The Break-In

Don Alejandro left his horse along the tree line as he headed downstream to the place where the river began to spill onto a tide plain thick with marsh grass.  Of course, the little marsh was drying up this time of year, especially since the priests had diverted water upstream to irrigate their fields.  But it still took some doing to wade quietly, without stirring up any wildlife.  On the south end of the bay, off to his left, the plain rose higher on the shoulders of an outcropping of rock, and fell more abruptly in a stony bluff that faced the sea.  And there, as he recalled from his earlier visit, the padres had said they found caves.  They had even lived in them at first, they said, as some natives had apparently done before them.  And now, atop the crest of this bluff, they had built a stable, a tannery and a blacksmith’s shop.

Alejandro supposed that the caves below would have made a good temporary storage place for tanned hides, which could then be easily loaded onto passing ships.  Perhaps some of the supplies the ships brought in could also be stored there.  But this time of year, the caves might be empty.  And they might also serve very nicely as a prison for runaways and other disobedient natives.

The only problem was how to get in and then—one hoped—out, since the caves sat high enough above the beach that the tides didn’t reach them, and he had been told that the narrow stone path leading up to them was easily guarded.  It would be a simple matter to raise or lower cargo onto the beach with ropes and pulleys.  But it would also be simple enough to keep thieves and intruders out.  Just a handful of guards would be able to do it.

Alejandro crept quickly across the grassy open field that stretched between the marsh and the bluff.  At the spot where the road from the mission cut through the crest of the high tide line and down onto the sandy beach itself, he paused to catch his breath.  Then he began to follow a narrow footpath that led from the mission road up to the tannery, climbing the gentle landward slope of the bluff whose seaward side grew steeper and rockier as it rose above the beach.

Even before he neared the summit, he had already spotted the soft glow of a campfire that came from the beach below.  If he could reach the tannery, he might be able to look down, or even climb down over the edge of the seaward cliff, to see how many guards were down there and figure out if he could get past them.  It also occurred to him that he might find another entrance to the caves from above, perhaps from inside the tannery itself, if he could break into it without being heard.

Then, from the nearby stables, he could easily appropriate a horse or two.  This crazy scheme might just work, he thought as he ran across the last bit of open ground, then slipped along the far wall of the tannery and down a little path toward the edge of the cliff.  In fact, as he reached the stone retaining wall—built, no doubt, to discourage but not prevent anyone from climbing over—it occurred to him that he was actually enjoying himself.

Peering out over the edge of the wall, he could see that the drop off was not really all that steep, or at least it didn’t look all that steep from what he could tell by the light of the soldier’s campfire below.  A few tough weathered old bushes clung to the rocky slope, their roots probably sunk deep enough to anchor a galleon.  He wished for a moment that he had brought his horse, for then he would have been able to tie a rope to its saddle horn and lower himself over the embankment more easily.  But this was just a reconnaissance, not a rescue—at least so far.  If the climb proved too steep, he would just climb back up and get a rope.

The one thing he didn’t count on, and couldn’t have seen in the darkness of this as yet moonless night, was how porous and crumbly the surface rock had become.  On his first step, he slipped down the length of an arm’s reach before his foot finally hit a shelf.  Heart pounding, he grabbed onto the sinewy branch of a nearby bush, suddenly realizing that now he had nowhere to go but down.  If he tried to climb back up, he might slide even further, or at least alert the men below with falling pebbles.  Carefully, he began to search for another foothold below him when he felt the one on which he now rested start to give way.  He grabbed for more of the bush, but to his surprise, he found his fingers closing instead on a length of hard braided leather.

Above him, a soft urgent voice said, "Señor—can you grab the end of my whip?  Are you injured?"  Then, silhouetted against the starry velvet sky, he noticed the flowing outline of a man in a flat brimmed hat and a long black cape.  Wrapping the leather around one wrist, he let himself be pulled up most of the way, then gathered his feet under him.  Finally he grabbed the black gloved hand that clamped tightly over his own to help him back over the wall.  "Are you hurt, Señor?" the man asked again.

Feeling a little foolish, Don Alejandro shook his head.  "Gracias, Señor Zorro, I am fine," he said.  Then he added, "But it seems I am not as young as I once was, even though I have apparently not outgrown the foolishness of youth.  It was not the wisest thing to do."

Zorro smiled softly, almost to himself.  "No, you had the right idea," he said, "you just didn’t have the right equipment.  Nor do I, at least not at the moment."

"Still, I am glad to see you," Alejandro replied.  "You were supposed to be dead."

Zorro shrugged.  "I wasn’t told."

"But what of my son Diego?  He was not with the other prisoners.  Do you know where he is?"  Alejandro tried not to let too much anxiety creep into his voice as he suddenly remembered that standing before him was not only the man who had saved his life once again, but the man who had convinced his son to go along with this deadly scheme.

"He arrived separately," said the outlaw, "but for now he too is fine."

