Zorro and the Forbidden Country

By Susan Kite

Danger in a foreign land! Zorro’s makes his bold debut in the Far East! Charged with murder, he finds himself running from the Emperor’s minions and British soldiers! While he despairs of returning home, The Fox targets cruel opium dealers, to whom peace-loving peasants are little more than human bargaining chips.
Half a world away, Diego’s father and other wealthy landowners unite against a sadistic criminal cabal. With the Curse of Capistrano absent, California’s fertile lands look ripe for plunder to the cutthroats!
Zorro’s Pacific Odyssey, an original trilogy, takes “The Fox” from the California deserts, across the unforgiving Pacific, to strange challenges in an unfamiliar land!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bold Venture Press
• Release date: Feb 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005427894

Book preview

Zorro and the Forbidden Country

Zorro’s Pacific Odyssey, Part 2 of 3

Susan Kite

Zorro created by Johnston McCulley

Bold Venture Press

Produced under license from Zorro Productions, Inc.

Zorro ® & © Zorro Productions. All rights reserved.

Copyright

Cover by Francisco Silva

Design by Rich Harvey

Edited by Audrey Parente

Copyright © 2022 Zorro Productions, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Zorro ® & © Zorro Productions, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Published under license from Zorro Productions, Inc.

This novel is based upon the works of Johnston McCulley. The underlying rights in and to the property of Zorro are controlled by Zorro Productions, Inc., of Berkeley, California, which has provided Bold Venture Press with the use of its copyrights and trademarks for the purposes of this writing. © 2022 Zorro Productions, Inc. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without express permission of the copyright owner.

All persons, places and events in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to any actual persons, places or events is purely coincidental.

Available in paperback and hardcover editions.

Published by Bold Venture Press

www.boldventurepress.com

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Introduction

Zorro and the Forbidden Country

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Susan Kite, author

Johnston McCulley, Zorro’s creator

Books in this series

Dedication

This book is dedicated to those who have continued to encourage me over the years—my dear friend, Patricia Crumpler, who has been with me from day one; my writer's groups in Etowah, Knoxville, and Oklahoma City; and Audrey Parente & Rich Harvey, who gave me a chance in the anthology.

Last, but certainly not least, my husband, Daniel, who held down the fort during all of my Zorro excursions and later the book excursions. I love you!

Introduction

China

The early years of the nineteenth century were violent, even as many men struggled for freedom from oppression. This was never truer than in Spanish California where the government was far away across the oceans and oppressors preyed on peasants and landowners. Diego de la Vega, recently returned from military school in Spain at the request of his father, realized that direct confrontation against a tyrannical military leader would not be as effective as working secretly behind a disguise. He chose the name of the fox, El Zorro, and slipped through the darkness in clothing as shadowy and mysterious as midnight, on a black stallion as swift as the wind. His amazing swordsmanship and incredible athleticism defeated the tyrannical leader and others who followed.

In Book I, Don Diego de la Vega was kidnapped by group of vicious revolutionaries and sold as an indentured sailor for two years aboard an English trading ship, the China Star. After several months he managed to get a packet delivered back home to his father telling he was alive. While ashore with his overseer, he managed to get some money and purchase some black silk. Aboard ship Diego appeared as El Zorro, but was forced overboard after defeating the unstable Captain of the China Star. Seeking survival again as Diego de la Vega, clinging to the seat of an overturned rowboat, he finds himself alone at sea …

Zorro and the Forbidden Country

1

Transitions

Flashes of lightning illuminated Zorro as he leaped from the mainmast yardarm into the turbulent water. As George Bowman watched the Californiano’s flight, he couldn’t help but think of a hawk soaring to freedom, but what a price that freedom exacted! The China Star purser only hoped Diego’s liberty wasn’t death in the ocean. He tried desperately to see if his assistant found the boat he, Roberto, and the others managed to throw overboard, but it was too dark to tell.

Oh, Diego, now I have lost two sons, he thought in great anguish. Tears slid down his cheeks and mixed with the rain pouring down in sheets. The new captain was screaming for the crew to furl the sails. Those had been neglected during the fight and some of the panels were already beginning to rip apart in the strong and capricious winds. He saw several men lose their grips and fall to their deaths as they tried to gather up the flapping sails. Finally as the top of the main mast began to crack, Hackley ordered the sails cut from all the yards.

The storm gathered strength and Bowman slowly turned toward his cabin. There was nothing else he could do except pray. He stumbled and almost fell. Pain clutched at his chest and the supercargo stood quietly for a moment, waiting for it to ease. Roberto grabbed Bowman’s arm, steadying him. The Californiano’s face was filled with concern and when the supercargo finally nodded and trudged to his cabin, Roberto followed him.

