Messages and Signals

Bernardo arrived in town early to wait for the stage, but he wasn’t surprised to find that it was late.  He had strolled around the plaza for an hour or so, watching various merchants open their shops.  A man with intricately tooled leather saddles and other fine leather goods had placed some of his wares outside on display.  Just down the street, someone else was selling pottery from Jalisco, as well as a few carefully crafted sabers.

Shell jewelry and lacquered plates painted with intricate designs sat neatly arranged on a sidewalk display in front of a new store that sold dry goods, including Spanish lace, brightly dyed silks and tea that came directly from China.  What did surprise Bernardo, when the stage finally arrived at the inn, was that Sergeant Garcia was out front to meet it, rather than sitting inside.

The mail was supposed to go straight from the coach to the cuartel—at least in theory.  But in practice, its trajectory often made an arc through the tavern, especially if Garcia had drawn the mail duty that day.  Bernardo had been counting on this brief interval when the mail bags were left relatively unguarded to slip into the tavern, open one of them and insert the sealed letter he now carried inside his jacket.  But the driver did not even have to go looking for the sergeant this time.  And the sergeant, once he had shouldered the leather bags that the driver handed him, just turned to lumber off toward the cuartel.

He paused briefly in a shady spot under a big tree where a woman had set several big clay pots of beans and baskets of fresh tortillas to sell to passers by.  And he stopped by the well in the center of the plaza to inspect the spot where the sole of his boot was starting to wear a little too thin.  But by then, he was more than halfway to the cuartel, and with no other obstacles in the way.  Bernardo knew he had to act quickly but he didn’t have the slightest idea what he would do, until he saw Corporal Reyes coming out through the gates.

Judging by the corporal’s unusually purposeful stride, he had been sent to find Garcia, who was no doubt expected to be sitting in the tavern.  In fact, Reyes was apparently so sure that this was where the sergeant would be that he didn’t even notice the bigger man who, thanks to his detour, was now headed toward the corporal at a rather oblique angle.  Bernardo tried not to look as if he were running as he hurried around to come at Reyes a little from the side.  He would probably only get one chance at this, he knew, since he would never be able to stop the sergeant by himself.  The timing had to be impeccable.

And he was rather pleased with the way it turned out, even though he knew he was going to have a few bruises.  Once the impact of the collision had sent the corporal stumbling into the sergeant, the mail bags had landed almost directly on top of Bernardo.  Unfortunately, Garcia himself had landed even more squarely on top of him, so he wasn’t able to recover fast enough to undo the strap on either bag until it was almost too late.  If the corporal’s boots hadn’t been easily within reach, he wouldn’t have been able to trip poor Reyes a second time, just in time for Garcia to stumble over him again.  Even then, it was all Bernardo could do to get one of the bags open.

"Watch where you are going, Corporal," said Garcia as he finally got to his feet and began brushing off his uniform.

"I’m sorry, Sergeant," Reyes replied.  "I just ran into Bernardo, here."

"Oh, sí, little one."  Garcia flashed him his usual coy smile and helped him to his feet.  "Oh, I hope you are all right."  Looking flustered, Bernardo began at once to help the sergeant brush the dust off his uniform.  Then he reached for the nearest mail bag, grabbed it carefully by the bottom and handed it to Garcia, inadvertently dumping its contents onto the ground.  Garcia rolled his eyes and shrugged as he took the bag from Bernardo.  Then he smiled again, patiently, and said, "That’s all right, little one.  We can manage from here."  Then he and Reyes bent down to gather up the envelopes.

Bernardo watched them fretfully for a moment before he squatted down to help, reaching inside his jacket to drop his own envelope on the ground nearby.  They would still have missed it, too, along with a couple of other letters, if he hadn’t brought it to Reyes’ attention.  But finally he heaved a small sigh of relief as he watched it disappear inside the mail bag with the rest.  Then, as the soldiers finally headed for the cuartel, he turned and went back toward the inn, where he had left his horse, trying to figure out how he would relate all this to Diego, wishing that at least someone had been there to witness this performance.  He hadn’t noticed the two men who had emerged from the cuartel just after Reyes had come out.  They walked in a leisurely fashion now toward the inn, not far behind him, talking.

