Chapter Four
A sudden knock on the door startled Alejandro. "What is it, Teresa?" he asked the maid, closing the book he was reading.
"There is a man downstairs who wishes to speak with
you, señor."
Alejandro felt the same suffocating wave of fear run through his body. He brushed it off again and descended into the sala.
"What is it you wish, señor?"
The blacksmith stepped up to the old don and handed him the note written by Victor. "I have a message for you, Señor de la Vega."
The old man looked down at the piece of paper. By the time he finished reading the note, his face was whiter than the very sheet of paper in his shaking hand.
"I wish to see my son," he said in a breaking voice.
"I am afraid that is not possible, señor. I—"
"If I do not see him," Alejandro cut him off, "you will not get any money." His dark flaming eyes bore hard into the blacksmith’s – he would not tolerate any objections.
Luis ceded somewhat before the rigid determination in the old man’s face, but then a malevolent smile crossed his lips. "Very well, señor de la Vega, I will take you there. However, I must warn you," his voice became threatening, "that señor Fuentes will not like it, and this might not go well for you or your son."
A splitting headache welcomed his gradual return to consciousness. His hands were tied up behind the back of a chair he was seated on and had, apparently, gone numb, for he could hardly feel them. He winced in pain and exasperation – this was a very bad situation, and the worst thing about it was that he had no idea how to get out of it. The only thing he was certain of was that he, as Zorro, could not afford to remain tied up and helpless; he had to free himself of these ropes. But how exactly he was going to accomplish that, he did not know.
"Well now, you are finally awake," came a taunting voice from the depths of the room. "My servant seems to have done an excellent job."
"Yes, excellent," Diego thought bitterly, squinting at the tall young man who sprawled insolently in a chair, putting his feet up on the table.
"Do not tell me you do not recognize me, Diego," the man stood up leisurely and walked over to his black-clad prisoner. "You are breaking my heart."
Diego wrinkled his brow, thinking intently. "Victor?" he finally remembered. "Victor Fuentes?"
"Bravo!" Victor grinned. "I knew it would come to you."
"What is this, Victor?" Diego said testily, straining his muscles to get the blood circulating again in his hands. "Are your affairs so bad that you have decided to become a common thief?"
"Be careful, Diego," something elusive flashed in Victor’s eyes. "I would not try the patience of my mortal enemy if I were you."
"My mortal enemy?" Diego echoed, quite perplexed by this statement. "Since when?"
"Almost since the day you came to Spain."
"That long, eh?" Diego taunted, carefully twisting his wrists, trying to loosen the ropes. "Are you not tired by now?"
Fuentes ignored the question. "I was the star pupil of the Academy before you showed up. I was popular, I was admired – I was the best, understand? And then you show up, and I begin hearing about this new student who seems to be besting everyone in his class. Pretty soon all I heard was ‘Diego de la Vega this,’ ‘Diego that’. And what infuriated me the most was that I heard all that from the very people who sang praises to me."
"So you got upset because you were losing your followers and worshippers," Diego noted. "Was that the reason you made that scene in the ‘Paloma’?"
…Cantina ‘Paloma’ was Diego’s favorite. Its quiet and peaceful atmosphere that went in such contrast with the perpetual noise and turmoil of Madrid reminded him of the little tavern in the pueblo de Los Angeles, and he made it a point to come there every time he could get away from the studies. But that Friday he did not get to enjoy the usual peace and quiet of the cantina. As he was finishing his cup of hot coffee, inhaling delightfully its sweet aroma that seemed to fill the air completely, spreading its influence to the farthermost corners of the cantina, in stormed Victor Fuentes with a couple of his still faithful worshippers…
"Ah, so you remember that," Victor seemed obviously delighted. "I knew I would make an impression on you."
"If calling me names, slamming my table with your foot, and knocking the coffee cup out of my hands was your idea of making an impression," Diego retorted angrily, "then, sí, you have made an impression on me – that of an imbécil."
A sharp blow in the face was the answer to his remark. Diego winced, feeling a salty taste of blood in his mouth.
"I warned you, de la Vega," Victor hissed, bending over the young caballero. "I swore after that fight that I will kill you. No man humiliates me and lives unpunished."
"I did not humiliate you, Fuentes," Diego objected, feeling the broken lip with his tongue. "You were the one who wanted to duel in front of everyone in the University Court. You lost and—"
"Silence!" The Spaniard drew nearer, breathing hard straight into the captive’s face, forcing the latter to pull back involuntarily. "You have humiliated me, and I have sworn that day that I would not rest until I beat you. I spent all my money on the best instructors. And all the while I dreamt of how I would have you crawl on your knees, begging me to have mercy on you, and how I would smile like so" (a most loathsome smile distorted his lips) "and thrust my sword into your heart up to the very hilt."
Diego looked into the dark flaming eyes of the Spaniard and finally saw what eluded him a few moments ago – madness, utter madness flashed in them.
Chapter Five
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