"And where are they holding him?  If he isn’t in these caves below, they might have taken him inside the mission walls, or even sent him away someplace else— "

"No," said Zorro, motioning Alejandro to follow him back toward the nearby tannery wall, "I think they will keep all their prisoners here.  These men seem to depend on being able to get past local authorities who don’t pay much attention to their activities, or who are greedy or frightened.  But they do not appear to have an organization large enough to maintain more than one such base of operations.  Besides," he added, "these caves are connected to the mission by tunnels.  If we find a way into them, we will be able to get inside the mission itself."

Alejandro raised both eyebrows.  "How did you know this?" he said; "I doubt it is a very well known fact.  And I am sure the priests would probably not want it known at all.  Have you been here before?"  Zorro considered this question carefully, shaking his head.

"I have many sources of information," he said at last.

"No doubt," said Alejandro, clearly impressed.  "And do you think there might be a way into the caves through there," he nodded toward the tannery door.

"I had been asking myself that very question," said the outlaw.  "Perhaps we should find out."

Alejandro was standing a little closer to the door.  "It is locked," he said, nodding at the big padlock.  "Maybe one could find something in the blacksmith’s shop to open it with."

"No," said Zorro.  "It will be locked as well.  Wait here."  And quicker than a fleeting shadow, he disappeared into the darkness.  Only by the snorting and grunting of a few horses could anyone tell he had entered the stables.  Within minutes he returned with what looked like an awl and perhaps an iron nail, which he inserted into the lock at odd angles until it finally fell open.  The big wooden doors parted on creaking hinges.  Inside, the tanning vats stood empty now, but the astringent scent of root and oak bark tannin and the finely honed odor of fish oil still hung in the air.  Aside from the dim starlight coming in through the doorway, the place was completely black.

"We will have to find some light," said Zorro.

"The blacksmith’s shop."  They both nodded and headed for the other building.  But once they had picked this lock, they found the blacksmith’s shop was just as dark inside as the tannery.  It took some time and a bit of fumbling to locate a stick of kindling.  Finally, stirring up the coals and pumping the bellows, they got it to catch.  A small hurricane lantern sat on a nearby workbench, and once they had lit it, its feeble light gave the cavernous room a soft dreamlike glow.

Zorro set the light back on the workbench, then turned to survey the two wooden stalls that now stood empty and, above them, the high rafters onto which a pulley assembly had been rigged, a rope left dangling from it.  A few loosely tied bales of straw and sacks of grain sprawled nearby.  As he turned, he spotted another table on which a few other delicate tools had been carefully laid atop a green linen cloth.  He froze for a moment, then grabbed the lantern and said, "Come.  Let’s get out of here."

Alejandro nodded and hurried after him.  "Is something wrong, Señor Zorro?" he said.  But Zorro didn’t seem in much of a hurry to answer him.

"Señor De la Vega," he said at last, as they slipped back inside the tannery, "if we do find a way into these caves from here—or even if we do not—I must ask you, please, to leave this place.  Go now, before morning.  Get as far away from here as you can, do you understand?"

Alejandro felt his eyes widen a little.  Then he squinted, puzzled.  "Where would I go?" he said as he watched the masked man set the lantern on a table near a large vat, keeping his face in shadow, as if to conceal even the mask.  "How could I go, knowing that my son is still here, a prisoner?  Knowing they mean to—to torture him?"  Alejandro couldn’t help but wince.  "He is all I have, Señor.  I could not bear it if—"

"And do you not think he might feel the same about you?"

A bit taken aback by the sudden faint edge in the man’s voice, Alejandro looked away, swallowing hard.  "Well, I suppose so," he said.  "But even so, I could not just run away.  Surely, you of all men must understand, Señor Zorro.  You yourself cannot sit idly by when others are in danger.  Could you simply resign yourself to going off somewhere and waiting, like a coward?"

Zorro had turned to look out the open door, almost but not quite as if he thought someone else might be out there.  "Señor," he said quietly, "I realize that what I ask is difficult.  But I swear on my life that I will not leave here without him."  Then, turning toward Alejandro again yet still not looking directly at him, he added softly, "I promise you, you will see him again, alive and well, if this is humanly possible.  But please, you must trust me."

Alejandro said nothing for a moment, but as he let his own gaze drift back toward the doorway, suddenly a peculiar little thought flickered through his mind.  He started to look up at the outlaw again, but then looked down instead.  "You must think that at my age, I would not be so good in a fight," he shrugged.  "And I suppose one could not blame you."

"No, it is not that.  But I prefer to work alone."

"No one ever helps you, then?  No one knows who you are?"

"Such knowledge could easily prove fatal, Señor," said Zorro.  "The man who has seen my face will hang beside me if I am caught."

