any problem of Diego's-Gilberto was always fierce, certain, eager in support of his brother. Not quiet. Not _subdued_.

Did it make sense that Diego's illness would make Gilberto any less sure of himself? But Felipe hadn't noticed the subtle changes until now, when he was confronted with Zorro, who seemed nothing like the new Gilberto and only a little bit like the old one.

Zorro inclined his head politely to Herrera while Toronado stamped and danced his impatience. Felipe laughed silently.

Herrera bowed back and said tightly, "My challenge still stands, Senor. My winnings against your horse."

Zorro grinned. "Toronado and I accept."

Herrera turned to offer the money pouch to Victoria. "Senorita, if you would be so kind?" The pouch was heavy. Victoria held it against her chest. Her eyes were on Zorro, though, not the fortune she had in her hands.

Sergeant Mendoza drew a line in the dirt with his heel and stepped to the side. "Riders to your marks!" He glanced around, took a deep breath...

The crowd had gone very quiet. Toronado danced eagerly. The alcalde cleared his throat.

Mendoza lifted his pistol. "Ready!"

Herrera's horse leapt forward just ahead of the "bang" of Mendoza's pistol. Several of the men on the porch muttered in consternation, but Zorro only laughed and kicked Toronado forward.

The race itself wasn't even the best race Felipe had ever seen. Toronado quickly caught up to Herrera, who lashed out with his riding crop, first on his own horse and then at Zorro, who snatched the crop out of his hand and then increased speed and began to leave Herrera behind.

Gilberto-Felipe was laughing now-wasn't even subtle about it. He beat Herrera by at least six lengths and then did a circle around the plaza as Toronado slowed. The crowded cheered, probably as much from relief as from local pride.

Zorro trotted over to the tavern steps, where Senorita Victoria waited with the money. He bowed showily as he took the bag from her hands and lifted the money over his head. "This money was taken from you under false pretenses, and so it will be returned." He hesitated, and for a moment Felipe worried that the pueblo might be in for a lecture on the dangers of gambling with strangers, but Zorro turned to Ramone and inclined his head. "Alcalde, I know you'll be relieved to return this. I leave this matter in your hands."

The alcalde showed the sack of coins to the waiting crowd, which cheered some more. Felipe felt his nervousness like a snake coiling in his chest. The twins had been sure that Ramone would make a move against Zorro as soon as the race was over. The fact that all the lancers were in plain sight and none of them were carrying rifles was only a sign that the plan was 'clever' rather than direct.

Busy expecting an assault by the soldiers, Felipe was taken completely by surprise by what happened next. Herrera galloped at Ramone and snatched the bag from his hands. Cheers turned abruptly to shouts, the loudest of them Ramone himself. He raced into the center of the plaza waving his arms and bellowing, "Now! Lancers, now!"

The lancers scrambled to carts that had been left standing beside the blacksmith shop and near the cuartel. They shoved them forward, blocking the streets...but not quite fast enough to stop Herrera, who slipped through at the last moment. Sergeant Mendoza pulled out his second pistol and shot after him, but pistol shots were hard to make, and it was no surprise when he missed.

Ramone had drawn a pistol as well. He was pointing it as Zorro, rather than pursuing the thief who had just stolen a fortune from the pueblo. He nodded at the loaded wagons that cut off escape. "No horse can clear that, Zorro. Surrender or die."

Furious, frightened, Felipe started forward. Diego snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him back. "It's all right," he said swiftly.

Zorro seemed to think so, too. He ignored the alcalde and trotted to the gates of the cuartel.

Ramone stepped forward, leveling the weapon.

Toronado flashed across the plaza, a blur racing past the fountain. Felipe held his breath. Toronado leapt.

Ramone fired his pistol.

Toronado cleared the cart with over a foot to spare and landed without breaking stride.

The pueblo was pure pandemonium. Cheering and yelling, the crowd streamed into the plaza. Ramone shouted at the lancers, ordering them to move the wagons, get their horses, capture the bandits. "Mendoza! I want Zorro! Obviously they were in league with each other. It was all a trick. Get me a weapon!"

But the lancers were clearly unprepared to chase down their quarry. Two or three minutes must have passed before a mounted volley finally charged out the gate. Many in the crowed walked to the edge of town, trying to see what was happening, but Herrera and Zorro were already out of sight. There was a little muttering and a little yelling and a great deal of uncertainty.

Felipe turned around. Diego's jaw was tight and his eyes were narrow, but he smiled at Felipe. "Don't worry. It's actually going very well."

Oh, well, _obviously_, Felipe shrugged.

Diego chuckled. "You'll see," Diego said gently. "The advantages..." his eyes strayed to the road leading into the pueblo. "Ah," he said.

Mendoza and three lancers cantered into the center of the village. They were leading a bound prisoner: Herrera, riding backwards on his horse, a large 'Z' cut into the back of his jacket. Mendoza was beaming. He held up a leather pouch. "The money is right here! Zorro sent it back with him."

Ramone strode forward and all but snatched the bag from Mendoza's hand. "And where is Zorro?"

Mendoza's face fell. "We could not find his trail...the rocks...I have men out looking?"

Ramone's lip curled. He might have begun publicly haranguing Mendoza right then, but Don Alejandro appeared at his side holding the ledger that contained the previous day's wagers. "Shall we, Alcalde?" he asked sweetly.

Ramone ground his teeth, but turned and pointed to one of the tables on the tavern porch. A queue began to form at once.

Diego took Felipe's arm and led him into the tavern. He took a table at the back of the main room and sat down against the wall. Out of the daylight, Felipe couldn't tell if he was pale or not. He nudged Diego's arm. "You all right?" he asked.

"I need a moment," he admitted. "And don't look at me like that. It's as likely to be the standing or the sun as the excitement. It will pass."

Felipe nodded agreeably, then, moving between Diego and the room, checked his pulse. Fast, but not _very_ fast. And strong. And even. So he was mostly all right, then. Felipe sat down to wait.

Hardly anyone came into the tavern at first. All the action was outside, where the alcalde and Don Alejandro were handing out the winnings that Herrera had swindled. They would be watching every centavo and each other, so it wouldn't be quick work. The few customers who did drift in stayed near the bar, clearly planning to celebrate by heartily toasting Zorro and his miraculous horse.

"Toronado is as big a hero," Felipe signed.

"Yes, and you will not gloat about that," Diego commanded. "It is difficult enough to manage his ego without you goading him."

Felipe made a show of looking innocent-which, as intended, made Diego smile a little.

Grinning, practically dancing, Victoria came to their table. "Well? Have you ever seen such a horse race?" She laughed. "And what do you suppose Herrera will get for stealing all of that money right out of our dear alcalde's hands? We don't need to prove he was a cheat when he shows he's a thief in front of three hundred witnesses."

"Very obliging," Diego agreed. "We should thank him."

"And I was right about Zorro's horse. Toronado." She sighed. "Toronado."

"You are completely vindicated," to Felipe, he looked a little amused. "Herrera did _not_ have the fastest horse in California."

"And, I was right about Zorro. Did you see that leap? Amazing."

"Amazing that he chose the tallest cart to leap rather than the one that gave him the best angle of pursuit."

Victoria froze, and then very slowly looked down at him. "Don Diego de le Vega? Did I just hear you criticize a man who risked his safety and freedom to rescue this pueblo from a-a hardship that was none of his affair? A man who is even now being pursued by soldiers? For no crime at all except to inconvenience the local military with the truth of its own corruption?"

"I apologize." Diego dropped his eyes. "You are quite correct. The pueblo is in Zorro's debt. I apologize for my comment." He was absolutely meek and polite, but Felipe was sure that Gilberto would hear about it later at home. He had to turn his head to hide his smile.

She softened slightly. "Never mind. Are you hungry? The stew is only pork-but it's very good."

Diego glanced at Felipe, who realized he was starving. "He'll have the stew. And orange juice. I'm...not very hungry, actually. Just some water."

As soon as she was gone, Felipe turned to ask Diego about the conversation he'd just heard, but just then Sergeant Mendoza came in, and made a point coming over. "I thought you might like to know-your friend? I just returned his horse. Well, he can pay his taxes now." He grinned and clouted Diego companionably across the shoulders. "Quite a day, eh? That Zorro." He leaned down and added, "I suppose he's not a demon, but I don't see how he could be quite human either. Ha." He turned away to join a small group of lancers that was just coming in. "That Zorro."

Diego centered his eyes on the table and managed not to laugh.

Felipe nudged him. "You should write this down. It would make a very funny book."

Diego did laugh at that. "A very incriminating one. It would have to be published posthumously."

When Victoria returned Felipe dove into the bowl of stew. It was only after a few bites that he slowed down enough to realized that a tall mug was sitting in front of Diego beside his water. "What's that?"

"Atole. She's put cream in it, I think. And honey." He looked at the mug thoughtfully. "It's either an apology for our disagreement before or she's trying to fatten me up."

Felipe put his spoon down. "You don't look thin. Just tired."

"Thank you. How reassuring." He took a couple of swallows of the atole, though.

It was another half hour before Don Alejandro joined them. He ordered a bowl of the stew and a glass of wine and then stood and offered a toast to Zorro. This was met with cheers from the room, which was as crowded and happy as Felipe had ever seen it.

Which, admittedly, wasn't saying much. Until the twins had come home, he hadn't spent much time in the pueblo and hardly any in the tavern. Right about now he was remembering why. It was hot and crowded and loud. The voices jangled against each other. It was bad enough that he could only understand about one of every three words Diego said. And the party was clearly only beginning.

Don Alejandro collected them as soon as he was done eating, though. Outside the sun was painfully bright, but the breeze was cool and it was-wonderfully-quiet.

On the way home, they met a few of the returning lancers. It was obvious that they'd had no luck picking up Zorro's trail, but the de le Vegas didn't point this out when they greeted the men politely.

Back at the hacienda they found Gilberto reading in the library. He was clean and tidy and-yes, he even smelled good. Felipe nearly laughed. Gilberto asked politely about the race, muttered something sour about a 'cheat and a thief' when Diego reported that Herrera was now under arrest, and turned back to his book.

Don Alejandro mentioned that it was very warm for so early in the year and suggested that Diego lie down for a while. To Felipe's surprise, Diego agreed without protest. He collected Felipe and withdrew to his room. When Felipe reached to help Diego with his jacket however, Diego gave him a surprised look and shook his head. "Go find them. They're probably in the barn. I need to know how bad this is."

Surprised, Felipe looked Diego up and down, hoping for some hint. "How bad _what_ is?"

"'Berto is about to get terrible scolding. I need to know how badly I miscalculated. And stay out of sight. I can't get you both in trouble today." Felipe hesitated. "Well, go on. I'm fine."

So he hurried out. Sure enough, the library was empty. Felipe went around and slipped into the barn through the side door, the one through the tack room. He was too busy cringing at the sound of the quarrel to congratulate himself on his cleverness, however.

"-as much luck stopping the sun shining as stopping the two of you arguing. He wouldn't enjoy it if I did stop you. But I do expect you to show a little sense! My God, 'Berto! To go so far over something so trivial-over anything at all? You know better than anyone not to strain your brother's heart."

Felipe cringed. He wondered if Gilberto even knew exactly what he was being reprimanded for.

Apparently so. "Father, I assure you, while _I_ was very adamant, Diego was not. If anything, he was provoking me, not the other way around. I certainly...I never..."

"You let your temper get away from you, I know that much. And that is not a luxury any of us have any more."

"And yet, here you are," Gilberto snapped.

There was a short, shocked silence. Felipe held his breath.

"I withdraw the comment, Father. Please forgive me."

So softly Felipe could barely hear it, Don Alejandro said, "I withdraw the accusation."

Gilberto sighed. Felipe could hear him walking across the floor. "This is going to sound very odd," he said. "I mean, it is strange that I would mention it."

"I am listening."

"Just this: he is still Diego. For months he...wasn't. Two? Three? I don't know...it was terrible. All his strength went to living. And just living took _everything_." He paused for a long time, but when he continued, he seemed to have collected himself. "But now, although he is ill, he is again _Diego_. He is always the smartest man in the room. He is interested in everything. He has mercy on everyone-even those whose suffering is entirely their own fault. He understands his illness and his limitations better than the most expensive doctors I could find. And he knows us very, very well."

"I see."

"No, I don't think so. Would you like to take a bet with me? I can offer an honest wager-two to one odds that his minion is here right now."

Oh. No. No, no, no.

"What are you talking about."

"Felipe?" And then "Don't make me ask again."

Trying not to cringe too obviously, Felipe crept around the door and onto the main floor.

Don Alejandro stared at him in astonishment. "How long has he been there?"

Gilberto snorted and rolled his eyes. "I expect he arrived at a run. No, you can't yell at him. You told him to give Diego anything he wanted, you can't complain that they took you up on it."

"And Diego...wanted to check on us. He was worried. ."

"Of course he was. He will argue with us when he thinks it's necessary. Or set his spy on us. Or try to protect us...we shouldn't expect anything else. Frankly, the alternative is much worse." He turned to Felipe. "Go tell him that Father and I have made peace and there is nothing to worry about. Hmmm? And that we don't need to do this again."

Felipe nodded. and with a desperate, apologetic look at Don Alejandro, fled. He was grateful to get away so easily.

He was also a little surprised-there was a time when he could have crept up on Gilberto. He seemed to have gotten smarter. Felipe wasn't sure how well he knew him any more.

When he reached Diego's room, however, he stumbled to a halt. The report would have to wait. Diego was asleep. Well. At least he was on the bed rather than the chair. That was a good sign, even if he was using three pillows. And the window was closed, a very good sign. Felipe pulled the coverlet over him and sat down to read.

