by Peter David
“Zorro,” whispered Diabolito. “It … it can’t be. I killed you!”
“Then you are fighting a ghost. How do you think you will fare in such an encounter?”
Diabolito backed up, his eyes wide with terror. Slowly Zorro advanced up the stairway, with an evil grin on his lips and death in his eyes.
***
“Return fire!” shouted Tomas. “Return fire!”
“We can’t!” said Luis. “The captain is on that ship! If we sink it, he’ll go down with it!”
Tomas hesitated. The concept of his captain going under with a sinking ship didn’t really seem like a bad idea. The only downside to it was that if the captain survived and demanded to know who had been willing to watch him sink to the briny deep, all fingers would point at Tomas.
As hesitation gave him pause, he saw a ghost emerge onto the other ship’s deck. He was so stunned and horrified by it that he didn’t even hear the next cannon blast that ripped across the ship’s bow.
Water began pouring in.
***
Diabolito continued to back up, clearly terrified at the grim specter emerging onto the deck. This was a ghost. He was facing the undead. He had never believed such things were possible, but in this case the proof was before him. He had defeated Zorro, and Maria had knocked him off a cliff, yet that wasn’t enough to stop him. His spirit had fled his body and was now confronting him here.
The pirate’s sword was shaking because his hand was trembling. His face had gone pale. His lips caressed the word “How?” but he wasn’t able to actually make any noise because his throat was so constricted.
The phantom reached the top of the steps, and that was when Diabolito saw something that shocked him. There were traces of dirt on the deck right below where Zorro’s boot had just trod.
His boots were dirty.
What manner of ghost ever had dirty boots? They would be immaterial, untouchable. No ghost was capable of leaving a trail of dirt behind it. That meant one thing:
This was no ghost.
It seemed impossible, but somehow Zorro had managed to save himself from his fall. And now he had somehow managed to get aboard the ship. He must have boarded while the ship was near the docking areas and been able to get onto the ship, perhaps by having climbed the anchor line. It seemed unlikely, but it answered all the questions of where he had come from.
And he was the one who had freed Quintero and Alejandro, which is why they were even now firing on his ship.
He had to kill him. Now. Immediately.
His sword stopped trembling as he realized he was simply facing a masked swordsman whom he had bested already. He would have no trouble doing so again.
“You got lucky once, masked man,” he said confidently. “You will not do so again.”
He came at Zorro, who sidestepped so quickly Diabolito almost dashed past him and tumbled down the stairs. He caught himself on a railing and spun around to face him once more. “You are no ghost, Zorro. You are mortal, and being mortal, you can die.”
“Not today,” Zorro said confidently.
“Yes, today. Yes, right now, in fact.”
He came in quickly and Zorro blocked the thrust. He anticipated that Zorro would parry some more thrusts and then turn to the offense. It was there that he planned to take advantage, because he knew that he could not only prevent Zorro from striking home, but that he would then combine his offense and defense together in a manner that Zorro would not be able to defend.
But as long minutes passed, confusion began to suffuse him. Zorro’s defense was excellent. No matter what Diabolito threw at him, Zorro blocked it. Yet he never returned a thrust. He was all defense. He was not making any attempt to return the attack.
Diabolito could not understand it. Why in hell was Zorro not attacking? It made no sense.
Perhaps … perhaps he was waiting for reinforcements. Or figuring that one of del Riego’s men would manage to free themselves and come to his aid. Yes, that had to be it.
He redoubled his efforts, slashing away in pure fury, yelling epithets, demanding to know what sort of coward Zorro was that he wasn’t even attempting to fight back.
Then he blinked because moisture was dripping from his forehead into his eyes. He quickly passed his free arm across his eyes to clear it and, as he did so, Zorro suddenly stabbed forward. The sword penetrated his shoulder and Diabolito shouted in anger and pain.
He jumped back, looking in shock at the small pool of blood that was trickling down his chest. His gaze shifted back to Zorro and he snarled, “You dare?!”