Roberto looked around. Where is Don Diego?

I saw him swept overboard just a little while ago. Now we must pray for both him and Zorro. Perhaps they will have a chance to make it through this. Bowman didn’t know why he kept up this pretense about Diego’s dual identity, but he did anyway. Waves crashed against the hull and water swept through the gallery window. The ship heeled to one side and Bowman almost fell on the wet floor.

Close the window, please, he said to the young man as he clutched the side of his bed. The ship finally righted itself and he lay down. He was so exhausted and cold, and his heart seemed to alternately race and then slow down to almost nothing. At times the pain was incredible. Bowman struggled to relax, to find a comfortable position, even to breathe.

Roberto, I will take care of Mr. Bowman, Victoria said from the doorway. I think all hands are needed with the ship. Martha Ann clung tightly to her damp skirts. Roberto nodded and left.

Let me give you some of your medicine. It will help ease the pain, she said.

How do you know about my condition? Bowman wondered who didn’t know.

Diego was concerned and told me earlier today.

Bowman sighed, felt the pain travel across his chest. No, I don’t want any. It will only make me sleep and, right now, sleep would be death.

Don’t be silly, you just need some rest, Mr. Bowman, Victoria argued. Finding a dry blanket, she wrapped it around him.

I would prefer to spend my last few minutes talking with you, remembering pleasant things, rather than sleeping. I will have an eternity to sleep.

All right. Only until the pain gets too great, she acquiesced.

Only then, he said. They were quiet for a few minutes.

The ship’s movements were violent, the hull creaking ominously, the thunder brutally loud. Waves splashed against the gallery window, making it shudder. Martha Ann slipped on the damp floor and clung more tightly to her mother’s skirts, whimpering. God will watch over us, my darling, Victoria soothed, pulling her close.

Stay close to me, Victoria, Bowman said. It is further away from the window and it will comfort me. If the storm breaks the gallery, I want you two to go to Mr. Hackley’s cabin. No windows. Safer,

What do you want to remember, Mr. Bowman? Victoria finally asked, during a lull in the horrific sounds of the storm. They almost had to shout to be heard. Or would you rather not talk right now?

I would very much like to talk, he said, and proceeded to tell her about his wife and son and his time with them when he wasn’t at sea.

So you have been at sea for many years? she asked.

Yes, almost forty. Most of it’s been rewarding, although sometimes it’s been almost more than I can bear. Especially when my dear wife died, he said. Something crashed above them, and the ship shuddered. She died while I was at sea. He paused. Wished I could have been with her.

Mama, are we going to die? Martha Ann asked, her voice filled with fear.

Before Victoria could answer, Bowman reassured her. No, my child. This is a sturdy ship. We can lose our masts, but still she should stay afloat. In the dimness, he saw Victoria looking gratefully at him. He paused while he caught his breath. His chest throbbed incessantly now, steady, but not so much he couldn’t still talk away his last minutes. The lightning lit the room momentarily and he saw Diego’s sea chest where it sat after sliding across the room. Victoria, there is something in Diego’s sea chest I know he would want you and your little one to have. In fact, anything left in there I want you to have. He paused to catch his breath. He told me a few weeks ago that if anything happened to him, he wanted me to have what little he had accumulated during the voyage. So I leave them to you. I want you to have my chest as well. I have no family.

Victoria nodded, tears forming in her eyes.

Bowman ignored her emotions. He knew there wasn’t much time. And there is something else, he began, then paused. It was getting harder and harder to talk. The pains shot down his arms and back up again.

What? Victoria prompted.

I will not be able to write to Diego’s father and let him know what happened, Bowman said softly. Victoria leaned over to hear him, even though the storm seemed to be abating. The ship wallowed heavily, but at least not so bad that they had to hang on to fixtures for dear life. His name is Alejandro de la Vega. He has a large ranch . . . outside of Los Angeles. Please write to him . . . if you hear nothing about Diego when we reach Canton. Please.

Do you think there is any chance Diego will live through this? she asked.

There is always a chance, he said. Diego is . . . a survivor. He paused. He has to be. Lived this long.

Why did Diego dress the way he did, destroy the opium and frighten the captain? Victoria asked.

Diego hid . . . that secret . . . even before, he explained. He was . . . is El Zorro, the fox. Bowman took a shuddering breath. The thunder and lightning were muted. The storm was passing.

I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You rest. Let me give you some of the medicine, she said.

No . . . no. Let me finish, he whispered. Ask Roberto who . . . Zorro is…. Diego wanted to . . . frighten Beatty to let him . . . and the others go back home. Opium? He detested the . . . very idea of . . . forcing it on Chinese…. His personal crusade.

***

The room was quiet for a moment, except for the supercargo’s harsh breathing and his occasional moans of pain. Suddenly he rose up, cried out several names and then lay back down.