~_The end of Part One, _Scachki _(The Races)_

	2. March 2, 1813

_Zorro and everybody else aren't mine. I'm not making any profit, and the credit belongs to all the people who worked so hard and so beautifully to make them in the first place. Thank you. _

**March 2 1813**

The ocean was the most astonishing shade of blue. Growing up with the grey, cold waters of the Pacific, the azure waves here seemed a vision of Heaven itself. Diego supposed he could try to paint the sight before him, but surely anyone who hadn't seen it themselves would assume the image was only fanciful...

Poetry, perhaps, could capture it, this sweet, peaceful moment in Heaven. How long had it been since he'd been inspired? Strangely, though, he could only think of three words for 'blue' and none of them captured the crystalline depths before him. And 'crystalline depths' was entirely too obvious and insipid to use.

"So here you are." Gilberto joined him at the rail. "This is the best part of the trip, I think." He lifted a rough canvas bag and rested it between them. "Sailing through paradise with nothing to do to while away the time."

Diego's eyes lingered on the bag. Long. Narrow. Clanking in the familiar way. "Don't tease," he said. "Whomever you've found to-"

"Oh, yes. That's right. I'm so bored I've decided to be pointlessly mean to you." He pushed the bag into Diego's hand. "You've been wanting this for weeks."

"And you've refused to discuss it."

"Well, yes. Not until you had some color in your cheeks and went a day or two without your heart going mad. How do you feel?"

Fogged. Heavy. Empty. "I'm fine."

"Not dizzy?"

"Not even once today."

Gilberto looked at the sack thoughtfully. He pulled open the string at the neck and slid the practice swords partially free. "If you want," he said.

Diego found he could only nod.

They put aside their jackets and hats and put on gloves. Diego couldn't help grinning.

The practice sword in his hand seemed as heavy as his competition sword. He'd been sick too long. He swung a couple of easy arcs through the air. The balance was good, despite the weight. This was so familiar. Oh, dear God, how he'd _missed_ it...

Gilberto stepped back and saluted.

Diego saluted and relaxed into guard. Had he been afraid he would forget? His arms remembered. His feet remembered. Gilberto met his eyes for a moment, and then advanced-

Diego met him easily, circling to sixte, stepping to the side because this was Gilberto and if you stayed still his point found you, sooner or later.

Gilberto laughed and started to follow. Diego chased him back, teased him with quick little strikes.

"Do you remember the tournament in Toledo? It was down to the two of us?"

"I remember you lost." He also remembered the wicked combination that nearly cost him the trophy. He was ready when Gilberto tried it again: six rapid parries, tierce and quinte and back again, and again.

Gilberto stepped back, dropping his guard. "Good," he said. "But slow."

Diego felt mildly affronted. "It was not."

"Well...you're out of practice."

Diego advanced, forcing him back, nibbling at his brother's guard. The swords rang together with a reassuringly familiar rhythm. It was a gratifying sound. The yelp Gilberto gave when Diego caught him a stinging slap on the shoulder was more gratifying still.

Gilberto paused and saluted, smiling with absolute glee. Diego couldn't help laughing aloud, was still laughing as he danced to the left and snapped his blade up under his brother's defense. Gilberto knew this move, caught him easily-

The deck heaved, but Diego knew where his feet were, knew the riposte Gilberto was about to make. He lifted his sword which-

Sliced in the wrong direction. The deck was tilted sideways and _spinning_. Diego's knees shocked against the wood before he realized he was falling. It was Gilberto's sword that swept Diego's blade away, the only reason he didn't fall onto it-

And then it was wood against his cheek and the deck whirled around him and-dear God,-dear God-he was going to be sick.

Gilberto was beside him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other searching for his pulse. "It's just a faint. It's nothing, Diego. Breathe."

If he had dared open his mouth he might have cursed or tried to reassure him, but since it seemed equally likely that a return of breakfast or a scream of rage would come forth, he locked his teeth and said nothing.

Gilberto turned him easily and then kept him still. "Diego? Can you hear me?"

His stomach still wasn't up to a nod, but Diego squeezed his brother's hand.

"Good. That's good. We pushed too hard. You've had a faint. I need you to hold still."

He tried the nod then, regretted it, managed to hold back the threatening gorge. Diego stayed still as long as he dared: lying flat on his back helped clear his head, but it also made an unpleasant heaviness in his chest, and if he kept it up too long he'd regret it. "Up," he said, as soon as he judged it safe to speak.

Gilberto sat him up and helped slide him back to lean against the rail. Diego rested his head on his knees, but no, there wasn't enough room to breathe that way. He leaned back and studied the impossibly blue sky above the sails. "Not ready," he said.

Gilberto rose onto his knees. "No." It was nearly a sob.

"Damn," Diego murmured. Damn, damn.

"You all right?"

"Let me sit here." He snagged the hilt of his practice sword and slid it across the deck. "Put this away."

~tbc

	3. May 22, 1813

**May 22, 1813**

The magician's name was Michel Foucard. He was French. He was tall and elegantly dressed and spoke Spanish with an accent. Some of the women in town said it made him sound 'mysterious' or 'musical.' Felipe just thought it made him nearly impossible to understand.

He put on a magic show at the tavern. It was quite an event. People dressed up. The tavern was so crowded that there was a line of people standing at the back. Felipe was among them, although Diego had seemed to expect him to sit with the family. Diego had been keeping Felipe close since his return, but really, with his father and brother _right there_, he would be fine.

Foucard started out by making coins appear out of the ears of the Salgado girls. Felipe had seen both the twins do as much, and wasn't terribly impressed. A wave of laughter (silent, of course; no one noticed it) washed over him at the image of Gilberto and Diego in matching capes traveling from town to town performing in taverns. Before the mirth could make his throat sting and ache too badly the memory of what Gilberto and Diego were _actually _doing sobered him. The truth was far more outrageous than the passing whimsy.

Two days prior the alcalde had tried to introduce a surcharge on services-the blacksmith, the doctor, the wheelwright, and so forth. Zorro had come to town to 'talk' him out of it. It had involved another duel, which Ramone had lost. Publicly. And spectacularly.

He was in a foul mood. Worse, he now saw Zorro as an enemy to be put down as quickly as possible. Gilberto now had a thousand-peso reward on his head. The reward notice was hanging on the wall by the quartel gate. Every time Felipe closed his eyes, he could see it...

Diego wasn't worried, though. And if Gilberto were in danger, he would be. Of course, Gilberto himself wasn't worried at all, but he always had a blind spot for his own invincibility. Right now the boys were watching the magic show as though they hadn't a care in the world.

Foucard had moved on to making balls, scarves, and even a small rabbit appear and disappear. Felipe had to admit that the twins couldn't do _that_, not with a rabbit. He supposed it was just more slight of hand, the rabbit went up his sleeve or into his sash...but how _did _he keep it from squirming out and hopping away between tricks?

A gold ball disappeared under a burst of flame, then turned into a flower, which Foucard handed to Senorita Victoria with a flourish. "My esteemed hostess," he said in his strange, rolling voice. "But perhaps you would prefer a red one?" He passed a hand over the flower and it changed color.

There was laughter, scattered applause.

The magician made a tumbler of milk disappear, then become two. He ripped paper and made it heal itself. He turned the rabbit into a silk scarf, which he laid across his small table.

"Here I have a little vile of water," he said, holding one up and crooning about it in his strange accent. "And here a dead bird, found just today by Sergeant Mendoza and myself."

The lancer nodded proudly, and Felipe supposed he must be mishearing this bit: surely nobody would particularly happy about finding a dead bird.

He laid the bird on the scarf. "For those who believe that death is everlasting, you are about to be proven wrong." He called Senorita Victoria forward and gave her the vial. "If you would so kindly, Senorita, pour some water onto the bird."

She looked both doubtful and amused, but accommodatingly poured the water. The little bird twitched and flapped jerkily. The magician prodded it with a finger, and it shook itself and fluttered.

Felipe's breath had frozen in his throat. It was several long, terrible seconds before he realized that this was just another trick. Water didn't bring back the dead. Miracles like _that_ didn't happen, not when you prayed for them, and certainly not for stage magicians.

Foucard was kissing Victoria's hand and moving on with his act, but Felipe had had enough. He slipped sideways till he came to the door, then went out and sat in the carriage to wait for the others to finish.

Families had been drifting from the tavern for several minutes before the de le Vegas came out. Diego shot an inquiring glance at Felipe, but Gilberto was grumbling too intently to let anyone else talk. "I didn't say he wasn't competent. I said I'd seen better."

"But you have no desire to see his second show tonight..." Don Alejandro climbed into the front of the carriage and took the reins from Felipe. "And you, Diego?" he asked over his shoulder. "Were you dissatisfied?"

"There's no point in my being dissatisfied. Gilberto is so much better at it, after all." That earned Diego a gentle clout across the shoulders, which he ignored. "Felipe, are you feeling all right?"

Felipe nodded cheerfully. It was even true, here in the warm, late afternoon sunlight.

Don Alejandro chuckled and prodded Felipe in the ribs with his elbow. "Do you know, even as a baby he rarely cried? I thought at the time he was good tempered, but now I begin to suspect he was just lazy, letting 'Berto do all the complaining for him."

Gilberto laughed at that, but Diego said innocently, "I'm sure I was a completely unremarkable child. It is only in comparison with _this_ fractious, ungrateful lout that I seemed adorable and sweet-tempered."

Gilberto snorted with outrage that might only have been half-feigned. "Adorable and sweet-natured? How do you have everyone fooled? Diego, you are the most devious, most ruthless, most defiant man I've ever met. You never in your life followed a rule you found inconvenient."

"Oh, now. You wound me. Deeply. I have never broken a rule that was either just or necessary."

Don Alejandro laughed so hard he had to grip the seat to keep from falling out of the carriage. Felipe, though, cast the twins an irritated look. The rules they were breaking these days were too serious to joke about.

The evening was pleasant. Beef for dinner, of course, as usual, but Maria was an excellent cook. Gilberto played the piano afterwards while Diego sat at the tiny desk in the sitting room and scribbled single-mindedly in his notebook and Don Alejandro played chess with Felipe. It was a pleasant evening.

The next morning wasn't.

Felipe rose shortly after dawn, shrugged into his pants and shirt, and slipped around the corner into the bedroom to check on Diego. He wasn't there.

Felipe had done his best to steel himself for the unbearable (not the unthinkable, obviously, since he thought about it almost every day), but while he realized he might one day wake to find Diego very ill or worse it had never once occurred to him that he might find his charge _missing_.

The bed had been slept in. The window-? Closed. A very good sign. Whenever Diego felt ill, the first thing he did was open a window...

He'd gotten up. That was all. Never mind how he'd snuck past Felipe. He'd woken up hungry. That was all.

Carrying his sandals under his arm, Felipe hurried out to the dining room where Don Alejandro and Gilberto were just sitting down to breakfast. Diego wasn't there. "Where is he?" Felipe demanded.

"Where is what?" Gilberto asked.

"Diego! Diego! Where is he?" His fingers clawed out _friend_-Diego's namesign-franticly. _Where is he, you great idiot, who else would I be looking for_? "Diego!"

Don Alejandro came smoothly to his feet and called for Maria, who poked her head around the doorframe immediately. "Have you seen Diego this morning?"

"Oh, yes. He was in the vegetable garden about twenty minutes ago. Shall I go fetch him?"

Felipe raced past her and out through the kitchen.

Diego was walking down the row of chili plants carrying a folded net and a small cage containing two speckled birds. He saw Felipe and smiled, but his hands were full, so he couldn't wave.

Felipe looked Diego up and down. He seemed to be fine. Disgusted, Felipe sat down on the rough hewn bench Maria and the girls used for shelling peas and put on his shoes.

"Felipe?" Diego came up and looked at him thoughtfully. "Is something wrong?"

Helpless to explain, Felipe ran his hands through his hair. Bad enough-impossible enough!-to take care of Diego when he could _find_ him. Wandering around outside, collecting _birds_, of all the stupid-He turned on his heel and stalked into the house.

Don Alejandro and Gilberto were hovering uncertainly in the dining room. "Everything is fine. Diego is well. _Nothing_ to worry about." He was just outside collecting birds. Not even chickens, birds you could eat, no. Felipe went back to Diego's room and put away his bedroll and made Diego's bed.

Then he went out to the barn and curried Esperanza and his own Sunshine.

Tending Toronado was his next thought, but when he went down into the cavern, he found Diego at the worktable setting up some kind of experiment involving a series of thin glass bottles. The cage was on the table beside him.

Diego set the bottle he was holding down and turned around. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Felipe shook his head.

Diego talked anyway. "I was up very early this morning. I thought it would be inconsiderate to wake you. It never occurred to me that you would worry."

Felipe waved at him forget it and picked up the currycomb.

"I'm trying to apologize. Will you look at me?"

"I can hear you fine," Felipe signed irritably. And then he winced and buried his face in his hands and apologized. Being upset was no excuse for being rude. Certainly not to Diego who didn't deserve to suffer for Felipe's worry and frustration. "You do what you want."

"I do what I want?" Diego repeated. "What is that supposed to mean? Felipe-"

Felipe put down the currycomb and came over to the table, his hands open in surrender. "I mean, you do not tell me where you go. You are not a child. You...know what you are doing. And you are free to do as you wish."

Diego dropped his eyes. "As much as I..._hate _the limitations my health..." he trailed off and considered for a moment. "I wish I did not need to be cared for. But the fact remains... you have been so patient and kind and brave on my behalf. It is unkind to frighten you on account of my 'freedom.' I should have waited."

Felipe thought about that. "I want you to be happy."

Diego hugged him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "So, so sorry."

He wasn't sorry for sneaking out that morning. He was sorry for being sick. Felipe didn't know how to answer that.

And then, suddenly, he did. He pushed Diego back and signed very slowly, "You never made me apologize for not speaking."