"Who is that man?" said Marigál to the stagecoach driver as Bernardo swung up on his horse and headed out of town.

"That one?"  The driver frowned and squinted.  "Why, I believe he’s the manservant of young Diego de la Vega.  He comes into town on errands from time to time.  Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason, really.  He just looked vaguely familiar."  Marigál glanced meaningfully at Endicott, then nodded toward the door of the inn.

"Well, I’d say that was a pretty unusual way to post a letter, wouldn’t you?" said Endicott as he followed Marigál inside.  "Maybe we should go see if we can find out who it’s addressed to."

"I already know who it’s addressed to."  Marigál sat down at an unobtrusive table along the far wall as Endicott caught the eye of the bar maid.  "If that was indeed Urbino’s seal, it could only be addressed to one person."

"Silvio?"  Endicott sat down.

"Of course."  Marigál shrugged.

"Ah, muy buenas tardes, Señores," said Amalia, nodding respectfully at the older man, then turning to beam a shy smile at the handsome younger one.  "And how are you feeling today?"

"Oh, much better, much better—thanks to your care, Señorita," said Endicott with a boyish grin as he let his eyes wander down to her feet and back again.  The girl blushed.

"Oh, Señor Endicott— "

"Perhaps you could bring us something to eat," said Marigál, a faint smile frozen on his face as his eyes shifted from the girl to Endicott and back again.

She nodded—"Sí, Señor, of course"—and hurried off.  Endicott shrugged innocently as he glanced back at Marigál again, then down at his fingers, shaking his head, trying not to smile.

"We won’t be here that much longer," he said finally.  "What harm would it do?"

Marigál’s expression never changed.  Finally, Endicott sighed and ran a hand through his sandy brown hair to smooth back a stray wisp that had fallen onto his forehead.  "You know, I just—I don’t see how . . . I never would have made it as a priest, Padre."

"The devil tempts us all in different ways," Marigál replied thoughtfully in a tone that struck his associate as being a bit more intimate than usual.  "But each time we resist, our resistance grows stronger."

Endicott nodded, not wanting to argue, though that hadn’t been his experience.  Instead, he said, "Do you know if the alcalde has sent out his invitations yet?"

"I saw them on Capitan Acevedo’s desk," said Marigál.  "They should be ready to go out with that same bag of mail the sergeant just delivered to the cuartel," he added as he leaned back in his chair to make room for Amalia, who had returned to set plates of food before them.  She made a little fuss of arranging Endicott’s utensils as he studied the delicate stitching along the neckline of her bodice.

"And what about Urbino?"

Marigál poured a bit of wine into his glass and stared at it thoughtfully.  "We can get along without him," he said with a shrug.  "You can take his place."  After Amalia walked away, he added, "You can convince the elder de la Vega to deal with us.  Just tell him the truth.  Tell him we are in the same line of work.  You can at least keep him occupied long enough that we can get a confession out of the son."

"And what if Zorro has managed to get Don Guillermo past the soldiers?"

"That seems less likely all the time," Marigál shrugged.  "If he had shown up at the hacienda, Silvio would have notified us, since it seems he’s never left."

"And the witch?  What if she’s told them everything?"

"She can be easily discredited.  I can practically guarantee that Capitan Acevedo will think her insane, and if the de la Vegas try to shield her, so much the better.  Besides, she doesn’t know everything, or she wouldn’t still be at the hacienda."

"What makes you so sure she is?"

"She’s the only reason Silvio would still be there.  No doubt she intends to try to trick him into revealing her brother’s whereabouts.  God knows what she’s done with Urbino."

"Maybe we should let Silvio lure her away.  Then I could— "

Endicott broke off abruptly as Marigál simply fixed him with the same faint knowing smile as before.  "Do not underestimate her," he said.  "She is a very dangerous woman."  Endicott avoided the older man’s eyes.  Then he stifled a laugh.

"You think I wouldn’t be able to do it?  You think she would just look at me with those big blue eyes and I would—what?  Fall in love?  Please, Padre . . . ."