"Still, it must be difficult to keep such a secret from those closest to you," replied Alejandro carefully.  "Unless, of course, there is no one."  Then he fell silent, instantly wishing he hadn’t made such a personal remark.  It had simply never occurred to him what a lonely, isolated life a man like Zorro might lead.  "Forgive me," he said, turning back toward the vats.  "I speak out of turn."

Zorro did not seem to disagree, and for a moment Alejandro thought the talking was over.  But then the outlaw said, "I do not enjoy risking the lives of others.  Particularly those closest."

"Yet you were willing to risk the life of my son."  The words came out almost of their own accord, even before Alejandro heard how they sounded.

"His life was already at risk," said Zorro evenly, taking a few strides toward the vats himself.  "These men would not have just let him go.  Sooner or later they would have come after him.  He knew this."

"Sí, he knew all along."  Alejandro squinted, shaking his head.  "But why, then, did he simply not tell me the trouble he was in?  The trouble we were both in?"

"It was best that Señor Marigál remain convinced you knew nothing, not only for the sake of deceiving him, and protecting you, but for the sake of protecting your son as well."

"Protecting him?"

"He saw how easily his feelings for you could be used against him.  If you were caught— "

"But did he not realize that it would still be better to tell the truth?  Why, how could one not imagine the worst?  How could one not come running?  Or perhaps he didn’t think one would be clever enough to figure out where they had taken him."

Zorro said nothing, but somehow Alejandro sensed it was an effort.  "You know," he went on, "I have sometimes wished that Diego might be more a man of action, but—"

"It is not always so easy for one man to act openly."

"No. . . ."

"You know, you may wish to discuss these things with him later, Señor," said Zorro.  "If I can get you both out of here alive.  But I would prefer to get you out now—while it remains a relatively simple task."

For a moment Alejandro thought that if anyone other than el Zorro had spoken to him this way, he might have been offended, but as it was, he knew the outlaw was right.  This was not the time to debate what Diego should have done.  Just getting caught up in such a discussion was ample evidence of his state of mind.  "Of course," he said finally.  "Forgive me, Señor.  But will you not at least allow me to stand guard here while you search for an entrance to those caves?  If I see that you can get inside the mission, then perhaps it will make my waiting easier."

"All right," Zorro nodded quietly.  Then he added, "I would be most grateful, in fact, if you would do this."  He turned back to grab the lantern and close the tannery door, and as he did, Alejandro thought he saw a startling amount of tenderness in the dark eyes behind the mask, though he barely caught a glimpse of them.  But then, as Zorro began to train his full attention on the bare floor, he seemed once again as distant and isolated as Alejandro had imagined, and suddenly the old man wondered how he could ever have wished such a life—the life of a fugitive—on his congenial and scholarly son.  But such thoughts quickly evaporated when finally he heard Zorro say, "Here it is."

Threading his way among the vats, he found the masked man crouching over a trap door near the rear wall.  Huge and heavy, made of oak planks, it too had been locked, but Zorro had set the iron padlock aside and muscled the thing partway up, wedging it with a wooden beam.  Two men could probably lift it easily on its hinges and lean it back against the wall.  But it clearly wasn’t meant to be opened casually, or to give anyone access from below.  Peering down into the shaft, they could barely see the cavern floor.  Only an iron ladder bolted onto the rock face gave any evidence that what went down might ever again come back up.

"You must go now, Señor," said Zorro as he set the lantern aside and sat down on the rim of the shaft, preparing to slide into it.

Alejandro frowned.  "Surely you would want me to wait until you are safely down," he said.  "Or perhaps we can open this trap door all the way, just to make sure you can get out again?"

"I will stand a much better chance of getting out again if no one sees it is open," said Zorro evenly.  "And it will be far less noticeable if you leave here now and lock the outer door behind you.  Can you do this?"

"But how will you get out of the tannery?"

"Do not argue with me, Señor; we have little time."  By now the dark eyes had turned cold, and as they pierced him, Alejandro found himself recalling that this man, however much a hero he might be, had still been known to rob and even kill.  At least he could take care of himself.

"In a little while the moon will rise," the outlaw added.  "And when it does you will not find it so easy to cross the open ground, back to where you left your horse.  Besides, these men also have many sources of information.  They may already know you are here."

"Oh, but surely you do not mean to tell me you believe there is anything to all this nonsense about witchcraft and supernatural powers?"

"I believe there are things that defy rational explanation," said Zorro, "whether we call them miracles or spells—whether we attribute them to God, or to the Virgin, or the saints or the angels or the stars or the devil or the pinche mistress of Cortez.  But I also believe that you might prefer to discuss such philosophical issues with your son—no?"

Alejandro gulped hard and nodded.

"Then get out of here," said Zorro tightly.  "Now."

As the old man got up and made his way through the vats, Zorro turned and began to ease himself down into the blackness of the caverns below.  He smiled softly to himself as he heard the tannery door close.  Then, when he heard the iron padlock click, his smile flattened as he pressed it against his gloved fist.  "Via con Dios," he said.