Diego bristled, affronted, shocked.

Felipe shook his head firmly. "It's the same. The same, the same."

"Oh, Felipe-" Overwhelmed he started to close his eyes.

Felipe slapped his shoulder: pay attention. "I was deaf. We learned to live with it. I can't talk. You learned to speak with me. Nobody apologizes. This is...how it is."

"How can it be the same?" Diego whispered.

"Sitting with you when you're sick, it's not more work than learning a new language! Not more work than teaching a child _everything_. You loved me as I was, even when I was a terrible burden-"

"You were never-!"

"I know that you think you are a burden. I...don't think so. I think. I think I love you. My friend. My teacher. As you are. Nobody apologizes."

Diego swallowed hard and nodded.

"You are not sorry," Felipe added firmly.

"I...will try not to be sorry."

"Try hard," Felipe said. "Now. Have I upset you?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm fine."

Felipe watched him very carefully for a moment. When he was sure that was the truth he pointed at Toronado. "I have work to do."

Diego nodded. He turned back to his little bottles, but he didn't touch them for several minutes.

Felipe fussed over the big black stallion until the unsettled, sad feeling went away. Mostly went away. But you could only spend so much time combing a horse. He fetched some water and put out fresh oats and went over to see what Diego was doing.

One of the birds was hopping around in the little cage. The other was laid out on a flannel, a motionless pile of feathers...

That was, well, _strange_. Diego liked song birds. He used to make small sketches of them.

Diego caught the look on his face and chuckled. "Don't worry. She's not hurt. It's only an experiment."

Felipe leaned down. Normally you didn't see birds this close up. The beak was tiny and sharp, and had tiny nostrils. He wondered what Diego was doing.

"All night, I've wondered how Foucard could bring a dead bird back to life without substituting a live one." He leaned down and peered at the bird himself. "Like any illusion, preparation is the key. I've fed her a few drops of wine, and now she is very deeply asleep."

Felipe snorted and slapped Diego's shoulder. "Shame on you! You've led the bird astray! Drunk! And so early in the day! As a person of reason you should set a good example, but no, you have lured her into excess and sin!" Despite being in hand signs it was a recognizable recreation of Father Raphael's sermon from Sunday, and Diego threw back his head and laughed.

When he'd collected himself he held up one of his small bottles. "I propose that Foucard's bird was simply drunk, and the water revived her." He splashed a little water from the bottle onto the bird's face. The bird didn't move. Diego tried again. "Hmmm." He peered down at the damp bird.

Felipe shook his head and tisked sadly. "So much for your career in magic."

Diego, still staring at the bird, didn't even notice the tease. "Much have fed her too much wine. But how could Foucard know exactly how much to use so the bird would sleep until the proper moment? Unless...Unless he added a stimulant to the water. Hmmm. Felipe, under my bed is a small, leather-clad chest. Go and fetch it, if you would. And the key-I keep it in the top bureau drawer."

Felipe was so bemused by the whole thing that he almost forgot to check the peephole before exiting into the library.

When he returned with the chest and the key, Diego cleared a place on the table and pulled a second stool close so that Felipe could sit beside him. "Felipe..." Diego gave him a penetrating look. "Before we continue...you and I must come to an agreement. You must never touch the contents of this case without my-or Gilberto's-direct supervision."

Felipe wasn't sure how to take this statement. Frowning, he replied, "I won't take your things."

"I'm not worried about you stealing. It's a question of-here." He unlocked the lid and opened it. The chest was full of tiny bottles packed in cotton. Diego withdrew one and set it on the table between them. "This one is a very powerful acid. If you were to spill it on your hands or clothing...or drop the bottle...it might well be disastrous. Most of the things in this chest are very dangerous."

Oh. "I'll be careful," Felipe promised.

"Of course you will. But you cannot be careful until you know what you are being careful _of_."

Felipe looked at the bottles. There were a lot of them.

Diego withdrew another and held it out so Felipe could see the label. "Do you recognize this?"

_Digitalis Purpurea Tincture. _Felipe nodded. "Four times a day, five drops in water."

Diego blinked. "That's correct. You've been paying attention." He sighed. "In November I was taking a spoonful every four hours, day and night." He took a small, round spoon from a clip on the lid. "A dose this size-one single dose this size-would kill a healthy person of your weight. There is absolutely _no_ room for error." He held out the spoon so Felipe could take a good look. It wasn't very big at all.

Felipe extended a finger toward the little bottle that held life and death, but he didn't touch it. He had to swallow hard. "I understand. It's dangerous. Never alone-" another thought struck him and he grabbed Diego's arm. "You can't work alone, either! If you were to faint and drop that," he pointed to the acid. "No!"

Diego only nodded. "And since Gilberto won't have time to babysit me, I will have to teach you enough chemistry to do so."

Oh. All right then.

"So where shall we begin? Right now, we are looking for a stimulant to wake the bird. The first-"

"So here you are," Gilberto called cheerfully as he came down the stairs. "I had a feeling-" he broke off as his eyes fell on the sleeping bird. "Why, Diego, I've known you all my life and I never took you for the sort who collected dead animals!" He wrinkled his nose and looked more closely. "Oh. Alive. Are we teaching the boy vivisection, then?"

Diego sat back and folded his arms. "Oh, yes. _Very_ funny. Quite the humorists, the two of you. I'm trying to-"

"Figure out Foucard's bird trick." He poked the bird lightly with a finger. "Brandy, I assume?"

"I think the water needs a stimulant added, just something to help things along." He turned back to the chest. "What do you think of Doctor Verdi's tonic?"

Gilberto shrugged. "I think it includes _Hyoscyamus_, which is known to kill small animals. Other than that, it's a fine idea."

Diego replaced the bottle he'd picked up. "Valid point..."

"Father is looking for you. Don Sebastian has talked him into going into the pueblo to argue with Don Antonio Pascal about...well, I'm not sure. You know how Don Sebastian is when he gets on about something. Anyway, Father wants to know if you want to join him. Lunch at the tavern, and I know how you like Senorita Escalante's cooking..."

Diego ignored that and pulled out his pocket watch. "It is getting late." He gently lifted the bird-flannel and all-and set it in the cage with its friend. "Will you be joining us?"

"Not I. Raul has finally talked Father into keeping bees. We're off to the mission to buy equipment. And bees, I hope. I don't look forward to obtaining them the hard way..."

Diego convinced his father to let him ride a horse into the pueblo. Felipe, like most people, preferred horseback to carriage, but he was still a little worried about Diego. He told himself he shouldn't be; Diego was a good enough rider that he probably _could _keep his seat through a dizzy spell...and full-on faint wasn't likely while riding. And he always mounted very carefully. And Esperanza was a gentle, alert mount. Diego would be fine.

Felipe kept him in sight the entire two miles to town, just in case.

Don Alejandro, Don Sebastian, and Don Antonio had lunch (with a great deal of intent talking and very little actual eating) at table at the back of the tavern, so Diego and Felipe ate with Sergeant Mendoza. Diego and his friend talked about many subjects, most of which weren't very interesting. Felipe finished first and slipped out to sit on the porch.

Diego came out without his father and collected Felipe with a nod. "We're heading home. I need to look at some things before Gilberto gets back. It's going to be a busy night." He mounted Esperanza and set out at a brisk walk that became a canter at the edge of town.

Felipe had chosen Esperanza for Diego largely based on her tendency _n_o_t _to do things like canter. But, of course, this was Diego. He could get horses to do pretty much whatever he wanted. Felipe quickly drew along side and reached across to lay a hand on Diego's arm. When Diego glanced over, he shrugged and shook his head. What was going on?

Diego scowled. "Monsieur Foucard is going to rob the military payroll tonight."

Oh. Well. Felipe was used to Diego saying astonishing things. "Why?"

"For the money, I assume. But it might be part of some larger plot to sew discontent among the soldiers."

Felipe shook his head. It was hard to talk one-handed, but he could manage, "No money!" and a shrug.

Diego laughed mirthlessly. "No, soldiers don't get paid much, but they haven't been paid at all in six months. And it isn't just the garrison here, but the presidios south of us as well." He nudged Esperanza a little faster. Felipe followed.

Diego handed off the horses to Tomas, sent Felipe to fetch Don Alejandro's maps, and retreated to his room. When Felipe brought them he found Diego seated at his desk, flipping through a book. "When Father comes home, tell him I'm asleep. When Gilberto comes home, tell him I need to see him at once."

"What do I do?"

Diego handed him a chemistry book. "You get started on this. Oh, and please check on the birds. They're probably hungry."

That was all he had to say, so Felipe fed and watered the captive birds, retreated to a corner in the library, and started learning chemistry.

When he brought Gilberto to his brother a couple of hours later, Diego had moved to the chair by the window, and the window was open. He had one of the maps unrolled in his lap.

Gilberto took a long look at his brother before smiling and saying, "I surely hope that whatever you have to say it's more interesting than bees."

Diego smiled back. "Bees _are_ fascinating, so I'm unsure. But Foucard is going to rob the military payroll. Interested?"

Gilbert gave Felipe a dark look, but Felipe shrugged innocently and signed that he was unable to speak. "You wouldn't have believed me anyway," he added.

"I suppose you got this from Foucard?"

"No, from Sergeant Mendoza."

"Who, no doubt, has the man locked up in his jail even as we speak."

Diego waved a hand irritably. "Oh, no. He just told Foucard where and when to do it."

Gilberto laughed once, sharply. "Dear God, that man is an idiot."

"No. He isn't. And you make a serious mistake to think so."

Gilberto smiled smugly. "Little Brother, you are a generous and compassionate man, but even you have to see-"

A little angry, Diego jumped to his feet so he could meet Gilberto eye to eye. "Don't mistake-" he broke off abruptly and swayed. His hand snatched out for the arm of the chair. It missed.

Gilberto was fast. Before Felipe could move, Gilberto had Diego by the upper arms, steadied, still. "All right," he said softly. "All right."

"Just a little dizzy," Diego said through clinched teeth.

"I know. Let's sit back down, hmmm? Felipe, bring that stool over."

"I don't need my feet up. I don't need to be fussed over. 'Berto-"

"We were discussing something important. Or at least you seemed to think so. Do we have time to quarrel about the footstool?" He took the stool from Felipe and positioned it. Diego submitted to his ministrations without further complaint. "All right? Now, you were saying about the good sergeant?"

"He is an excellent judge of character, as far as his men are concerned. He has the garrison well in hand-a fact that astonishes me, given what their living conditions, lack of pay, and dealing with Ramone must do to their morale." Diego paused for a long time. Gilberto waited patiently. "It is only where civilians are concerned-well-dressed, well-spoken civilians particularly-that he has bind spot. He has dedicated his life to protecting these little scraps of civilization on the frontier. He wants to believe he is doing something of use... and he longs for his efforts to be valued." Diego sighed. "It made him easy prey."

Gilberto sighed. "I'll take your word for that-don't get upset, I _do_ accept it. Now I need to hear how you know Foucard is a threat."

"If you're asking for evidence, I don't have any. But if you'd seen him today...if you'd talked to Mendoza, you would be sure as well. He very generously advised Mendoza on 'strategy.' He asked too many of the right questions. He...he smiles too much. And yes I know how that sounds."

"I'm not disagreeing," Gilberto said gently. He motioned for Felipe to bring over the desk chair so he could sit next to Diego. "What do we know about this robbery?"

Moving slowly (and when had Felipe stopped noticing how carefully Diego usually moved these days?) Diego retrieved the map that had fallen to the floor. "I know where it has to be. Mendoza's men are set to meet the shipment here. Between here and the pueblo, the best place to set up an ambush is here, at the creek crossing, but only if you have a large number of men. If Foucard is working alone, and he might well be, then..." He indicated a place five miles south of the creek crossing. "Especially if he is going to slip back to the pueblo before anyone notices he is missing. There is a narrow track here that leads right to The Scissors. It is where I would choose."

Gilberto took the map and sighed. "Damn," he said.

"Language."

"When will all this happen?"

"Tonight. Mendoza and his men left directly after lunch to reach the rendezvous."

Gilberto pulled back. "Oh, Diego, not tonight. I can't possibly do it tonight! I've met a girl, and tonight I was planning to-" He broke off suddenly and shook his head. "Stop, stop. Diego. Don't be an idiot. Where would I meet someone between here and the San Gabriel Mission? Unless you thought I was preying on one of the poor neophyte girls? Really. You know me better than that."

Diego snorted and looked away.

Felipe poked Gilberto firmly in the shoulder and gave him a scolding look.

Gilberto sighed. "It was _funny_. Too busy courting to save the payroll. Ha."

"Oh, yes," Diego said dryly. "Very funny. I'm deeply amused. There was another payroll stolen. Up near San Francisco. The thief apparently used fireballs. Perhaps someone has managed to recreate the recipe for greek fire. Wouldn't that be lovely? Scholars have been arguing over that for several hundred years. If we're really lucky, you might even get to see it first hand."

Gilberto blinked. "Greek fire?"

"Well, apparently not quite that bad. And no one was killed last time. But forgive me if I want you to pay attention. This could be dangerous."

"Fine. Fire balls. Any theories? Burning pitch and a catapult, perhaps?"

"No. That kind of evidence would have been very definite...I just don't know. They may even have been illusion."

"I won't depend on _that _theory."

"Good." Diego smiled very slightly. "It_ was_ funny. I suppose you were going to say she wanted flowers and serenading?"

"No, actually. I was going to wax poetic about how delicate she was, how fragile, how meek-until either you saw through me or I made myself too ill at the schmaltz to go on. I don't have a romantic soul." He laughed.

"You have a very romantic soul. You're just looking for a woman who isn't fragile and meek." He paused. "Victoria Escalante-"

"_Don't_ try it. We'd be absolutely miserable."

