The Rematch

The cries of a million kinds of sea birds rang out as persistently, and louder in Diego’s ears than the sound of the distant surf.  Gulls, swallows, terns, plovers, godwits and various other kinds of wading birds—the huge flocks floated up like living whirlwinds, then settled again amid the thick marsh grass.  Hawks and eagles circled high overhead hunting fieldmice.

Some time around midmorning their company had passed through a fairly large rancheria, the Indian village of las Chovas, situated at the mouth of one of the streams that fed into the bay.  Then they had gone past a point of land named for San Augustín.  Finally they had crossed the great marsh to the south, where another large ranceria lay between two more rivers that melted into the salty water.  Already they had forded so many small streams that Diego saw clearly how hard it would have been to try to transport prisoners from San Diego to Descanso by wagon, even though many of the streams had all but dried up by this time of year.

Earlier he had almost dared to let himself think it was Corporal Esquivel’s gratitude and influence alone that accounted for the horses they rode, or the boots on his feet, or the bandages they wore beneath their irons.  In fact, he had been mildly surprised that Esquivel was still in charge of this expedition at all.  Perhaps he had more influence than Endicott realized.

But now, as they began to angle away from the ocean, up into the sage and wildflower covered hills, Diego suspected that Endicott hadn’t wanted anyone else in command, for it might easily have been someone in whom the two privates had more confidence.  They were still just as wary as ever of Oreana, probably thinking that she herself had somehow charmed the rope from around her neck.  And in a way, she really had, he thought, smiling wryly to himself as he watched the corporal watching her.  The whole thing was a good illustration of how readily she might take to using the power she had over men—a power that, thanks to him, she herself was just beginning to discover.

As the day wore on, they moved even farther up into the hills, until small trees began to creep up over the sides of canyons and onto distant ridges.  Diego scanned them for the least bit of movement, but there was nothing.  Once or twice over the sharp chorus of birds, he thought he might have heard Tornado’s shrill resonant whinny, but even Oreana, with her perfect pitch, had not been certain.  The bright sunlight and the whipping wind grew more oppressive by the minute, until at last they came to a well sheltered little hollow where trees clustered around a spring.  The two privates seemed grateful, as well, as they watered their horses and began making camp.

Everything might possibly have gone just fine, Diego would tell himself later, if Oreana had only forgotten about his bandaged wrists for a while—though, of course, he knew all too well that, lacking this excuse, Endicott would probably have found another.

The corporal had helped his men gather wood and kindling for a fire.  Then, as they began to cook the fish they had caught earlier that morning, he came to check on his prisoners, shyly squatting down in front of the girl.  Now that she had fixed up her hair a bit and washed her face, it was easier to see that her cheeks were starting to burn.  But it was just as easy to see that the corporal didn’t need much of an excuse to inquire about her health.  She, of course, asked about the rock that had sliced his scalp the previous afternoon, seeing that he had already discarded the bandage.  He, naturally, dismissed the wound itself as nothing but a scratch.

"But what of your wrists, Señorita?"

She shrugged, then nodded thoughtfully, examining, not her own wrist but Diego’s.  "Well," she said, "these bandages could be changed, if you have the gauze to spare."  He nodded, then gave her the ring of keys from his belt so she could unlock the shackles.

"Um—that may not be such a good idea, Corporal."

Esquivel rolled his eyes—he was getting a little tired of having to explain this.  Without getting to his feet, he turned around, only to find the barrel of Endicott’s pistol not quite touching the tip of his nose.  At first he only squinted up, mildly puzzled.  Then he looked past Endicott to where Muñoz and Zavala stood watching.  Finally, in a surprisingly calm tone, he said, "Men, you will now arrest Señor Endicott."  But he didn’t seem too surprised when, exchanging glances, they both stood their ground.  "That is an order," he added.

Moving the pistol no more than the width of an eyebrow, Endicott motioned with an apologetic shrug for the corporal to get to his feet.  "Sorry," he said.  "But you know, you might just thank me for this later."

For an instant, as Esquivel rose, the whole world seemed to be otherwise frozen in place.  Then several things happened all at once.  While Esquivel told Muñoz and Zavala he would presently see them before a firing squad, Diego felt the girl’s fingers fumbling nervously to unlock his shackles.  As he moved to steady her hands, Esquivel batted Endicott’s pistol aside and went after him—the shot kicking up a puff of dirt right between Oreana’s knees, making her flinch.  The keys hovered for an instant in midair, then disappeared.  But before Diego could find them again, Zavala and Muñoz jumped the corporal, who was actually putting up a pretty good fight, Diego thought, seeing the blood that trickled from the edge of Endicott’s grin.