Marigál raised one eyebrow no more than a hair’s breadth, but a trace of amusement crept into his eyes.  He leaned forward and took a sip of his wine.  Then, still savoring it, he glanced up sideways at Endicott.  "You will have ample opportunity to test your resistance to her charms soon enough," he replied in a tone that said he understood everything that was on his associate’s entirely too transparent mind.  "But it is her soul that interests me.  She must be given a chance to confess, do you understand?"

Endicott nodded.  He knew what he was being told.  "What about Silvio?" he said.

"We will give the soldiers his description," Marigál replied.  "If he leaves the hacienda, they’ll detain him and bring him here.  Meanwhile, we will get ready for the alcalde’s celebration.  It will be interesting to see who shows up."

"It’ll be very interesting if el Zorro shows up and I’m out of practice," said Endicott idly.

Marigál sighed.  "Very well," he said.  "I will see if we cannot find you a sparing partner.  But try not to injure anybody.  We have gained the confidence of too many people for you to lose it by getting into an actual duel with anyone—or by trifling with the affections of a bar maid."

Endicott shrugged and smiled.  "Just trying to maintain my skills, Padre," he said.

"Just do what you have to do," said Marigál.  "And nothing more."

It was a seasonably warm afternoon several days later when Alejandro de la Vega found himself standing quietly in the doorway between the library and the sala, trying not to draw attention to himself as he listened to the extraordinary sound coming from the old piano.  This morning, he had heard it making some rather peculiar noises as Oreana had crawled practically all the way inside it, brandishing a wooden wedge and the strange tool, part hammer, part wrench, that she had found inside the piano bench.  But now the old instrument sounded much larger somehow, and the notes her fingers drew from it were as deep and delicate as light glistening off ocean waves.

If anyone had asked, he wouldn’t have had words to describe the soft persistent arpeggios that arched up gracefully under a series of notes too guileless in their beauty to be called a melody.  Nor would he have been able to describe the measured adagio of the time signature, or the massive tones that heaved like a sigh through the bass line, or the haunting way that the chord progressions melted in and out of C sharp minor.  Like a siren’s song, this piece was at once compelling and oddly disturbing.  Quite simply, he had never heard anything like it before.

He wasn’t sure his son had either.  Diego stood behind her and to her left watching her fingers move across the keyboard.  She herself seemed oblivious to him and everything else except the music.  But a few chamber maids had also stopped in their tracks and, for a moment, it almost seemed to Alejandro as if even Bernardo were listening.  The patrón could only shake his head and wonder at this ludicrous twist of fate.

The past few days, since Silvio had left, he had seen her often with Diego, the two of them discussing books, playing music, laughing like fools over some obscure lines of poetry.  Naturally it would be the case that the one girl in all of California who apparently knew as much about literature and music as his son did, the one who had read the same books, the one who—and Alejandro swore he still scarcely believed it—even shared Diego’s delight in silly magic tricks—this girl, naturally, would already be promised to someone else.

Perhaps from Diego’s perspective, this made her more attractive, he thought wryly.  But what was a father supposed to do?  How could one not feel something?  As the arpeggios finally descended, one last time, into the deepest end of the scale, leaving only two soft echoes of the tonic chord, Alejandro thought they summed up everything he did feel on the subject, though, if anyone had asked, he would have had only the lump in his throat.  This wasn’t, after all, the sort of music that had lyrics.

Diego was the one who finally broke the silence.  "No," he said.  "I had heard the name of this composer.  But I had no idea that he was writing music such as this.  You were fortunate to have heard him play."

"He rarely leaves Vienna, from what I hear," said Oreana.  "People think he may be ill.  But I learned to play because of him."

"Does the piece have a name, my dear?"

"Oh, Father."  Diego smiled.  "I didn’t see you standing there."

Oreana looked up too.  "It has only a number," she said.  "Sonata number fourteen."

Alejandro shrugged.  He doubted that a more poetic name would do it justice.  "It’s not the sort of music one can dance to," he observed.  As she shook her head, he added, "But perhaps those guests at the dance we’ve been invited to next week would like to hear it just the same."

"Dance?"  Diego’s smile vanished.

"Yes.  The alcalde has invited us to his house for a dance this coming Monday."