Diego looked away: a concession, and one he was unhappy about. Felipe wondered what he was missing, but the twins frequently seemed to have two or three conversations at once, and the extra ones were based on things they both already knew so well they didn't need to actually talk about them.

"You'll have to leave immediately after supper. It's too bad we _can't_ manufacture a woman for you to 'court' in the evenings."

"Only because I'd eventually have to produce a wife. Thank you, no. The longer I can put that off the better. And don't do me any favors and tell Father we fought again, hmmm."

"I've admitted that was a tactical mistake." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll tell father I want to go out starwatching. He'll send you to babysit, and you can sneak around through the cave entrance."

"Leaving you alone outside with no one but Felipe."

Hey! Felipe pointedly tapped his shoulder and gave him a stern look.

"It's time he started learning astronomy. We'll be fine. 'Berto, we're here alone at night. I don't see the difference."

Gilberto gave in and conceded that perhaps Felipe could manage Diego for a few hours-almost to have their plans thrown into chaos when Don Alejandro declared that he would shepherd the astronomy excursion himself. Of course, that was just as well: if he was outside, Gilberto could come and go through the house as he pleased.

'Astronomy' turned out to be long periods of Diego fiddling with the telescope followed by short periods of Felipe and Don Alejandro looking through it at small colored dots. The night was pleasant and warm, though, and Diego seemed relaxed and happy.

That last was probably a front, actually. Diego was never completely relaxed when Zorro rode.

In any case, Don Alejandro called a halt to the activity at one in the morning. Diego didn't bother to argue; he couldn't convincingly claim not to be tired. Gilberto wasn't back yet, but his brother wasn't expecting him so early and his father assumed he was in bed asleep, so that was all right. In fact, until Diego refused to go to bed, things seemed to be going very well.

"I'll wake you when he comes home," Felipe coaxed.

"I'll wake you," Diego returned. "You're still growing. You need the rest as much as I."

Frowning, Felipe ran his index finger along Diego's wrist. He found the pulse very easily, now. The little flutter was strong and distinct, which was reassuring. Felipe squeezed Diego's shoulder. "Go to bed. There's nothing you can do but rest."

Almost too softly to hear, Diego answered, "No."

"Idiot!" He signed it without thinking and regretted it immediately. "Sorry. Sorry."

Diego waved the outburst aside, neither hurt nor angered. "Please understand," he said patiently. "I can't. I don't know what he is facing, and I sent him...I sent him out there."

"In his place, would you have gone?"

"Of course, but that isn't the point."

It was the point, but there was no use in arguing with someone who thought truth wasn't important. He changed tactics. "He needs you well." Felipe lowered his brows and looked as stern as he could manage. "He'll need you tomorrow. And after that."

Diego stared down at his hands for a long moment. "You win," he said at last.

He had barely gotten Diego settled in bed when the door swung open just enough to admit Gilberto, running, in his stocking feet, his boots in his hand. He was whispering something that resolved into a string of curses when he drew close enough for Felipe to hear.

"Wait-start at the beginning. What did-"

"Your sergeant and his men ran away." He dropped his boots and sat down on the edge of the bed, speaking urgently and quietly and looking ready to grab Diego by the shoulders and shake him. "Not, my God, that I blame them. I swear, I still cannot believe what I saw!"

"What do you mean by-"

Gilberto waved his arms. "It wasn't Foucard! You were right about the _robbery_. He got the whole payroll. Ha! Someone did. But it wasn't Foucard. Damn it."

"Start at the beginning. You were following the transport..."

"It happened exactly where you expected. Actually, if there were something you were wrong about, _that _might have been the place to start, I would have been happy to see you wrong about that, but no, Foucard was in his room."

Diego signed to Felipe to pour Gilberto a glass of water.

"How did the attack begin?" It took him ten minutes to get a coherent story out of Gilberto. And another twenty after that of careful questions to reveal a clear outline of events. A rain of fireballs the size of wagon wheels scattered the soldiers without actually damaging the wagon or hurting the men. While Gilberto was trying to locate the source of the attack, a horseman had closed on the wagon, assaulted the driver, and made off with the cash portion of the payment.

Gilberto had pursued him, gotten close enough to slash a 'Z' onto the bandit's coat tails, but had then lost him in the darkness.

"You have the fastest horse in the territory. How did he get away from you?"

"The thief turned into that little ravine-the one with the messy trees-and Toronado balked at the darkness. I told you we were pushing him too fast-"

"Don't start defending yourself. I'm not criticizing you. And don't blame Toronado. No doubt the thief's horse was already conditioned to fireballs..." Diego rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand.

"But that little ravine leads east. So I headed southwest to town, thinking I could get back before Foucard, catch him returning with the gold, or at least a cut coattail. Except when I climbed up to his room he was already there. Asleep. In his bed."

"He couldn't have gotten there before you."

"No, so it can't have been him-"

Diego shook his head. "It was him," he said flatly.

Gilberto frowned. He took Diego's hand. "Father mentioned that Foucard had been...rather obviously...trying to get Senorita Victoria's...attention."

"No."

"Diego...I've noticed..."

"No. Just...no. No, there is no point in discussing Victoria. And no, this is not a product of my...it isn't. Foucard is your thief. I am sure."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Gilberto sighed and nodded. "All right then." He fussed with Diego's coverlet. "He's leaving tomorrow on the three o'clock stage. We'll have to figure something out before then. In the mean time, we all need some sleep."

He took the candle with him. Felipe caught his shoulder as he reached the door and signed, "Is he right?"

Gilberto made the tossing motion that meant, "It doesn't matter." At Felipe's astonished look, he pulled Felipe out into the hallway and said softly, "In my life, I've never regretted trusting him. Only one time has he ever asked me for anything important...and I was so sure I knew best so I refused him. I was wrong, and Diego..." he stopped and looked away. "If Diego says it is Foucard, he is probably right. So it is Foucard we investigate."

Diego slept late the next morning, but not as late as Felipe had hoped. While Felipe was in the kitchen assembling something for Diego to eat when he rose, Diego was getting up and dressing. He passed Felipe in the hallway, smiled a thanks, and snatched an orange from the tray.

Holding the tray in one hand, Felipe tapped it sharply with the other. "I've had an idea," he said apologetically over his shoulder. A bit bemused, Felipe followed him to the cave.

Gilberto was already there, fussing with Diego's makeshift chemistry laboratory. Felipe had never seen him do that before. Diego didn't seem to mind, though. He smiled serenely and said, "Pyrositic sulfate."

Gilberto nodded as though this were a sensible greeting. "It would solve your bird problem as well. I'm about ready to test it." One of the birds was laid out on flannel again, asleep. Or, more probably, drunk.

Diego paused to put a handful of orange peels on the tray, then motioned Felipe to lay the tray aside. "Stand here, where you can see," he said.

Gilberto measured out a tiny portion of powder and added it to a beaker of water. "It's a volatile substance with many different applications. When mixed with water it produces a powerful stimulant that exhilarates the nervous system." He sprinkled the water onto the bird's face and waited smugly.

The tiny, shiny eyes popped open and Felipe jumped. "Another medicine?" he asked.

"Not for him," Gilberto said absently, gently prodding the bird with a finger. "His heart reacts badly to stimulants." The bird stood unsteadily and shook its feathers. "For birds that have overindulged, however..."

"Nicely done," Diego said.

"It does get better," Gilberto said. He scooped a tiny amount of the powder into a shallow metal dish and set it on the other side of the table. "Alcohol," he said to Felipe and wet a wad of cloth from his little bottle. "Watch." He tossed the cloth into the powder.

There was a nervous pause.

"Perhaps," Diego began.

There was a flash and hiss and a fast, flickering fire licked from the little metal dish. Gilberto made a single, short shout of joy.

"That is our fireball. The more alcohol, the bigger the reaction." Diego collected the dish and prodded what remained of the contents with a strange glass stick "Hmmm. It didn't consume much the cloth. I wonder how he delivered the chemicals. Maybe..."

"Never mind, Little Brother. The stage leaves in less than five hours. We need a plan."

The plan they threw together was not as circumspect or fool-proof as Diego would have liked. The entire trip into town was spent going over contingencies-what to do if Diego could not convince Foucard to join him for lunch, what to do if Foucard was not at the inn at all, what to do if soldiers were present and what to do if they were not, what to do if Foucard resisted, what to do if he ran...

In all contingencies, Felipe was to stay out of the way.

Gilberto dropped them at the tavern and then continued on with the carriage. He'd visit the blacksmith, the dry goods store, a tailor-none of them long visits, but enough to establish why he wasn't with his brother. A short distance from the rear of the tavern was the old gristmill. It was small and inefficient, and it only operated during the late fall. Right now it would be easy for Gilberto to pick the lock and slip inside to change into Zorro. From the roof of the mill it was a short jump to the roof of the tavern's tiny stable, and from there an easy climb into Foucard's room.

All Diego had to do was occupy Foucard for a short time, and in a wild stroke of luck, he was sitting right in the tavern speaking with Senorita Victoria. They wouldn't even have to look for him or entice him from his room.

Diego smiled, nodded politely to Victoria, and said jovially, "Senor Foucard, just the man I was hoping to see. I heard you were leaving today, and I wanted to ask your advice on a puzzle I've been working on. Have you eaten? Perhaps you would join me for lunch?"

Foucard smiled. "I'm afraid I'll be rather too busy for lunch, Senor de le Vega. Have you heard the wonderful news?"

"News?" Diego was all polite interest and charm.

"I have convinced Senorita Escalante to leave with me."

Diego turned to her in pleased surprise. "Why, Victoria, is this true?" he asked.

Eyes wide, smiling too broadly, Victoria nodded.

"What wonderful news!" Diego said to both of them.

Felipe felt a stab of terror. Nowhere in their contingencies was there a plan for what to do if Diego and Senorita Victoria simultaneously went completely mad.

"Senor, allow me to compliment you on your excellent taste. The senorita is truly a great treasure. Were I not so inconvenienced by health problems, I would have courted her myself."

And how had Diego made the absolute truth sound like a polite lie? Turning slightly so that Foucard couldn't see his hand, Diego signed urgently "Go away. Now."

Felipe swallowed hard and took a couple of steps back. This left him standing in the middle of the tavern. Feeling both awkward and afraid, he sank into the nearest chair.

"This great occasion calls for a toast." He turned to Victoria. "Perhaps some wine?" He laughed. "Your very best wine, I'm buying, of course." He stepped back so Victoria could rise.

She didn't move.

"That won't be necessary," Foucard said.

"But I insist. Oh! You were planning to leave today. You can't possibly. My father will want to throw a party for you both tonight."

"Thank you for the thought, but I'll have to refuse. I must ask you to excuse us. The senorita and I-"

Diego continued relentlessly, still smiling, but clearly neither friendly or amused. "Surely I can change your mind. Victoria, old friend, move over." She started to move, froze abruptly, closed her eyes. Diego didn't seem to see her odd reactions "Senor Foucard and I have so much to say to one another. We have a great deal in common. Magic, as you said, is very much like science. For example, I've been giving some thought to your water-of-life trick. Are you aware-"

Without warning, Foucard shoved his seat back, thrust the table away and leapt to his feet. In a single heartbeat he was standing directly in front of Diego holding a sword at his throat.

Diego didn't seem at all alarmed. He didn't even seem surprised. "I am unarmed, Senor," he said mildly.

Felipe had come to his feet. So had Don Roberto and Don Carlos, who had been playing cards in the corner. Diego, moving his hand only a little, waved them back. "No blood has been drawn. Let's keep it that way, shall we? Senor Foucard needs a moment to think."

"And what is it I have to think about?"

"Your options," Diego said reasonably. "For example, you could surrender now. No one has been killed; the punishment would not be too severe. Or you could run; that would preserve your freedom, at least. Or you can kill me, which would end your life very quickly; I see Don Roberto is armed...and there are two vaqueros beside the door, strong young men waiting for an opportunity...and, of course, as soon as you are occupied with impaling me, Senorita Escalante will run for the door screaming for the lancers. If you continued to fight they would have no choice but to kill you."

Senorita Victoria, who had stumbled to her feet but only managed a single step away before Foucard had taken Diego, folded her arms tightly and shook her head.

"All of those options...leave something to be desired. Let's try another: those two young men," he nodded to the vaqueros, "go up to my room and bring down the trunk. Then, I lock all of you in the store room, and quietly leave with the senorita."

Diego shook his head politely. "I'm afraid we covered that one-it's the one where you have to kill me. You are not leaving with Victoria."

"Diego, no," she whispered.

"You two," Foucard said to the vaqueros. "Move. Now."

Felipe felt a wave of hope. Zorro might well be in Foucard's room by now, searching it. He watched the men climb the steps with growing joy. Gilberto would take care of this.

Foucard eyed Diego. "Do you think I won't?"

"You're a desperate man. You won't kill your hostage. Victoria, go stand next to Felipe."

"But Diego..."

"It's quite all right."

She moved very slowly. Her shoes were soft, but each step seemed very loud, even to Felipe. When she was close enough, he reached out and took her hand. Diego would expect him to keep her out of the way. When Zorro arrived, all hell would break loose-

All hell broke loose without bothering to wait for Zorro. Diego took a single step backwards. Snarling, Foucard lunged for him. Diego ducked neatly under the swinging blade. His left foot shot out, sweeping Foucard's forward leg, sending him crashing to the floor.

Diego turned, about to make his escape, but he stumbled and in that moment's hesitation, Foucard leapt to his feet and drew back his sword. Oh Saint Mary, Diego had no way to defend himself, and the caballeros were running, but they were more than a dozen feet away. Felipe's throat knotted painfully around the scream that tried to rip its way out.

A "bang," shocking, loud, transmitted through the floor. A clattering hail of-gold coins? Froze everyone, including Foucard.