Victoria placed her hand near his face and felt for breath, but found none. Neither did she feel a heartbeat. Gently, she pulled the blanket up over the supercargo’s body and sat down at his desk, taking Martha Ann into her arms, holding her close. Now she let the tears flow and she continued to hold her child close to her breast, rocking slightly in the rigid chair. So much pain; so much sorrow. Will it ever end? she asked herself.

Is Mr. Bowman dead, Mama? her little girl asked.

Yes, darling, he has gone with the angels like your father did.

Did Diego go to the angels, too? Martha Ann questioned. He was nice to me. He sang a song to me once.

Victoria paused. No, dear. I don’t think he did. And she prayed that she was right.

Victoria lit the lantern and looked into the chest. It was almost empty, containing only another set of clothing and a few trinkets sitting on the bottom. She reached in and picked up one of the items. When she unwrapped it, she found an exquisitely stunning shell. It nestled beautifully in the palm of her hand, the fluted edges curling around the outside of her hand.

Oh, Momma, it’s so pretty, Martha Ann said, her eyes wide in wonder.

Yes, it is, Victoria murmured.

Can I have it?

You may take care of it until we find Diego, Victoria explained, handing the shell to her daughter. She remembered now, it was the shell the natives on the Sandwich Isles had given him.

Do you think we’ll find him? Martha Ann asked, gazing raptly at the pearly inside of the shell.

I will certainly try my best, Victoria said.

Roberto slipped into the room. Mrs. Meachem, how is the supercargo?

He died almost an hour ago, Roberto. I suppose he will need to be buried at sea today, she replied.

Roberto nodded and crossed himself.

I need for you to do me a favor, though.

What is that, ma’am? Roberto asked.

Victoria hugged her daughter again. Find out how many of your fellow Californianos want to return home, she said.

But why?

Because when we get to Canton I am going to pay off the indenture of any of you who want to return to California.

What? Pay off… Roberto stammered. Do you mean that, señora?

Yes, I do. There is something else you can do, she said with a slight smile.

Anything! Roberto exclaimed.

When we were getting the boat for the man in the black costume, you called him something . . . El Zorro. Was that it? she asked.

Yes, El Zorro, a friend of the people. The Virgin must have sent him to help us. He paused, turning to look out of the dark gallery window. I only hope the Blessed Virgin was out there to help him in this storm.

I am sure she was, Roberto. Victoria glanced down at her daughter whose attention was still on Diego’s shell. Later, when you are free, I want you to tell me about this man, she told him. Mr. Bowman told me you knew about him.

Of course, Mrs. Meachem, the young man said. I can tell you anything you want to know about El Zorro.

***

In the near blackness of late evening, Alejandro gazed uneasily at the approaching storm. Flashes of lightning illuminated bulging thunderheads billowing with ominous speed. Most of the time storms, even a storm such as this one, didn’t bother him. In fact, at times, Alejandro liked to watch this manifestation of the incredible majesty of nature, and gaze awestruck at the crackling power of the lightning bolts.

He remembered one time Zorro had saved one of the de la Vega servants from an evil magistrado’s wrath, delivering the young man to the front gate of the hacienda, then riding off just as a storm, such as this one, approached. Just before the black-clad rider crested the nearby hill, a bolt of lightning shot from one cloud and crossed the sky to another, illuminating the man and horse. Alejandro stood transfixed on the walkway above the patio, gripping the balustrade, unable to move even to greet the returned servant. The lightning had created a silver glow over Zorro that seemed almost ethereal.

At the time, Alejandro didn’t know this man was his own son; he only knew the man in black was someone incredibly powerful and totally dedicated, a strategist as brilliant as the lightning providing Zorro’s backdrop.

Now he was substituting for Zorro, for his son. Where was Diego? Would he be in China by now? Alejandro watched the storm approach and shuddered, feeling the fingers of dread creep up and down his spine. Again, as he had done so many times before, he silently asked the Holy Virgin to watch over and protect his son. His dearly departed wife, his angel? He asked her to help, too.

The storm reached the casa grande and released the rain formed in the bellies of the clouds. Alejandro felt the blowing drops hit him in the face and he shivered.

***

Diego didn’t remember seeing the sun coming up, but he woke to semi-consciousness, with the light of day reflected in the water. He felt very fortunate he had tied himself so securely to the boat, or he would have long since been dead in the depths of the sea. Now the water was higher. It was hitting his chest, sometimes lapping at his chin. Then it dawned on him, the boat was sitting lower in the water. It was becoming waterlogged.

He needed to turn the boat over. Can’t stay here. Slowly, with fingers seemingly made of wood, he undid the rope, clinging to the seat with one