"An auspicious time," said Oreana.  "The moon will be full.  Good for traveling at night."

Diego nodded thoughtfully, though he looked a bit flustered.  "What’s the occasion?  Just the usual fiesta de la Virgin, I presume."

"Well, naturally it is that.  But according to this"—Alejandro held up the note in his hand—"it is also to honor of a friend of the alcalde, a gentleman from Monterey.  We and our guests are all invited.  It should be quite pleasant.  The alcalde has a very large house, quite suited for such big gatherings.  Perhaps Don Urbino will have returned by then.  This will be an excellent time for you to meet the other dons and the townspeople," he added with a nod to Oreana.

"Oh, I would not miss it for the world," she smiled.

Diego had moved away from the piano to stand next to his father.  "May I see that," he said casually.  As Alejandro handed him the note, he scanned it, then glanced up at Oreana again, without smiling.  She turned back to study the keyboard.  "When did this arrive?" he said.

"Well, it came a few days ago," his father shrugged.  "I just forgot to mention it.  I suppose the music reminded me," he chuckled.  Then he added, "Oh, but do not let me stop your playing."

Oreana nodded, then casually began to play a lilting piece that sounded like a minuet but with a gentle skipping rhythm in which her right hand seemed to stay just a half beat ahead of the left.  Diego shot a furtive glance at Bernardo, who instantly quit nodding his head in time and turned to rearrange some books that had been left lying on a nearby chest of drawers.  Alejandro smiled and waved his hand as though he were conducting.  "Well, I suppose one could dance to that," he said as he headed back toward the library door.

Oreana let her fingers come down heavily on the low notes that fell on the off beat as if to mock the warning look she got from Diego.  Then, when the theme shifted into a lighter smoother variation that seemed to flirt with a minor mode, she shook her head and rolled her eyes in feigned despair.  At last she ended with an innocent shrug as the first theme returned to flit like a butterfly across the keyboard, ending in a brief flourish.  He had to smile in spite of himself, and not just at her.

"Is that all?" said his father.  "If there is more, I should very much like to hear it."

Oreana shook her head.  "There is," she said, "but you wouldn’t, believe me.  Besides, I’m a little too far out of practice.  The third movement is really quite a challenge to play."

"Very well," said Alejandro with a sigh.  "Though I do not believe that anything you played could be the least bit unpleasant."  As he turned back to his desk to continue with his bookkeeping, Diego handed him back the alcalde’s note.  Then, when the old man had disappeared inside his study again, Diego wiped the smile from his own face and returned to stand beside the piano.

"Do not even consider it," he said quietly.

Feigning innocence, she answered him by letting her fingers run idly through an odd but delicate melody in A minor that sounded a bit like a waltz..  He didn’t really want to make her quit playing anything so beautiful, but as he continued to stand there watching her, she finally let the sparkling notes slow and fade.  "I couldn’t very well turn down the invitation right away, could I?"

"No," he shook his head.  "But you can assure me now that you will."

She didn’t answer.

"I am not going to— "  He broke off, then added softly, "even if I have to tie you up myself."

She played a series of low menacing chords and gave him a grim but impish stare.

"Will you stop that," he said, unable to keep a straight face.  "I knew I was going to regret it when I helped you find that tuning hammer.  Then he gave up trying not to laugh when she played the same notes in reverse, as if to take them back.  Bernardo, he noted, was also shaking with laughter, though his back was still turned to them.  Finally, Oreana’s giggle melted into a sigh.

"I just wish we knew where they intend to take you," she said.  "If Bernardo loses sight of you, even for a moment, that could be that.  Why, they could go anywhere—north, south, even across the mountains and into the desert.  Or to San Pedro and put you on a ship for China.  How could anyone track you then?  Would it not be better if I went along to help him?"

"We have covered this ground before," he said evenly.  "If Marigál sees us together, without Urbino, he may surmise everything that has happened."

"He may surmise that something is wrong if Urbino fails to show up at this dance," she said.  "But if I go, perhaps I can convince him that Urbino has just been delayed."

Diego rested his hands on the edge of the piano.  "You are unbelievably stubborn."

She straightened herself and looked directly into his eyes.  "I am simply determined that no harm should come to you.  If we could just locate the hostages— "

"There is no way to do that.  We have no leads and only a few days left now."