Diego fell sideways, out of Foucard's path and then another of those shocking crashes rocked the room again as a bag of gold coins came sailing over the balcony railing to shatter on the floor.

No one moved but Foucard, who turned in a circle his sword at the ready.

Zorro hopped neatly onto the balcony railing and peered down at him with ostentatious regret. "Oops," he said cheerfully. "Butterfingers. That's me. Shame about the mess, all your pretty money...but then it wasn't your money, was it? It looks to me like the military payroll."

"Why are you involving yourself, outlaw? This is none of your business."

"As my conscience endlessly reminds me, justice is everyone's business." He shrugged. "My pueblo, my friends, my neighbors," he sighed, "and the lancers who work so hard for their meager pay." His eyes flicked to the side, checking Diego's position. He was a couple of yards away from Foucard, now, leaning against the railing at the bottom of the stairs. Zorro smiled.

He launched himself laterally from the balcony, caught the iron chandelier, and swung slowly over the floor to drop neatly directly in front of Foucard. "You got away from me last night, Monsieur, but I managed to cut your coat. Will you show us your coat?"

Foucard lunged with his sword. Zorro's sword knocked it neatly aside. They started in earnest, then. The swords flashed, probing and defending. Both seemed to be good, but in a minute it was clear that Foucard was_ trying_ much harder than Zorro, who fairly danced across the floor and grinned as he parried Foucard's desperate thrusts.

Felipe had never seen Zorro fight before. Sir Edmund's few letters from Spain had endlessly praised _Diego's_ talent, but Gilberto had always been 'progressing acceptably.' How good had Diego been, that this was merely acceptable? He found himself clinging to Senorita Victoria's hands, both of them pressed into the table behind them, neither daring to breathe. The blades were _sharp_, and Foucard, at least, was intent on killing.

Zorro was parrying with a flourish, now, almost laughing aloud as each attack was turned aside. Foucard broke and ran for the door. He found Don Roberto and Don Carlos in his way. He diverted and dove for the stairs. Zorro was behind him. Halfway up the steps, Foucard spun and tossed a small knife. Zorro's sword snapped up and deflected the smaller blade, which imbedded itself in the railing.

Zorro, more slowly but relentlessly, continued up the stairs. "Cheap tricks won't save you now, Monsieur. Justice is more certain then either the hand or the eye."

Foucard took a step backward. Zorro advanced. "Trickster by day, highway robber by night. A most creative dual identity." Foucard took another step backward, but Zorro was too close to simple turn and run. "A rope tied to a wig mannequin, a fire bellows that coughs, all so we would think you were in bed last night. I admit, you had even me fooled."

Franticly, Foucard swung his sword. Zorro ducked under it and then pushed forward, taking the other man in the stomach with his shoulder. Foucard went sailing over Zorro's back to land in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. His sword landed several feet away on the tavern floor.

Zorro turned, his sword still ready, but Don Roberto had seized Foucard before he could move. Zorro nodded and sheathed his saber. "Was anyone hurt?" he asked. If his glance hesitated on Diego, it was less than a second.

Shaking, Victoria let go of Felipe's hand and stepped forward. "No," she answered. "Thank you. No one was hurt. I...he was...Zorro, how can we thank you?"

Gilberto gave a half-bow. "It was purely my pleasure," he said. He looked about to say something else, but at that moment, the door to the tavern opened and Sergeant Mendoza and two of his men came in. For a moment, everyone froze: the overturned tables, the gold coins all over the floor, Don Roberto holding the magician at swordpoint, the outlaw on the stairs, and the stunned soldiers seemed to be part of an impossible vision or the punch line to badly told joke, rather than a real, solid moment in a spring afternoon.

Everything sprang to life again at once. The lancers charged forward to seize Zorro, but were unable to pass Don Roberto and his prisoner. Don Carlos began bellowing that they were after the wrong man. Zorro leapt up the last few stairs and disappeared into what had been Foucard's room. The two vaqueros who had been waiting on the balcony applauded as he went by.

Diego alone was unmoving. He leaned against the side of the stairs, gripping the rail support and obviously a little breathless. Felipe circled around the crowd at the bottom of the stairs and took Diego's hand. It wasn't particularly cold, a good sign. His pulse was faint and a little fast, but not as bad as when he had a heart seizure. "Dizzy?" he signed.

Diego nodded weakly. Felipe wrapped an arm around his waist and quickly shifted him three steps to the nearest table and dropped him into a chair. Diego rested his arms on the table and tried to look normal. He didn't quite succeed. Felipe darted over to the bar and gathered up a pitcher of wine and a cup. He was fairly sure the owner wouldn't mind him helping himself just this once.

He filled a cup and slid it across the table to Diego, who winced and signed "sick," with his left hand. Sympathetic and completely helpless to do anything useful, Felipe pulled over a chair and sat beside him.

One of the soldiers took a bound Foucard away, and two more arrived to help gather and count the scattered money. The alcalde arrived. He stalked through the dining room in a quiet rage and stalked out again.

Senorita Victoria came over and sat down across from Diego. She peered at him impatiently. "What were you thinking?" she demanded. Her face was still pale and pinched-looking. "No one told me your illness included insanity. I mean it, Diego, you could have been killed."

"Victoria," he said tightly, "I have been very brave today. Right now I'm dizzy, I have a headache, and I am trying not to be ill here in your place of business. I would consider it a great favor if you'd postpone the lecture till later."

Her eyes had gotten very wide. "Are you," she turned to Felipe, "Is he-?"

Felipe signed (slowly) that everything was all right. Nothing to worry about. Relax.

She reached across the table and squeezed Diego's hand. Diego actually smiled slightly.

"You were brave." She laughed weakly. "_I_ was terrified. I haven't had a day this bad in...years."

"It was a good day," Diego corrected.

"Ah? Oh, so it was," she said. Then, resolutely, she stood up, patted Diego's shoulder, and walked around him to plant herself between him and Sergeant Mendoza, who was headed toward their table.

Finding his path blocked, Mendoza said politely, "Excuse me, Senorita. I need a word with Don Diego."

"He can't speak to you right now. We went through a terrible ordeal, and he needs a moment to collect himself."

"Oh. Yes. I'm sure it was terrible. But that's what I want to speak to him about. You see, Don Roberto said-"

"Then your business is with Don Roberto." She smiled sweetly.

"Yes, but. That is, Don Diego was talking to Senor Foucard, and I really-"

"The answer is no. Not now. Maybe later. Sergeant, don't make me have you thrown out."

That surprised him. "But you can't through me out. I'm the legally appointed representative of the king's-"

"Fine. Then I will cancel your credit." She sighed. "Your prisoner isn't going anywhere, is he? You aren't in a terrible hurry, are you? Try again later."

Unhappily, Mendoza backed off, and Victoria returned to her seat. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked anxiously.

Diego smiled wearily. "Actually, that display was quite bracing." He took the wine cup and managed a couple of sips.

"Diego...how did you know?" she asked softly.

"Know what?" He pinched the bridge of his nose and took another sip of the wine.

"That Foucard was holding a sword on me. That he was planning to abduct me. That he was the bandit who took the military payroll."

"I-I-" Diego blinked, stumbling over his answer, flailing for something to say. He had escaped a grilling from the sergeant only to fall into an equally dangerous conversation with Senorita Victoria. "I didn't _know_ any of that!" He took a quick swallow of the wine. To Felipe, it was clear that he was buying time. "I mean...I knew you would never abandon the tavern to run off with a man you'd known about three days. Obviously. But holding a sword..." He smiled self-depreciatingly. "I had no idea. Actually, I'd assumed he'd drugged you."

"But everything you said...you sounded so odd..."

"I was trying to buy time while I figured out what to do. Frankly...the whole time I was worried that I was wrong. How embarrassing, to go on and on like that if you really had fallen madly in love with the man."

"Hmmmm," she said, looking doubtful. "Well, I suppose everything worked out in the end. Zorro showed up in the nick of time."

"I would have said he was a little late, myself," Diego muttered.

"Diego! ...well, actually, I can't blame you this time." She smiled ruefully. "But he _did _show up before any one was hurt or killed! Today-today could have been a very, very bad day." She looked over at the table where she and Foucard had been sitting. "I wonder how _Zorro_ knew. I didn't, and I spent more time with him than anyone else. I actually thought he was kind of-" she broke off and shuddered dramatically. "Oh, I feel like such and idiot." She was blushing a little.

Diego looked slightly surprised. "But he was holding a sword on you. You must have found out something inconvenient, for him to try to abduct you."

"Oh, no. He was...he was trying to convince me to run away with him. And when I said, 'no,' well," she shrugged. "He didn't like to be refused. I suppose...I suppose it isn't a surprise that anyone who steals that much money would be very selfish. But he seemed...He was so charming and polished..." She shuddered again.

Gilberto-wearing his own clothes-stormed into the tavern then. His boots clacked on the floor as big angry steps carried him to the table. "I just had the most amazing conversation with the sergeant. He claims that Foucard is some kind of bandit, and you challenged him to a duel-while he was armed with a sword and you had your bear hands? Really, Diego! Can't I leave you on your own for twenty minutes?"

Felipe surged to his feet, signing to Gilberto to leave Diego alone. He'd had enough of a strain today, he didn't need a fight.

He got maybe two words out before Diego neatly captured his hands and said, "Don't blame me: I certainly didn't _plan_ to do anything so foolhardy. If it had been up to me, I'd have gone about it much more neatly." He took a deep breath. "Besides, how was I to know he'd see Victoria as-as just another bag of gold to be stolen at sword point? None of this is my fault."

Diego was looking past his brother's shoulder and Gilberto looked on the verge of laughter. Felipe realized, then, that this was one of their small games. Besides the two of them, only Felipe was in on the joke-that Diego had planned so carefully for every possible contingency except the one that happened!

"Not your fault? Whose, then? I suppose you're going to blame it all on the criminal?" Even though his mirth, though, Gilberto was studying his brother very carefully. He probably didn't like what he saw: Diego was too pale, drooping with exhaustion, still taking an extra breath now and then...

"Well, I rather thought so," Diego answered.

Gilberto compressed his lips. "Do you still want to have lunch in town? I know you were planning to see if Foucard would join you-I imagine that option is closed now."

"Yes, very funny," Diego responded, but his voice was heavy and his mirth was fading.

"On the house, of course. Saving me from abduction deserves at least a free meal."

Diego smiled. "Perhaps I could collect some other time? I've had enough excitement for one day. And if I remain, Mendoza will want to talk with me about what happened, and I...would rather not."

About halfway home, Felipe reined in the horses and turned around to face the twins, who were sitting in the back of the carriage. Gilberto had his fingers resting against Diego's wrist. "Are you going to yell at him? For real?" Felipe asked.

Gilberto's mouth dropped open. "Whatever for?" he asked.

"For doing something stupid and dangerous," Diego explained. "Felipe...it wasn't as bad as it looked."

That was just beyond absurd. "He had a sword! You didn't!" he signed emphatically.

Diego sighed. "When two men duel...when they are equally armed with swords or pistols or even a pile of rotting lemons-"

"That was Julian's idea. And we'd both had too much to drink," Gilberto protested. He spoke softly enough that if Felipe hadn't been watching them he would have missed it.

"And I have no idea why you persist in thinking either of those constitutes an adequate excuse. Whatever the weapon, however, in dueling, there are rules. Requirements for honorable conduct. But when an unarmed man is menaced unfairly by an armed opponent...there are no rules. Any 'dirty' trick I cared to play would have been considered not only fair, but laudable."

Gilberto nodded. "If I were to rebuke him-and I am not, and you were right to try to stop me before. He is much too tired-but if I were, it would be for not pursuing his advantage and finishing Foucard. However...I suspect the reason he did not is the reason he decided to attack in the first place. His head was spinning and it was getting worse."

Felipe crossed himself. He wasn't sure if he was thanking God for his help so far or asking Him for more...

"Felipe, I _am_ sorry things did not go as planned. I wasn't...I obviously didn't take into account..."

"Enough," Gilberto said. "Drive. We need to get him home and lying down...maybe if we sedate him there won't be terrible consequences for today's heroics."

"'Berto, I feel all right now. Tired, I suppose..."

"Don't argue. Please. As it is, I am going to have to explain this to Father before he finds out from someone else. Where was I, when _you_ were being attacked by an armed criminal? I'm supposed to take care of you, for heaven's sake. How could I let you face a vicious brigand alone?" He sighed.

"I'll talk to him."

"No. You won't. You will rest. Well? Drive, Felipe-and don't think you're spying on _this_ conversation. I can handle it myself."

Felipe turned around and urged the horses forward.

_End of Part 2:_ Fokuchik _(The Magician)_

	4. March 3, 1813

**March 3, 1813**

He woke in icy blackness, a small, and airless space. Frantic, he reached out with his hands, encountered a wood panel on his left. Something hard and flat met his fingertips an arm's reach above his face. Oh, God, he'd been buried alive.

There wasn't any air.

"Diego!" There was movement above him and a solid thump to the right as Gilberto dropped down. Gilberto. The ship. Their berth.

Strong arms swept behind him, pulled him to sitting.

Diego gasped. And gasped. Gilberto held him up, tried to calm him, but the darkness pressed in, smothering him.

"The rugged peaks are indebted to the Sheppard god; The fields are owed to Ceres; On one falls a rain of gold; on the other snowflakes of wool,*" Gilberto recited. He pulled away, and for long seconds, Diego was alone in the dark with only Baroque poetry they'd learned when they were ten for company.

A light sliced through the tiny cabin, flared, and dimmed to something only a little painful. Gilberto had lit the lamp. Diego had to shade his eyes, but at least he could see the room-small, but not unbearably so, not shrinking, not a coffin, not yet.