“It’s a sword battle,” Zorro said quite chipperly. “This is the object of the endeavor, is it not? To put the pointed end into the other man?”
With a roar of fury, Diabolito attacked again. And again Zorro parried every thrust without attempting to return it.
Diabolito was starting to slow down. Every thrust seemed more labored, his arm slowly becoming tired.
And Zorro apparently realized it. Now his own attacks were coming faster, more aggressively. Diabolito attempted to block, but he was a hair too slow, a fraction too late. Zorro was cutting away at him, stabbing him in the other shoulder, in the leg, in the upper torso. Blood was flowing freely from Diabolito and he was helpless to stop it because he was so damned exhausted.
He tried switching his sword forms as he had done so successfully in the cave. But Zorro did not appear bothered by it. Defend, defend, defend, then strike. Defend, defend, strike. Over and over, and Diabolito staggered. As his arm weakened, the sword continued to increase in weight, as if he was wielding a slab of rock rather than a blade. He heard another thundering of the cannon below ripping into the other ship, his men shouting his name, demanding to know what to do. And he was hardly in a position to reply, because he had no air in his lungs to make a response.
He lunged at Zorro one more time. Zorro sidestepped it and slammed his sword down onto the Little Devil’s weapon. The blade clattered out of his hand and Diabolito was defenseless.
He stood there, breathing hard, glaring at the victor. He felt his heart pounding against his chest. His arms were hanging limply at his sides. He could hear startled cries from his crew, shocked to see their leader beaten by the masked brigand.
“Finish me,” he growled at Zorro.
Zorro kept his sword leveled at Diabolito. “Get some rope.”
“Going to hang me right here and now?”
“No,” said Zorro. “I’m going to bind your hands.”
“What? Bind my hands? Are you insane?” he demanded. “You know that if I had you at my mercy, your body would be laid out. Yet you intend to spare me? What sort of madness is that?”
“It’s not madness,” said Zorro. “It’s mercy. Mercy for a defeated foe.”
Diabolito attempted to wad some spit in his mouth so that he could expectorate at Zorro, but there was no moisture left in his body. “Mercy? Mercy is nonsense. Mercy is a human construct. When animals hunt other animals, do they show mercy? Never.”
“That is why humans are the superior race.”
“Superior race!” Diabolito shouted with laughter. “Are you serious? Put any human against any fierce animal — a lion, a tiger, a panther — and if the human is unarmed, the beast will put an end to him in no time! The only thing that humans have to haul ourselves up the ladder of nature is an opposable thumb! When it comes to survival, animals will be wandering the surface of this world long after the human race has died out in our endless desire to kill each other.”
“Well, I am not killing you,” said Zorro. “You’re going to have to live with that.”
“Or you will have to die with it!” howled Diabolito, and he suddenly started to lurch in the direction of his sword to grab it back up and continue the battle.
But the sword was no longer where he had dropped it.
And suddenly a blade emerged from his chest. The blade of his own sword.
Zorro gasped, as surprised as Diabolito was.
Diabolito stared in shock at the instrument of his death protruding from his upper body. He sank to his knees as blood welled up from his mouth and flowed freely down his face. Diabolito turned around, sinking onto his back. He looked up in shock at the individual who had stabbed him from behind.
It was Maria.
She had lost her grip on the sword as Diabolito had pitched away from her and so tumbled to the deck. She was as pale as a ghost, with the entire front of her dress covered in red.
Diabolito could not believe it. “You did this? You?”
She managed a nod. “Yes. I did … this … ”
To her surprise, he chuckled. “Well … I shot you … I suppose we are even now.”
He reached out toward her then. Their fingers intertwined.
And as blackness swept over Diabolito, he saw Maria’s face from within already smiling at him.
Chapter Twenty
The Final Battle
“Kill them!” the pirates were shouting lustily. “Kill them all!”