"There might be a way," she said, letting her gaze drift back to the keyboard.

"How?" Diego scrutinized her carefully.

"It is difficult to explain."

"Does it involve confronting Marigál directly?"

"No.  Well, perhaps, sort of.  But not exactly."

"Well then what, exactly, does it involve?" he said pointedly.

She turned to look up at him again, her eyes caressing his face.  But then she let her gaze drift back to the keyboard and shook her head.  "No, you are right.  It would be too dangerous."

He started to ask her again what she had in mind, but then he saw all too clearly where the argument would go.  If he seemed willing to entertain the possibility of letting her take this risk, whatever it involved, then why not let her go with Bernardo?  "Very well," he said, content that since he had made her swear not to take any risks without discussing them with him, this new one, at least, was now ruled out.  Then he put a hand gently on her shoulder and said, "Do not worry.  We have lived through many dangers before, Bernardo and I.  We will live through this one."

She covered his hand with her own, then leaned her cheek against it and shut her eyes.  He caught her fingers, being careful not to squeeze the one she had cut, though it, like the cut on his arm, was nearly healed by now.  And as he felt the ache welling up inside him again, he knew he was going to have to tell her.

He had tried from the start not to let this happen, and at every turn he had found new reasons to keep trying.  Even apart from her other eccentricities, he remembered all too clearly her telling Urbino that she had never intended to marry.  But over the past three days since Silvio’s departure, he had been free to spend as much time with her as he pleased, and the more time he spent, the more it pleased him.  His feelings had only gotten stronger, despite all he could do.  Even if nothing could come of them, at least now she ought to hear him say the words.  He closed his eyes and willed himself to speak.

"Oreana, there is something I have to— "

"Diego—please.  There is no need."

He looked away.  "Forgive me.  I should not have— "

"No, it is not that."  She winced, and a small shaky breath came out of her as she laced her fingers into his.  "It is just that . . . suppose I never see you again?"  As he ran his hand lightly under her chin to lift her face, he felt the warm tears on her cheek.

"That will not happen," he said, brushing them away.  "Now you have my word."

"The full moon is a time of great power," she said, sniffling and looking a little embarrassed.  "And this one is especially powerful since it rises at a very sacred time.  My people also have a May festival for la Señora.  It is called Beltane.  On Sunday, I will ask her to help us."

He smiled.  "You know, if you continue going to mass at the mission, sooner or later Padre Felipe will also start to wonder why you do not stay for communion."

"The mother of all living things does not dwell only in such buildings," she said.  "I’m sure I can find a place nearby to talk to her.  One can often find her in a grove of trees, or in some high place.  Perhaps a lake would be most fitting now, since this is a matter of deep feelings."

"There is a small lake near here.  We went there with my father, remember, the day right after you came.  I can take you there, if you like."

"I remember where it is," she said, taking his hand now reassuringly between both of hers as she added, "but—it might be best if I went alone.  For hundreds of years, our rites have been witnessed only by initiates.  I . . . would be breaking a very serious vow."

"Of course."  As she released his hand Diego tried to grin.  After the incident in his room when she had accused him of knowing more about magic than he cared to admit, the topic of her religion had just never come up again—there had been so many other things to talk about.  And he had started to tell himself that, really, when you got right down to it, their religious differences were probably pretty superficial anyway.

So what if she had a few superstitious tics, like wanting to bless the seal on a letter?  Many people felt the need to knock on wood or throw salt over their shoulders.  And so what if she was a bit too inclined to idolize the Virgin and had no taste for communion wine?  There might be ways around these things.  But it had just never occurred to him that she would feel she had to shut him out of anything she did.  Now it struck him what a fool he had been to think they could ever have a normal life together, even without Zorro.  Suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to forget he had ever met her.

"Well," he said, trying to sound casual, "now that we have arranged a way for you to practice your skills and, at the same time, amaze and edify my father and the servants, perhaps I should go see if I still know how to hold a sword."  Then shooting a meaningful glance at Bernardo, who clearly understood too much, Diego turned and, with his fretful sparring partner trailing after, left the sala.