Gilberto hung the lamp on a hook and sat beside Diego on the narrow bunk. He propped Diego in place with pillows and found the pulse at his wrist. Diego didn't need to check-if he thought about it he could feel the headlong gallop of his stampeding heart. Frowning, Gilberto turned Diego's arm and pressed the skin several times with a single finger. This, at least, was good news: the skin didn't take the dents. It wasn't dropsy, not this time.

"Open the-door a little," Diego panted. "Let some-air in."

Gilberto opened the door, though he clearly knew it wouldn't do any good.

Diego kept his eyes on the darkness on the other side of the narrow opening. There was plenty of air. There was plenty of room. He needed to stay calm. He needed to relax. This would pass.

The seizures always passed. Always. Always.

Gilberto opened the leather case and pulled out a narrow glass bottle. The laudanum. No. Damn. The beloved panacea, so dear to the doctors. If you could neither explain nor cure a disease-well, _that _hardly mattered if a little laudanum made the patient stop complaining and slip into a blissful sleep, did it? Diego closed his eyes. "No, please...don't want it."

A thin stream of water rang as it poured from a canteen into a metal cup. Then only silence as Gilberto added the drops of laudanum.

"Don't. 'Berto. Don't."

Holding the little cup, Gilberto came back and sat on the edge of the narrow berth. He checked Diego's pulse again. Of course he found it no slower than before. "Diego."

It was going to be a bad seizure-the worst in weeks. It would last a couple of hours at least and every minute would be agony. But laudanum turned men's brains to mush. It grabbed hold and didn't let go. People could live years half-removed from their earthy lives, their loved ones. "Don't...want it."

"I don't have anything else. Nothing else helps, not now. There's nothing I can do but give you this..."

"Mother," Diego whispered. "I remember. I won't." It was hard to force the words out, to take the seconds away from breathing to speak, but he couldn't-_couldn't_-let this go. "I won't do that."

"It's not the same." Gilberto took his hand, coaxing, gentle. "I remember, too, Diego. She was dying. She was in horrible pain. It wasn't a bad thing that she slept through that..."

And yes, that was true. The agony had been even more terrible than the delirium that had replaced it. But Gilberto had taken to drugging Diego not only through the worst seizures but also when he became too unhappy or angry or 'agitated.' It was too easy. It was too often. The calmness it brought was already too tempting. "I won't," he ground out, "sleep through...what's left of my life."

"But this isn't the same. This isn't a strong dose. You don't need it every day. Be reasonable."

"No." Too often. Too easy. The sweet, comfortable dreams were a terrible temptation. A danger. No. "No."

"What you are suffering right now-it is unendurable, and nothing else will end it. We've tried all the remedies: all the sane ones all the desperate ones all the stupid ones. This is the only thing that helps. Please. I don't have anything else." Diego heard the grief in his brother's voice. And the fear. And the anger.

He took the cup and drained it.

The affect was fairly swift: in only a few minutes he felt a lightness...a flush of warmth...a sigh, as the urge to gasp and pant faded into something more manageable. The lightness spread to his fingers and toes. In a few minutes more, his worries-that he was about to smother, that he would never see home again, that the drug would become an unbreakable habit, that Gilberto was being crushed by his grief...seemed less urgent...and then completely unimportant.

It would all sort itself out, later.

Diego closed his eyes. He was distantly aware of Gilberto's fingertips on his wrist. And the motion of the boat. And the occasional creak of wood.

He could barely feel his heart, now. It was still fast, but stumbling and weak. It made a counterpoint to the slower motion of the boat. And the occasional creak of wood. And Gilberto's voice reciting poetry-when had he resumed that?

He didn't notice that he was falling asleep until he woke. His body leaden and aching, his mouth dry and bitter, and his eyes gritty. When he tried to open his eyes the day light pouring in the tiny window was like a lance through his skull.

"It's all right," Gilberto whispered, holding a cup of water to his lips. The water was tepid and tasted like tin. Diego sucked it in greedily and nearly choked on it. "All over. It's all over, little brother. You are all right."

Diego wondered if that were true. He was weak, and damn, but his head hurt...

A cool, damp flannel on his face, wiping his forehead and around his eyes. Diego tried a deep breath. "More water," he whispered.

Gilberto gave him the water again, then a few spoonfuls of thin porridge that sat heavily in his stomach. The food did clear his head a bit. Diego carefully slid his legs over the side of the low bunk, stripped off his thin nightshirt, and took the flannel to wipe away the sour sweat that had dried on his chest and neck.

He had to rest again after that, but he was mostly sure that it was the aftereffects of the laudanum that was making him so tired and not the weakness of his heart.

"You were right," Gilberto said suddenly into the silence.

Diego scrubbed a hand tiredly over his eyes. "My most unpleasant trait, apparently."

That earned him a sharp, unhappy look. Diego looked back and waited. Gilberto swallowed. "It doesn't help you. Last night..." Gilberto lifted Diego's hand and turned it over. "You were blue. Not just your fingernails...up to the tips of your fingers. I did stay awake during Ortega's lecture on Priestly. I know what it means."

"'Berto, a mistake-"

"It wasn't a 'mistake.' It was my own selfishness...because I couldn't bear to watch. Because it was my fault, because I made you fence yesterday. Because I was afraid. And _I _couldn't stand it. I'm so sorry, Diego. I-"

"'Berto, don't."

"I made it worse."

"Fully half my doctors would have had you keeping me relaxed and my heart 'calm' by dosing me every day. I'm sure it would have kept me less argumentative, at least."

Gilberto's mouth opened but only a tiny choking sound came out. Diego reached for him, but he flinched. "Argumentative? Argumentative. God help me. You are the best part of me, and I betrayed you...I betrayed you. I think you nearly died last night...and I know...you will forgive me. And I can't forgive myself."

Well. Diego had expected his brother to fall apart for months. The burdens of caring for an invalid-the sheer work of it, never mind the emotional toll-were not something suited to Gilberto de le Vega's temperament. Diego had been expecting-but of course it would happen_ today_, when he was weak and wool-headed. Diego impatiently pushed his hair out of his eyes and took a deep breath-and still couldn't think very clearly. "You...you must," he said, unable to come up with anything more inspiring.

Gilberto frowned at him. "I must what?"

Ah. "Forgive yourself and go on. I need you, 'Berto. There's nothing else we can do. I need you."

"A very good point," he whispered.

"I do forgive you. I don't think you are doing so badly. At least...If our roles were reversed, I couldn't...it would break my heart to see what you've seen. I don't know that I could do as well as you have."

"Liar..."

"No, I swear to you," Diego whispered. Dear God, he was tired. "You've done _so_ well."

"Lie down and rest. I think you might be delirious," he smiled, but he eased Diego backwards and propped him against the pillows. The pressure of Gilberto's fingers against his wrist was reassuring. Diego closed his eyes.

* _The Fable of Polyphemus and Galatea,_ Gongora. 1627

	5. June 12, 1813

**June 12, 1813**

That June was unusually warm. Diego found the heat oppressive, and spent as much time as he could in the cave, working on various chemistry experiments. Today he was making very small quantities of explosives, varying the ingredients for each batch. He was going to test them, he said, to find out which had the biggest noise and the smallest actual concussion.

Felipe understood the point of this, and he had to admit it was a good idea. But it still made him nervous.

Today they'd had all morning in the lab. Don Alejandro was occupied with a houseguest: Luis Cristobal had come down from Santa Barbara to court Carlotta, Antonio Pascal's younger daughter. He'd met her at the twins' homecoming party and been completely taken with her. She, apparently, looked favorably on his suit, but her father thought she could get a better husband than a lawyer with a very small hacienda, so Don Sebastian and Don Alejandro had been having long talks with Don Antonio for weeks now: Don Luis was intelligent, hardworking, and came from a very good family. And so on. And so on.

Anyway, at the moment, Don Alejandro and Don Luis were out riding, looking at cattle. Tonight there'd be a small party-the Pascal family, Don Sebastian and his wife, Don Carlos-but in the mean time the boys were free to amuse themselves. Diego took the opportunity to experiment with explosives and Gilberto was out contributing to the myth of Zorro by riding around the countryside allowing himself to be glimpsed by farmers.

Felipe's job in all this was to take notes, carefully recording ingredients and amounts. When a batch was finished, he weighed out thirty gram packets and wrapped them in tight-carefully labeled-paper. It was useful work, and he was glad to help, but the note-taking and labeling was simultaneously nerve wracking and dull.

Diego must be the most patient, fastidious human being alive.

Felipe was wondering if he could talk Diego into breaking for lunch anytime soon when Gilberto rode in. He was hunched over a narrow basket he held clutched to his chest and he was humming. "Little Brother," he said, breaking off his melody to speak softly, "I want you to know that I blame you for this disaster. You were in charge of thinking of contingencies, and you didn't think of this one. As long as I live, I won't forgive you." He looked so put out that Felipe nearly laughed.

Diego, too. He was smiling as he came over. "Come now, it can't be that bad. What have you got in there? snakes?"

Gilberto thrust the basket at him. Diego took it, gasped in surprise and nearly dropped it, clutched it franticly to his chest, and whispered, "Blessed Saint Mary." He crossed himself. Twice.

"Try not to drop it, oh graceful one," Gilberto said sourly, stripping off his mask and wiping his face with his arm. "I didn't bring it all this way for you to damage in an accident."

Curious, Felipe squeezed around Diego's arm and peeped into the basket. There was a baby in it. "That's a baby!"

"Why thank you, Felipe. How astute of you. I hadn't noticed." He swung down off Toronado and stripped off his gloves.

"'Berto, how? Where?" Diego was beside himself.

"I kidnapped her, what do you think?" Gilberto snapped irritably.

"This isn't funny."

Gilberto sagged. "I found a wagon half a mile from the nearest road. It had a couple of trunks some bandits were ransacking. And the baby. They got away and I was left with..." He shook his head. "I tried to trace the wagon, but it's so dry...there wasn't a track anywhere. I-" He shrugged helplessly.

Diego started to lay the basket on the work table, remembered the explosive experiments, and went to the battered old desk instead. He shoved his careful piles of papers and books aside and gently laid the bundle on the wood. Gilberto and Felipe peered around his broad shoulders as he unwrapped the thin blanket.

The baby fussed a little, making a very unpleasant noise. Diego crooned gently and stroked the pale cheek. The dress beneath the blanket was beautifully embroidered, covered with strange trailing flowers. "That's unusual," Diego said. He lifted the dress aside and pulled free a cloth wrapping stuffed with dried moss. It was completely fouled with babymess. Diego wadded it up and tossed it into the bucket he kept for collecting chemistry mistakes. "It's a girl," he commented. He produced a handkerchief and began to wipe at the mess. "And she's well loved, if this dress in any indication."

"She's Russian," Gilberto said dully.

"I shouldn't think so. The Russian encampment is north of San Francisco. No one would steal a wagon and then drive for a week before dividing the loot. Besides, she can't have eaten that long ago. And her wrappings aren't dirt enough-"

Gilberto slid a finger into the lacy neck of the dress and retrieved a finely woven cord bearing a tiny metal cross. At least, it looked mostly like a cross. It had extra bits stuck on it.

"Russian," Diego whispered.

Felipe pointed at it.

"Byzantine," Diego elaborated. "A Russian cross. Well. You are a mystery, little girl."

Felipe held his nose and waved his hand.

"Indeed she does. Go upstairs and get some clean rags and a basin of water. We'll see about cleaning her up properly."

When Felipe had brought them he was sent back for some masa and a cup of milk. By the time he'd finished this second trip, Diego had wrapped the baby in clean cloths and seated himself at the desk with the baby in his arms.

Gilberto was wolfing down some cheese and a stale tortilla, the remains of Felipe's breakfast. "We have food," Felipe signed when he'd put down this load.

"I'm going right back out. If I can find the bandits, I can find out from whom and where they took this little one."

Diego, meanwhile, pinched off a small ball of masa, wrapped it in one of the clean rags, and dipped it in the milk. Then he popped it in the baby's mouth. "No," Diego said, answering his look, "This will only solve the problem for a day or two. We must find her mother. I should go into town. If there are Russians wandering around somewhere, everyone will be gossiping about it."

"Send the boy," Gilberto said, bending down to check Toronado's hooves before remounting. "Father expects you to be at the party tonight. If you wear yourself out and turn up looking exhausted he'll worry."

"Felipe doesn't like the pueblo."

Felipe shook his head rapidly. "It's all right. I'll go." The alternative was staying here, with the baby, who hadn't cried much yet but probably would. And it would make more of that mess. And it would want to eat, and feeding her was surely much harder than Diego was making it look, (after all, Diego made all kinds of impossible things look easy.)

Diego hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Felipe nodded.

"Go to the tavern. People gossip there. Look for Sergeant Mendoza. You won't have to ask him questions, if he knows anything, he'll be talking about it already. If, by some oddity you don't hear anything...mention to Victoria that you saw a wagon with strangers go by and you wonder who they were. But no more than that. We don't know what is going on here. It's best to keep what we know to ourselves."

Felipe thought about that. "We could take the baby to town. Say we found it out riding. Or say Zorro gave it to us..."

Diego and Gilberto glanced at one another and winced. "The government is polite enough to the official Russian delegations...but an unofficial incursion this far south...the military might not look too favorably. It's best to keep it a secret."

"An assault? With a _baby_?" Felipe replied.

"The government might take offense at a party that got lost...or shipwrecked off our coast... And our alcalde in particular isn't above taking advantage of people who have luck against them. Felipe, until we understand what is happening, it is best if this is a secret."

He went to the blacksmith's first. He bought horseshoe nails and took the opportunity to talk to one of the boys working there, Innocente, an Indian who was a few years older than Felipe. "Any good gossip?" he asked.