Zorro knew that it was a matter of moments before the galleon was under siege. He stepped over Diabolito’s corpse and went straight to del Riego. “I suspect you are going to require use of your hands,” he said, and using his sword, cut through the ropes, freeing del Riego. He then pulled his dagger out from his boot and handed it hilt first to del Riego. “Join me in cutting your men loose. I suggest you work fast; I’ve no idea how much more time we have.”
“Absolutely,” said del Riego, who actually had a hundred questions but felt that this was not the time to pursue them.
Once more the cannon below deck unleashed a blast at the pirate ship. The pirates roared in fury and several advanced to the edge, swinging ropes with hooks attached. They flung them toward the ship where they snagged onto the upper riggings and masts. “Get them!” they were shouting. “Get them! Sink them! Avenge the captain!”
Fortunately many of del Riego’s men still had swords dangling from their belts. The pirates obviously had felt that, since they were all tied up, the swords presented no threat. They were learning otherwise now as, with their hands freed, the soldiers stood united and opposed to the pirates.
Some of the pirates grabbed the ropes and swung over onto the galleon. The soldiers were waiting for them, as was Zorro.
***
Quintero and Alejandro heard the racing sounds of boots trampling hurriedly down the stairs. They stood up to face their anticipated opponent, with Quintero holding his sword firmly, ready to attack anyone who might attack. But instead of pirates, their startled eyes saw Spanish soldiers pouring down around them. “My God,” breathed Quintero, who was having trouble remembering the last time he was so pleased to see somebody.
“Stand aside!” one of them called. “You’ve done your duty! We’ll take it from here.”
Don Alejandro, whose blade had been taken from him, called, “Gentlemen! A sword, if you please!”
“Are you sure, old man?” asked one of the soldiers.
It was Quintero who replied. “This man is Don Alejandro de la Vega, and he could battle three of you at once!”
Without hesitation, one of them withdrew his blade from its scabbard and handed it hilt-first to Don Alejandro. “Thank you, Senor,” said the Don, and he tapped the blade to his forehead in a salute.
Don Alejandro and Quintero sprinted up toward the decks as fast as they could. They overheard the sounds of blades clashing, and Quintero’s heart pumped with excitement. These bastards had humiliated him, treated him as if he was nothing. He was very much looking forward to exacting some revenge. He prayed that Diabolito, the man who had so effortlessly fooled him into believing he was Spanish nobility, was not yet dead. Quintero was very much looking forward to being the man who disposed of him once and for all.
He leaped onto the deck, his sword drawn, and he immediately saw two things: the bodies of Diabolito and Maria, their hands entangled with each other.
His sword arm went numb. The weapon fell out of his hand and he neither noticed nor felt it.
Slowly he walked toward the fallen corpses. A pirate came at him from the left and Quintero didn’t even notice him because his gaze was locked ahead of him. The only thing that saved him at that point was Zorro, as the masked hero spotted the pirate heading toward Quintero, intercepted him and struck him down.
“Quintero!” called Zorro. “A little help would be appreciated!”
Quintero didn’t hear him. Instead he was kneeling next to his sister. Carefully he disentangled her hand from Diabolito’s and placed it on her chest. Then he took her other hand and draped it atop the first hand. She lay there peacefully, as if in a coffin.
“Who did this?” he said. He wasn’t looking at Zorro but instead fixedly at his sister.
Another pirate was heading over and again Zorro stepped in to battle him. “Diabolito!” called Zorro as his blade flashed. “And when I was fighting him, she stepped in and stabbed him to death with his own sword!”
“Of course she did,” said Quintero, and suddenly there was fire in his voice. “They will all die for this. They will all die!”
***
He grabbed up his fallen sword and Zorro stepped aside as Quintero took on the pirate he had been battling. Zorro watched in amazement, because the pirate had not been a bad swordsman. But his skill failed him utterly as Quintero attacked him like a madman. The pirate fell back, stumbling, falling, and before he could get to his feet, Quintero slashed his throat.
Then Quintero glanced back at Diabolito’s corpse. “Throw him overboard! Quickly!” Quintero ordered Zorro.