Endicott wiped it away with the back of his fist, then came around hard, his punch leaving the corporal doubled over between the two privates.  Then, mildly annoyed, he shook his hand and turned to grab Oreana, who had gotten to her feet and started to make a run for the horses.  Casually, he grabbed her irons, wrapping his arm around her throat as he knotted his fingers in her hair, just in time to make Esquivel quit struggling—and to make Diego drop the keys.

"Now, gentlemen, let’s be civilized," he said, tightening his grip on her hair as she struggled to keep from crying out.  "There’s enough here to go around.  It’s just like nopales," he added, talking ostensibly to Muñoz and Zavala, but never taking his eyes off Diego.  "Once you know how to get past those spines, the fruit is sweet.  Isn’t that right, Señor de la Vega?"

Diego reflected that if willpower alone could work magic, Endicott would die right where he stood.  But he hardly thought it would take a miracle for him and the corporal together to take these three men—if he could only distract Endicott long enough to make him relax his grip on the girl, just for an instant.  But as he trained every ounce of his attention on his opponent, looking for any opening, any lapse of concentration, he saw something that, to call it a distraction would have been an understatement worthy of satire.

At first he thought it must be just a trick of the harsh sunlight, like the afterimage you saw when your eyes drifted from a bright lamp or a windowpane.  But it didn’t seem to move when he shifted his gaze.  Instead it seemed to stay right with Endicott, like a dark transparent shadow or a ripple of heat that curled the air around a flame.

Nor did it move only when Endicott did.  As Diego continued to watch it, it seemed to rise up and hover over them as if it were alive.  For an instant, he could almost see it grinning out at him through Endicott’s eyes.  Then in a heartbeat it vanished, leaving Diego to think he must have been seeing things as Endicott shifted his attention to the corporal.

"Now, he’s not going to like this at all," he told Muñoz and Zavala.  "But I don’t think he’s quite as far gone as de la Vega there.  We can still break her hold on him, if we’re careful.  If not, then it’ll be up to the Padre but— "

"What do we have to do?" said Zavala.

"Well, she’s going to put up a fight.  Your corporal mustn’t see her or hear anything she says."

"This is insane," said Esquivel, wrenching against Muñoz’ grip.  "She’s not a witch; can’t you see she’s just a healer.  I’m not under any kind of spell, for God’s sake."

Endicott shook his head sadly.  "That’s what they all say," he said.  "Better tie him tight.  And stay with him, both of you.  Do not, under any circumstances, leave him alone."

Diego watched the two privates drag Esquivel away, still struggling between them, clearly a good man in a fight.  Brave, too.  He probably hadn’t expected much help.  As they disappeared over the nearest rise, Diego guessed they wouldn’t get completely out of earshot.  Oh, they would plug the corporal’s ears, no doubt, but they themselves would want to hear what was going on.  He would have to be very careful if the plan that had just started to form itself in his mind was going to have any chance of success.

Folding his arms casually across his chest, he cupped his chin and studied Endicott, trying to sound as amused as he could.  "Pretty clever," he said.  "But–uh, how will you explain our deaths?"

Endicott shrugged.  "To whom?"

"Well, to Padre Eusepio, I suppose.  If to no one else."

Endicott wrapped his arm a bit more carefully under Oreana’s chin, twisting her head, as if to emphasize how easily he could snap her neck.  Then slowly, carefully, without taking his eyes off Diego for an instant, he shifted his grip on her so that he was holding both her chains and her hair in his right hand, his forearm wrapped under her chin.  Then leaning forward to reach around her, he drew his sword.  "Well, if you behave yourself," he said, "then I won’t have to explain your death to anyone, now, will I."

"What makes you so sure Marigál doesn’t want us both alive?"

"She’s served her purpose.  I think we can safely say she’s made a convert out of you."

"But he might never get me to admit it unless he agrees to let her go."

Endicott only laughed.  "Are you joking?" he said.  Then he shook his head.  "You don’t have any idea, do you.  You’ve never heard anyone begging to die."  Nodding and motioning with the sword, he ordered Diego back a step.  "Pick up those keys," he said, "then chain yourself to that tree over there.  Oh—be very careful, Señor de la Vega, he added as Diego sank to his haunches.  Don’t assume I wouldn’t kill you."

Diego nodded.  But he knew he didn’t dare let himself be chained to another tree or the girl would die.  She had warned him not to try any more experiments with sorcery, and she had told him that no magic spell would work predictably on Endicott anyway.  She had even told him not to use the one kind of magic that had never failed him before.  But at this point, he couldn’t see that he had much choice.