"I think you're too young to hear it," Innocente teased. He answered in tradesign, since he didn't get much chance to practice living in the pueblo.

"If you don't tell me someone else will."

"Private Reyes ruined Dora Nunez. They say Sergeant Mendoza is going to make him marry her."

It was not the news he was looking for, but it was still very interesting. "Can he do that? Make somebody get married?"

Innocente laughed. "Better than what her father wants. Senor Nunez wants to shoot him."

No other gossip, though. Felipe went to the store, hoping to eavesdrop on some customers. He waited politely at the back while everyone went ahead of him, but he had no luck: some farmers complaining about the lack of rain...A vaquero looking for work...Two ladies whispering about the Nunez girl... Felipe was about ready to give up when Eugenio Estevez, the owner's son came in. He grinned at Felipe and made a series of broad, meaningless gestures with his hands. Mocking him.

Most days, Felipe found Eugenio offensive-well, _most _days he wanted to haul off and hit him, but Eugenio was two years younger than Felipe and several inches shorter and what Diego would say if he ever found out that Felipe was beating up smaller boys simply did not bear thinking about-but today he didn't have time. He went to the counter and produced his short list (tea, wax candles, writing paper) and the handful of pesos he'd been sent with.

He would have to go to the tavern. At least it wasn't market day. It wouldn't be too crowded. He went to the counter and asked Senorita Victoria for orange juice and some bread.

"Is Diego in town today?" she asked.

"He's home, resting," he answered, trying not to look as though he were looking around.

"Not ill, I hope!"

Oops. "No. Party tonight. Don Alejandro is playing matchmaker."

"He's wha-? Oh! Yes. I'd heard you had a guest. How is it going? Are they making any headway with the girl's father?"

Felipe shrugged. "Who knows? Love is all a big mess. I'm never getting married."

Victoria laughed. "You'll feel differently when you're older."

"Is the Sergeant around?"

"You mean Sergeant Mendoza?" she asked. "No. He and the alcalde were called out to the mission early this morning." She grinned. "So it's been very quiet all day." She leaned across the counter and lowered her voice. "You needn't be so nervous of him, Felipe. He doesn't behave badly in town, and he doesn't let his men do it either. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Felipe nodded. "I heard about the soldier and the girl."

Victoria winced. She looked like she thought she ought to be scandalized. "Who told you about that? You're much too young to be talking about...Anyway, I suppose that is a good example, though. This batch of soldiers isn't like the last."

"Any other gossip?"

"One of Jose Macias' chickens laid an egg-well, that's normal enough, but a two-headed chick hatched. It didn't live long, of course."

That was old news. Felipe had heard it the week before.

Felipe could hardly go back to Diego with nothing, could he?

How could there be Russians in the pueblo and nobody talking about it?

How could a family have been robbed and a baby kidnapped and people still be talking about anything else? Why wasn't the alcalde out scouring the land for the bandits-or Russian invaders-instead of off at the mission?

Felipe seated himself beside the well in the center of the plaza and watched people come and go. Farmers. Indians. A soldier. A couple of old men who went to sit on the tavern porch. Nothing unusual. Nothing.

Russians hadn't been here. Nobody knew anything. Maybe the rest of the family on that wagon had been killed, the bodies dumped in a ditch or the muddy river. Maybe that was why nobody knew.

Or maybe the Russians really _had _come secretly. Maybe a bunch of families had tried to set up a little colony, maybe inland, in a bid to expand Russian territory. They said Russia was a vast empire, always growing, always greedy. Maybe it was true, and they wanted to take California away from Spain.

When Felipe got back to the cave he found Diego asleep in the chair, his feet propped up on the desk, the baby sound asleep as well, resting on his shoulder.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to wake Diego to tell him he didn't have anything useful to tell him.

Felipe packed the explosives away in a waxed canvas bag and hung it from an iron hook Gilberto had sunk into the stone wall. Then-with a worried look at Diego-he started to collect the ingredients. They were all harmless individually, and they were much safer put away than left out where they might be spilled, but he wasn't normally allowed to touch the chemistry things by himself...

He glanced over at Diego, still sleeping with the Russian baby snuggled against him. "Usually" probably didn't apply.

After he finished that he raked out Toronado's stall. He was putting out fresh hey when Zorro returned. The sound of hooves woke first the baby then Diego, who immediately started singing and bouncing. He looked a little silly.

Gilberto tossed Felipe the reins and swung down. "Nothing," he said. "The ground was too hard. And you two?"

Felipe spread his hands and shook his head. "Nothing. Old gossip. That's all." He began to unsaddle the horse.

Diego sighed, poked a finger into the baby's wrappings, and began to change them for a handful from the dwindling rag-pile. "Perhaps..." he glanced at Gilberto diffidently.

"Maybe," he admitted, taking off the hat and mask. "You're a better tracker than I. But what will happen if you find them? Anyway, it's too late today. I need to bathe before the party...and you need to change. You smell a bit like...what do you smell like? It's worse than me and I spent the day on a horse!"

"Baby vomit, I assume. She had some...difficulty at first."

Felipe felt his eyes go wide. He'd done the cipher, and any way he subtracted it, three minus two was one.

Diego's sharp eyes had caught his anxiety. "It isn't so bad. Really. Don't drop her or let her roll off of anything, and keep her fed and clean." He motioned Felipe to take the chair, and when he was seated, passed the baby into his arms. It was warm. It seemed very heavy. She looked at him with round, vacant eyes and whined. "See? It's very simple. Actually, in a lot of ways, it's like looking after a new foal..."

With both hands holding the warm little body, Felipe couldn't very well argue the point.

A small, awkward hand reached up and grabbed Felipe's nose.

"See? You're getting along splendidly," Diego said over his shoulder.

He wondered if Diego kidding or just insane? Felipe didn't know anything about babies. All three of the woman who worked in the house were either too old or too young to have any. Most of the vaqueros weren't married-it was hard to afford a wife on what a vaquero got paid. The neighboring farmers, yes, and some of the laborers-and little kids, there were those, he'd played with them, ones old enough to walk-but a baby this age was always strapped to its mother or left in a cradle. No one had ever handed one to _him_.

She poked a finger _into_ his nose. Felipe took it out.

She drooled. She kicked her feet.

Experimentally, Felipe tickled them, which she seemed to find interesting.

That activity kept things going for about five minutes. Then she began to make a strange squeaky noise. Not a bad noise, probably.

He handed her the green river rock Diego kept as a paper weight. Her little hands couldn't grasp it, of course, and it slid on to her chest.

Panicked, Felipe tossed the rock onto the desk and shoved aside her clothes, looking for a bruise. Was that a red mark? No, it was just a smudge of dirt. It went away when he brushed it.

Diego returned. He was in a clean suit and newly shaven. "How is it going?"

Felipe shrugged. He considered confessing to the rock incident, but decided against it.

"I'm going to tell father you have a headache and I've sent you to lie down. Supper will be early, and when it's done, I'll excuse myself and come help you with her." He set a glass of milk on the desk. "She'll be hungry soon, if she isn't now. This is goat's milk They say it's better than cow's milk."

Felipe set the baby in his lap and turned so the desk drawer would keep her from rolling off. "Who says?" he signed. "How do you know things? How can _anybody_ know these things? This is crazy! You can't leave me with her for three or four hours!"

"I know it's a daunting responsibility, but if you apply your good sense, you'll do fine. Believe me, I'd rather be here with the two of you." And he patted Felipe's head, kissed the baby on the cheek, and went back into the house.

The trick of feeding the baby was, as he'd expected, much harder than Diego made it look. The goat's milk did seem to be a favorite, but every time he pulled out the little ball of cloth and masa to re-soak it in the milk, the baby complained and squirmed. With one hand on the food, he only had one hand to hold her still with...

When the food was gone there was nothing else to do. She fussed. Felipe supposed that it this point, Diego would sing to her. Not that that was much help.

He began to walk her. He'd seen people do that, of course, walk up and down with an unhappy baby. She squirmed, and the blanket half-fell off, but she wasn't complaining anymore so he supposed this was good enough.

And then she made a mess. It soaked her wrappings and the blanket and spilled across Felipe's hand-apparently Diego hadn't managed to engineer an effective diaper. Felipe mopped her up with most of the remaining ragpile. He folded the biggest piece of cloth that was left around a padding of paper and straw and tied it in place with string from the desk drawer. Then he put the baby back in the basket and cleaned up the desk and his hand and his...ick...shoe...

The baby, not happy about being left in the basket, began to whine again. Felipe picked her up and walked her. "Keep her fed and clean." And he had, and she was, so she was probably all right, but that didn't stop her from crying. Felipe walked back and forth.

Felipe didn't know what time it was when Diego finally reappeared. He was carrying an armload of clean flannels, a new glass of milk, and some fresh masa. He set the things down on the desk and looked sympathetically at Felipe. "I know this isn't easy," he said, and took the unhappy baby from his arms.

Felipe sagged with relief.

Diego hummed at the baby and dangled his pocket watch over her head. She ignored it. Diego jiggled her and made faces. One of them turned into a frown. "Is that my Archimedes sticking out of her diaper? You couldn't find anything else?"

Possibly. He hadn't noticed. He'd just grabbed things the last time he'd changed her.

Diego glanced at him oddly, but the baby was still fussing and he turned back to her. "Oh, _such_ a dilemma, little one," he said in a strange, high voice. "What are we to do with you?"

"Zorro?" Felipe asked hopefully. "Please!"

"Where would he take her?" Diego asked. "Anyway, at the moment he's been pinned down by Don Antonio's _other_ daughter. I fouled her plans as much as I could, but since I had an excuse to retire early..." he switched from jiggling to swaying back and forth. Strangely, the baby got quieter. "I'll look after her until the party ends, then Gilberto for a while. And then your turn, again, while he gets some sleep. Hopefully, tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow? No! We can't. I can't. You can't."

"Felipe? I don't-we can't what?"

"We can't take care of this baby! It's not working. You're too sick. I don't know how. This is women's work and that baby is still crying. We can't do it."

Diego stopped swaying. The baby made an ugly squawking noise to protest, and he shifted her to his shoulder. "I see," he said. His eyes went hard, and for a moment Felipe thought he might be going to yell, but he didn't. He only said, "I disagree, but my father never made me to adopt his opinions, so I won't force the point. You don't have to be involved in this project. You're free to go."

Felipe's mouth dropped open. He reached out to ask...something, anything, but Diego turned to the desk and set the baby down to change her. "You are finished here. You're free to go," he repeated.

Disobeying when Diego was this angry was unthinkable. Leaving, though, filled him with shame and frustration. He hadn't meant...this. He wasn't sure what he had meant, but just leaving Diego to it hadn't been it.

He backed away and crept up into the house. All the lights were on up here. He could hear music. He wasn't sure where to go. Not Diego's room, not without him. Not his own room-that barely felt like his anymore. It was just a place to keep spare clothing. And it would seem like he was sulking.

Uncertain, he crept down the hall to the wide doors that led to the rear courtyard. Don Sebastian was playing the guitar and Gilberto and Don Luis were doing a folk dance with the Pascal girls. Gilberto looked miserable, but Felipe was in no mood to chuckle. Maybe he _was _sulking.

The dance was interesting and the music was pretty, but trying to listen to pay attention to both made his head he stepped back into the house and walked along the hall. The narrow windows were open. The music floated in prettily. The roses smelled sweet. Felipe felt...really bad. About everything.

And then he passed behind a window that looked out on the table where Don Alejandro, Don Carlos, Don Antonio, and Don Antonio's son, Don Emilio, were sitting. Don Carlos was saying, "-sorry about being late, but it was the strangest thing. I was called to the mission. Apparently some Russians were robbed on the Kings Road where it crosses my land."

"Some what?" Don Alejandro sounded as shocked as Felipe felt.

"Russians. They're down to trade for grain, apparently."

"And the government is allowing it?" Don Alejandro asked.

"Well, our alcalde is looking for an angle, of course. What the governor thinks, I have no idea. They just wanted to ask me questions about my people...my place is now full of Indian neophytes searching for a child that got taken during the robbery. By accident, apparently, but still...Russian neophytes, too, or whatever they call them. It's the strangest thing."

Felipe turned on his heel and ran back around to the door. There he froze. He couldn't just run out and interrupt things. He stepped into the light and waited to catch Gilberto's eye. Somehow, somehow he managed to wait until the song was ended, and Gilberto signed an apology to his father and hurried over. "Diego?" he asked.

Felipe shook his head vigorously and pulled him into the house and around the corner.

"Felipe, what-"

"They're at the mission!" he signed.

"Who is at church?" Gilberto asked, signing: "Not _Diego_?"

Idiot. "Them!" He didn't have a sign for Russians. What did he know about Russians? "The bearded people are at the mission!"

"Not that I'm not grateful for the interruption, but what are you talking about? Hairy people? For goodness sake slow down!"

Felipe tried again.

"The hairy people-beards! The Russians are at church-the big church. Oh." Gilberto closed his eyes. "They're at the mission." His eyes popped open. "San Gabriel or San Juan?"

"_Our_ mission." San Gabriel.

"You are fantastic!" Gilberto hugged him briefly, spun, and ran for the fireplace.

If anything, the praise had made him feel worse. But if Gilberto was about to take the baby to San Gabriel, Diego would come up to bed. And he wouldn't leave Diego alone at night. Even if Diego were angry at him. He took a candle from the hall and went to the bedroom to wait.

He laid out the bedroll and took off his shoes and sat down to wait. He didn't have to wait long.

Diego slipped in, patted Felipe once on the head, and sank heavily into the desk chair. "That was well done," he said softly. "How did you find out?"

"I heard Don Carlos tell your father. The bandits attacked the strangers on his land."