Zorro was going to ask him why, but decided not to bother because Quintero did not exactly seem to be in the mood to converse.
The Curse of Capistrano yanked the sword out of the corpse and then lifted Diabolito effortlessly. He made his way toward the edge of the vessel that faced the pirate ship, reasoning that it would help destroy the moral of the invaders if they saw their captain being heaved into the drink. He tossed him overboard and was reward with strangled cries of fury from the pirates.
The ships were now exchanging cannon fire, but the pirate ship was taking the worst of it. Water was pouring in through holes in the lower section, and the vessel was beginning to list precipitously.
Furthermore the soldiers were dispatching the pirates. The invaders were doing their best, but they were simply overmatched. Slowly the soldiers drove them back, back.
Quintero, puzzlingly, wasn’t fighting. Instead he was watching overboard where Diabolito’s body had been thrown. Then he surprisingly looked toward Zorro and smiled. ‘They’re here.”
Zorro dispatched the man he’d been battling and then ran over to Quintero’s side to see what he was commenting on. When he spotted it, a wide grin split his face.
Sharks.
A dozen or more of them. The blood that had seeped from Diabolito’s chest had served to summon them, and several were grouped around the Little Devil’s corpse, tearing it apart. Others were attempting to join in the feeding frenzy, but they were unable to draw close enough to do so.
Suddenly another pirate charged at Quintero. Quintero spun, slashed his sword across the man’s chest, leaving a large trail of blood exposed on it, and then grabbed him and threw him into the ocean. Immediately several sharks converged on him. He screamed to high heaven, and then his scream was cut short as he was dragged below the surface. The water above him became stained with red.
The pirate ship was listing even more severely, and the terrified shriek of their fellow alerted them to their danger. Attacking the galleon now vanished from their minds; they were thinking solely about survival. The port side was tilting much more severely, which made sense since that was the side that was filled with cannon holes. Consequently the pirates sprinted to the starboard side, hoping that their added weight would cause the ship to angle upward. It was a worthy plan. But it didn’t work, because the water was increasing in its speed and the ship slowly began to sink.
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br /> Quintero made his way to del Riego, who had just dispatched an opponent. Del Riego turned and looked at him questioningly,
“Do you have rifles on this ship?” asked Quintero.
“Of course.”
He pointed to the pirate vessel that was in increasing jeopardy. “Open fire on their lifeboats.”
Del Riego didn’t understand at first, but then he spotted more shark’s fins cutting through the water and then he got it.
Seconds later the soldiers were firing away at the lifeboats on the pirate ship. The pirates had been endeavoring to board them and flinched back from the bullets. The shots chipped away at the wood and the pirates groaned as they saw their one means of escape have holes in it that would cause it to sink if they attempted to sail them.
One of the pirates screamed “Save us! Save us!” But his pleas fell on deaf ears and it was at that point that the pirate ship tipped over completely and was lying sideways on the ocean. The remaining pirates skidded into the water, desperately clutching onto the ship to stay above water.
It didn’t help.
The sharks were all over them, and their terrified voices cut through the air as the monstrous fish tore them apart.
It was a bit much for Zorro, who looked away because he couldn’t stand staring at human beings being ripped into pieces. Quintero, he noticed, never shifted his gaze. He watched the pirates die, and he never stopped smiling.
There were a few pirates remaining on the galleon. But when they saw what had just happened to their comrades, and realized that they had nowhere to flee to and were overwhelmingly outnumbered, they lowered their blades and raised their hands in the air.
“The ship is ours, gentlemen,” said del Riego as calmly as if he were announcing the weather.
Immediately the rest of the crew began shouting huzzahs as the pirates were arrested and brought downstairs to be placed in the same places where Alejandro and Quintero had previously been held. For his part, del Riego did not join in, but instead turned and looked in mild puzzlement at Zorro. “Since you are fighting on the side of the angels, may I ask why you are wearing a mask?”