"Why must you kill her?" he asked as he casually unlocked the cuff on his left wrist.  "Zavala and Muñoz will be pretty disappointed."

"You will, too, no doubt."

"Well . . . ."

"Oh, come on, don’t try to play the innocent with me," said Endicott dryly.  "You know what it’s like to lie with a witch."  He stifled a smirk.  "You probably think she loves you, don’t you.  Of course you do.  That’s how they are, you know; they’ll let you think you’re the only one.  But they don’t love anyone.  Not really.  Good God, man, think!  It’s a fertility cult.  They’re whores—all of them.  They only love to fornicate."

Diego struggled to lift no more than one eyebrow.  "Don’t you?"

Endicott’s smile broadened.  "There are very few things in this world that I take more delight in," he replied.

"Then my question remains.  Why kill her?"

"Because killing is one of them," he giggled.

Diego shot Oreana a quick glance.  She was terrified, of course, but he wasn’t surprised to find her watching his every move.  "You also take some delight in dueling, do you not?" he said.

"Maybe more," Endicott nodded.  "It does take more skill."

"Still, you have been beaten."

His smile faded.  "Only once."

"I know," said Diego, watching the girl’s eyes widen; "I was there."

"Diego, please," she whimpered, "do not do this; remember what I—"

Wrenching her throat a little harder, Endicott silenced her.  "What do you mean, you were there?" he said.

"That wound in your side," Diego said with a shrug.  "I was the one who left it there.  You’re a little weak on the right flank, you know."

Endicott studied him, eyes narrowing.  Then he burst out laughing.  "Are you trying to tell me that you, of all people—you?  Are Zorro?"

"How else would I know about the cut?"

"Well, it wasn’t exactly a secret," said Endicott, still chuckling.  "The doctor knew, and the innkeeper.  Capitan Acevedo.  And that little pueblo of yours is a regular beehive of gossip.  You could easily have heard about it from your fat friend Garcia."

Diego smiled quietly, holding Endicott’s gaze.  "But Sergeant Garcia wouldn’t have known about the other one, now, would he."

"What other one?"

Carefully, Diego reached up to knot his fingers in the shoulder seam of his shirt and gave it a quick tug.  The cloth peeled away.  "This one," he said.

Endicott’s eyes widened.  Then he moved closer, squinting hard.  "That’s barely a scratch," he said, casually using Oreana’s chains to strangle her into silence as she twisted and tried to scream.  After a few seconds, she began to turn a little blue.

"Look closer."  Diego held out the arm, but Endicott raised his sword just a bit when he saw that Diego had palmed the near end of his own chains and was now dangling the loose cuff.

"I think I’ll keep my distance," he smiled.  Then his eyes narrowed, and finally his whole face seemed to relax, his brows rising like the morning sun.  "My, my, Cinderella," he said, chuckling in unqualified glee.  "It looks as if the other shoe does fit.  I’ll be damned."

"Well, Señor," Diego cocked an eyebrow.  "Have we something to settle?"

"So it would seem."  Endicott pursed his lips quizzically, glancing down at the girl.  "I don’t suppose you might consider waiting your turn?"  Then with a quick grin and a shrug, he added, "No, I didn’t think so.  But—could I ask you to put those keys right there on that rock when you’re done with them?  I–uh think you’ll find the corporal’s saber on his saddle."

Diego nodded almost imperceptibly as he unlocked his other wrist.  Then he set the keys down and went to get Esquivel’s sword.  Endicott, meanwhile, grabbed the keys, dragged Oreana over to the tree and chained her there, keeping his eyes on Diego all the while.

Diego wanted very much to look at her, to catch her gaze and hold it, if only for a moment, to reassure her, since he knew she was sobbing.  But he couldn’t afford to break his concentration.  Instead, he only let his mind sink deeper into that space where nothing mattered but precise timing and exact distance.  Sliding his fingers into a gauntlet, he drew the saber and politely saluted his opponent.  Then, as he and Endicott took their stances and began to dance out the perimeter of this circle, the rest of the world stood back, holding its breath.

The man had learned something from their earlier encounter.  At least he wasn’t so pushy this time, and he kept his attacks simpler, Diego thought—though it was still a marvel to see the fluidity of the wrist action and the quickness and dexterity of the finger movements that let him place each cut as carefully as a surgeon.  Diego knew he hadn’t faced anyone this skilled since he had taken the Royal Competitive trophy.