Diego closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Don Carlos?" He groaned. "I know where they had to be hiding, then. That little blind canyon we always had to search during the round-up...They're gone now, of course. Even if I could chase after them myself."

Felipe went to him and tapped his knee for attention. "I'm sorry about the papers," he said.

"I'm not angry about the papers."

Oh. "I'm sorry for being lazy," he tried again.

"You're hardly lazy-Felipe, I'm not angry with you. It wasn't your fault. I...I forget sometimes...how very young you are. The little boy I knew is gone and you've been so patient and careful with me...I forget that you're still not grown."

"I don't understand."

"I asked far too much of you. Of course you wouldn't understand..."

"_Yes_," Felipe nodded. "I don't understand. What is it I don't understand?"

Diego sighed and shook his head sadly.

"Please. Try. I'll listen."

Diego rubbed his eyes. "It wasn't her fault that she made a terrible mess and cried and was ungrateful. She couldn't be otherwise..." Diego looked past him, seeing something very far away. "She was helpless. Completely. And she had no one but us; no one to care for her or provide for her or protect her or speak for her. She was alone in the world without a single resource and she certainly could not care for herself. She was placed in our hands and...you resented it. You declared it women's work and beneath you."

Numbly, Felipe signed, "She was in my hands." Cold. He felt cold, and the blood roared in his head. This baby had been in his hands. She had been no different than Felipe had been when Diego first found him. Helpless and alone, unable even to ask-

And instead of seeing that this was a chance to pass on the mercy he'd been shown, he'd been angry. He said he couldn't do it, that he didn't know how, as though he somehow didn't know how to be _kind_...

How could Diego even bear to look at him? To know that after all these years, after the best example under heaven, Felipe had learned _nothing_?

Stumbling, Felipe got to his feet.

"Felipe-don't!"

Diego reached for him, but Felipe staggered backward. The shame was unbearable.

He had wasted this opportunity. And he couldn't get it back now. The baby was gone. He couldn't try it again. He had failed this test.

He turned and ran. In the hall he remembered he'd left his sandals. Never mind. He started for the library, but there were voices ahead so he ducked out the back and around toward the barn. He used to play in the hayloft before the boys came back and they spent all the time they could in the cave. He would hide in the hay and no one would know he would cry himself sick. No one would know-

Of course Diego would still know how badly Felipe had disappointed him. And it had to be a terrible disappointment-Diego had _though_t he could do it. Diego had believed that Felipe was old enough to understand and strong enough to manage.

But Felipe hadn't managed one baby for even half a day. _One _baby. She made a lot less mess than a horse, after all. And if she made an ugly noise, well it wasn't like she was _hurting_ anyone or anything. It was just a noise. And he had given up and walked away, and she and Diego had had no one else.

He cried until his throat knotted up so badly he could hardly breathe. It didn't make anything better, though. When he lay in the prickly hay, drained and miserable with his face itchy from drying tears, he still had the same problem.

This wasn't something you could fix by getting your nerve up and confessing and apologizing and taking the punishment or whatever. Diego had _said_ he wasn't angry. He was just sad that Felipe was not as mature and strong as he'd thought.

_That _almost had the tears start again, but his throat hurt too much. He was...what? Going to have to live with Diego's disappointment? Try to do better next time? Wait years and years until he actually _had_ enough compassion and sense to make Diego proud?

Diego sure wasn't proud of him now...

He wiped his face on his sleeve and crept to the window. The moon was getting high. Gilberto might be back from San Gabriel by now. It was only half a dozen miles.

He climbed down and crept through the darkened house. The guests had gone and there was no light under the door of Don Alejandro's room, though he thought he could still hear Maria and Rosa in the kitchen singing a little as they cleaned up. He'd go down to the cave and look after Toronado. He could do that much at least.

There was a fairly bright light in the cave, not just a lantern set to low. He turned the corner expecting to fine Gilberto already changing out of Zorro's clothing, but the stall was empty and Diego was sitting behind the desk.

Felipe froze.

Diego stood up very slowly, one hand resting on the desk as though he was afraid he'd fall. "I couldn't search for you. I'm sorry. And I didn't know where you go, except for here. Felipe..."

Felipe ran to him. He caught Diego around the waist and squeezed hard. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. _

"I assumed too much. It wasn't your fault. I forgot I was supposed to be teaching you. Felipe, don't think-You don't have to get everything right."

And oh, that was funny, because _Diego_ got everything right.

As though he'd pulled the thought from his mind, Diego inched him back and tilted Felipe's head up so he could look into his eyes. "Not this time. I've handled this so badly. All of it. And you are so important to me. You always have been."

He hugged Diego again and nudged him back down into the chair. He didn't know what to say, and his hands seemed awkward. He didn't know where to put them so he rubbed his neck.

Diego waited.

"I didn't think," he said at last. "I'm sorry. You were not wrong; I should have understood. I'm sorry."

"Felipe, you-"

"Let me _say_ it. I'm sorry. I wasn't grown enough to...be kind. But I am grown enough to regret it." Ah, no, there were the tears again. "I understand _now,_ and I'm sorry. You were only a little older than I am when..."

"Oh, Felipe, I was at least four years older."

Felipe had a sad feeling that four years would never be enough. But he wasn't going to argue it any more. He'd taken a good look at Diego, and he didn't look well. In the yellow lamplight it was impossible to tell if he was merely pale or starting to go grey, but his hand, when Felipe reached down and took it, was too cool.

"I'm all right. I promise." He turned his hand over and offered his wrist. The little flutter wasn't particularly fast but it was very faint.

"Will you come to bed?" Felipe asked.

Diego's eyes shifted to the empty stall. "I can't. The mission isn't that far. He should be home by now."

"I could look for him?"

"No, not tonight. Bad enough you've been out with him when it was just lancers we had to worry about. The Russians are a complete unknown."

"He'll be all right. He's smart."

"Yes, he is." Diego closed his eyes. It was clear he wasn't going anywhere. Felipe fetched a small crate that held packets of sulfur and slid it under Diego's feet. He pulled over the tall stool from the worktable and settled in to wait. He hoped Diego might nap a little, but knew he wouldn't.

It seemed like a very long time later that Diego's hand tightened hard around his. Felipe looked up. Diego nodded. "He's here."

Felipe took up the lamp and went over to meet them. The hoof beats coming up the tunnel were slow and weary. Toronado was covered in lather and Gilberto was strangely stiff as he dismounted.

"It's done," he said. He stripped off his hat and mask but didn't reach automatically to fluff up his hair.

Diego stood slowly. "What happened?"

"Half a dozen soldiers must have been at the mission. They shot at us when they recognized Toronado."

"The baby-"

"She's fine. I turned and ran, of course, at once." He sighed. "I took her to town and left her with little Victoria. _Don't_ look at me like that. She's already known to support Zorro and she's a troublemaker on her own. Besides, where do you board someone away from home but a tavern?" He took a deep breath. "Then I went back to San Gabriel."

Felipe hung up the saddle and reached for the curry comb. Toronado was all but quivering and Gilberto didn't look much better.

"I left him in the orchard and went over the wall and found the Russians myself. Ramone," his voice shaped that name bitterly, "had told them the outlaw Zorro had taken the baby and wanted a huge ransom."

He sank onto the pile of sacks of oats and began to tug off his boots. "They were nearly beside themselves. And very nearly shot me. But. By the time Ramone realized I was even there I had already won the leader over." He laughed bitterly. "He had to stand there and watch me talk to Ribikov in Russian with no idea what we were saying..."

Shocked, Felipe peered over Toronado's back. Gilberto spoke Russian?

Diego saw the look. "Well, I was studying English in Madrid, so he decided to be different and study Russian."

Gilberto snorted. "You were already better than me at French and Latin. What else could I do?"

"What you must do _now_ is study English as quickly as possible and pretend you speak Russian very badly-if at all. It's a clue Ramone doesn't need."

"Ah. Damn. You're right." He sighed. "Father knows, but I can't imagine it coming up..." he closed his eyes. "She's with her parents now. Natasha. Her father is a... 'procurement officer' or some kind of quartermaster and her mother is a third generation Alaskan colonial. Their first child..." he trailed off.

Diego lifted the lantern from the table and held it up. "You've started dripping blood on the oats."

"It's not a musket ball, I think. But one hit the rock wall next to me and..." he shrugged awkwardly. "I think there's a piece of rock still in my leg. Natasha's fine. Nothing hit her."

"Can you move onto the table? Felipe, light the other lamps."

A little horrified, Felipe lit the other two lamps and then fetched the slim leather case that held the emergency kit Diego had assembled: a tiny sharp knife, a couple of thin metal prods, a set of needles and strong cotton thread, and some delicate tweezers. Diego pointed to the instruments. "Put those in a bowl and pour that vinegar on them. And then go up to the kitchen and build up the fire enough to heat a poker." To cauterize it. Because a deep cut would infect otherwise.

He soaked the tools in the bowl and then-hesitated. Gilberto was sitting on the table, leaning sideways so his outer thigh was in the light. The pale skin was marked with three cuts; two long and shallow and one tiny and deep. That was the one that was trickling a thin stream of blood. Diego prodded the area around the deep cut. Gilberto howled, but didn't pull away.

"Yes, there's something in there all right," Diego said. "Felipe, go on."

Tearing his eyes away, Felipe went.

He tried to hurry. He didn't dare rush too fast: that poker needed to be _hot_. He'd seen bad cuts cauterized before. It was like branding calves...but worse. You couldn't just grit your teeth and not think about it. Not when you _knew_ someone.

Not when you knew it didn't always work and the wound might fester anyway.

He walked fast, keeping the glowing tip away from his body. It was still reddish when he handed it to Diego. Diego didn't hesitate. He took the poker and set the tip to the wound in a single motion.

Gilberto didn't scream, he hissed. Felipe looked away. He didn't look back until he heard Diego toss the iron rod onto the stone floor.

He looked back. Gilberto was lying mostly on the table. There wasn't very _much _blood. He could see the rock chip, lying beside the bowl of little tools. It was half the size of a fingernail. Felipe bit his lip.

Diego picked up a clean towel left over from the babyminding and began to wipe off his hands...Gilberto's leg...the table...

"Not_ so_ bad," Diego said softly.

"Speak for yourself," Gilberto said tightly. "Are you going to stitch it?"

"No. The muscle wasn't deeply cut...but it is so narrow I'm worried about infection if I close it up too tightly." He sighed and leaned against the table. "We need to keep you in bed for a few days. Give that some time to heal. Because God knows I'm no surgeon...We'll have to claim you're ill."

"Right now, that sounds wonderful...But Father will worry."

"If that doesn't heal properly he'll have something to worry about. Felipe help me get him up. It would be nice if we were all in bed by dawn."

_~End of part 3:_ Rebyenka _(the girl baby)_

	6. Epilogue: June 13, 1813

**Epilogue: June 13, 1813**

Although they made it to bed a good two hours before sunrise, it was a long time before Diego had gone to sleep. He'd been unable to get comfortable. He'd needed the window open and then another blanket because it was cold. He'd fretted about Ramone-what kind of man ordered his men to fire on approaching riders when they were searching for a missing baby? Twice he had sent Felipe to check on Gilberto...who was asleep both times.

Felipe had wanted to shake him. Diego needed rest, and he must, _must _know that. But he was too nervous to settle, and Felipe couldn't actually blame him. He'd dug a hunk of rock out of his brother's flesh. He'd had Gilberto's blood all over his hands. There were still bits of brown in the creases around his fingernails. Because Gilberto had been shot at because he was Zorro and that was all Diego's idea.

And maybe Felipe wasn't even in a hurry for Diego to go to sleep, because when he did Felipe would have to crawl into his bedroll, wouldn't he? And he'd close his eyes and hear Natasha crying or see the blood dripped all over the worktable or remember Gilberto's hiss as Diego tried to burn the infection out of the wound.

He sat on the bed and held Diego's hand. He couldn't fuss and worry forever; even as upset as he was, he was still exhausted and ill and it wasn't too much longer before he faded into sleep and Felipe shifted to the chair by the open window.

He listened to the birds as the sun came up. They had saved the baby. And Felipe had helped, although certainly not in a way that did him any credit. But never mind. She was safe. And Gilberto _wasn't_ badly hurt. And Diego-as exhausted and upset as he'd been, he hadn't fainted or gotten sick. That was a good sign, surely. He might be getting stronger.

When the sun was fully up Felipe borrowed a little water from the basin to wash his face. And then he went to the dining room where Don Alejandro was sitting down alone to breakfast. He took a deep breath and stepped out where he could be seen.

"Felipe? What's wrong?" From the way Don Alejandro blanched Felipe must look terrible. "Diego?"

Felipe shook his head vigorously. "Not sick," he signed quickly. "Just...a bad night. Not sick, but restless." Felipe swallowed. "Unhappy. Uncomfortable. Nervous." And this was the truth, wasn't it? "We finally got him settled. Gilberto has gone to bed. He's exhausted. It's very hard for him..." The truth and the lie ran together. Felipe remembered Gilberto limping through the house. "It was bad," he said, and folded his hands.

"Ah. I'd wondered. Do I need to call the doctor?"

Felipe shook his head. "He just suggests the sleeping medicine. Diego won't take it."

Don Alejandro nodded gravely. "We'll let them sleep then. You haven't slept either."

No, he hadn't. He supposed he was starting to want to.

"Go to bed, Felipe. Come get me when Diego wakes. I'll stay home today."

Felipe nodded and returned to Diego's room.

~End

_Saving the Fox IV _is coming. It is currently 93 pages and counting, and I won't start posting until it is all finished, so it may be a few weeks.

Also-if there are any eps from season 1 anyone really, really, really wants to see here, well I'll give any advice I get very serious consideration.

End file.

Saving the Fox III: Scachki, Fokuchik, i Rebyenka by Therrae