He wasn’t sure when he began to notice that his own timing was a little off.  It was such a small thing that at first he thought it was only Endicott’s skill at varying the speed of his game.  Not that Endicott found it easy to get ahead of Diego’s moves.  But sometimes he would seem to pause just long enough to let Diego get slightly ahead of himself—a dangerous place to be when the length of a man’s life could be shorter than the length of his lunge.  The tip of Endicott’s blade had left a few new pockmarks in his opponent’s saber guard even before he somehow managed to step in close enough to slice off part of Diego’s ripped shirt sleeve, nearly reopening the cut on his arm as well.

Mildly surprised if not alarmed, Diego tried to assess the problem.  It wasn’t quite as if he were drunk—or at least he didn’t think so, not having spent as much time in that state as some of his wilder college friends.  Nor was it just that he seemed to have slipped a little deeper than usual into that trance-like state "between the worlds."

As much as anything, he thought, it felt as if he were being watched—and not just being watched, but being watched so intently that he had begun to pay more attention to his own movements than to those of his opponent, trying self-consciously to make himself do what he usually did without thinking.  Or perhaps it felt as if he had somehow left open a door in the back of his mind, and now someone else stood there on the threshold whispering things he could hear but couldn’t quite make out.  Haunting things.  Things out of childhood nightmares.

Nor was it just his imagination.  Endicott seemed to notice it too.  After a moment he stepped back and dropped his guard completely.  "Look, de la Vega," he said dryly.  "If you’re trying to convince me you’re Zorro, this isn’t the best way to go about it.  Oh, I’ll admit you are better than I might have thought—better than anyone probably thinks you are, but come on.  You’re not the man I fought in the cuartel that night, scar or no scar.  That man was a genius.  You—well, if you want to surrender now, I suppose we can still make the padre happy.  Otherwise I plan to kill you in sixty seconds.  This is a complete waste of time.  Though I must say it was a gallant plan."

Diego did not drop his guard, but only because he had no idea what else to do except stand there.  He didn’t even know what to say.  For a moment he wasn’t even sure Endicott was talking to him.  He tried to remember what Oreana had said about opening doors you couldn’t close.  Hadn’t she warned him that some creature from the realm of intent might well decide to come after him?  And hadn’t he just seen some strange dark presence enveloping his opponent?

Still, he also remembered the overwhelming surge of power he had felt the night before, looking into her eyes.  Surely there must be a way to use that power now.

He might have stood there for the full sixty seconds trying to figure it out, except for what happened in the next fifty-five.  From somewhere far away he thought he heard her trying to tell him something, but her voice seemed to blend with the voice in the back of his mind until it sounded as persistent yet meaningless as the cry of a million sea birds.  Then he heard another voice, much closer and more distinct.  "What are you doing there, Señor Endicott?" it said.

Endicott turned toward it.  "I thought I told you to stay with the corporal," he replied.

"Well, we did," said Zavala with a shrug.  "But nothing happened.  The corporal, he just got quiet, and when we didn’t hear anything over here, we wondered if— "

"He got loose," said Endicott, nodding at Diego.  Then, seeing that Zavala had already drawn his own saber, and probably his own conclusions, he added, "Come on, will you, and give me a hand here."  To Diego’s surprise, Zavala actually did turn his back on Endicott.  Then, the instant the point of Endicott’s blade came out through the front of the soldier’s jacket, Diego looked past them both to catch the girl’s eye, and finally he heard her.

"Run," she said.

And this time he knew she was right.  If he stayed, Endicott would kill them both—and maybe Muñoz and the corporal too.  If he ran, Endicott would be forced either to come after him right now or to hurry to the mission and send out a patrol to hunt him down.  It went against every impulse he had ever had to leave her here, and she knew it.  But this wasn’t the time to lose by a card too many.

Just as Endicott managed to dislodge his blade from Zavala’s ribs, Diego came at him fast, engaging him low and inside, forcing him into what was, for him, the most awkward stance from which to launch an attack.  Then, when the attack came, he wrapped his own blade around it, stepping in until their bodies clashed, using his size and weight to simply muscle Endicott out of the way: a cheap trick, but it worked.

Endicott tripped over the fallen soldier, and before he could get to his feet, Diego had reached the nearest saddle horse.  Untying the others, he shooed them all away, then leaped on this one’s back and dug his heels into its flanks.  It bolted off as fast as it could go, leaving Endicott to dash his saber to the ground.

Glancing at Oreana, he muttered, "You lead a charmed life, Señorita."

Oreana swallowed hard, lifted her eyebrows and tried very hard not to shrug.