The Mummies of Blogspace9: Chapter Thirty-Six

July 23, 2011
Seville, Spain
Samples      http://www.greatbigLeon.blogspace9.ex

As far as Flamenco restaurants go, this takes the prize.  Aside from the fact that I’ve never been to any others, this is truly exceptional.  Let me count the ways: 1) dancing girls are so far beyond hot that my head hurts, 2) this is the best food I’ve ever had in my life.  Sherry and ham, Bruce?  Who would have thought to serve sherry and ham together?  But you know what, it works.

Paella – what’s not to like about paella?  And a little sirloin steak to boot!  Bruce, man, I’d say you’ve been living the life, but that wouldn’t be fair.  I know it hasn’t been all fun and games for you, what with being a wanted criminal, and having to organize your girlfriend’s cannibalistic death.  I have to say, Bruce, I’m a little impressed.  You are a cold, calculating, cannibal-loving mother-fucker.

I’ve been here for about an hour.  I sent a message back to the kitchen that I’d like to speak with your new friend Melchor Sacromonte, but they looked at me like I was crazy.  And he hasn’t shown up.  Nor have you.  We have some thinking to do, my friend, some planning and plotting.  Bruce, what is our plan here, other than finding Kim?  Hey, they have gazpacho!

One odd note – there’s this old guy sitting a couple of tables away who keeps staring at me.  I think he’s a dandy.  He’s wearing expensive-looking clothes, but they’re not right for the occasion.  Also, he has a pocket watch and an iPhone.  How’s that for accessorizing!  He’s drinking brandy and smoking a cigar, which is pretty cool, but there’s something off about him.

July 23, 2011
Seville, Spain
Duran                   http://www.harqubusier.blogspace9.ex

A man of good taste – you went ahead and ordered the fixed-price gastronomy meal when you could have opted for the basic tourist chum.  It cost an extra twenty euros, but worth every centimo.  For the next course, I’d advise you to decline the gazpacho, and instead elect the Fois-Gras ravioli.  Yummy.

July 23, 2011
Seville, Spain
Samples      http://www.greatbigLeon.blogspace9.ex

What the hell?  Duran, is that you?

July 23, 2011
Seville, Spain
Duran                   http://www.harqubusier.blogspace9.ex

I’m drinking sherry, not brandy.  And I’m not a fruit.  My clothing is impeccable, quite flattering, and considerably more apt for the ocassion than that ridiculous frcok you have on.  A hoodie?  Did you think the restaurant might be so cold you’d be driven to don a hood?  If that’s a normal concern, I would suggest frequenting warmer restaurants.

July 23, 2011
Cupertino, CA
Administrator      http://www.admin.blogspace9.ex

Due to security concerns both perceived and actual, and at the request of Dr. Bruce Hanson, who is now project leader, we have closed communication channels to all non-subscribers.  What this means is that the original nine accounts are the only access points to this blog. 

Because Cyrus Sanderson and Lane Cavalcante are reported deceased, only seven accounts remain active, and one of those has never been used.  Although law enforcement can request access to this blog, the court order that would grant them that permission takes approximately five days to acquire, and you have only four days left on your service contract.

Therefore, please use these channels in confidence as you plan your resolution.  On behalf of Blogspace9, we wish you much success.

July 23, 2011
Seville, Spain
Hanson       http://www.historyismine.blogspace9.ex

I’m working on it, boys.  Give us a moment to breathe here.  Yes Leon, we need to meet.  Ten minutes from now, your server will hand you a napkin with an address on it.  You too, Duran.  Meet me at midnight, not because I’m trying to make a point, or because there’s something creepy about midnight, but because it’s almost eleven now and I haven’t had a shower yet.

Remember those documents I copied at the university about a month ago?  I just had another run at them.  If you remember, I was looking for hits on Sebastiano.  I didn’t give it a second thought because the timeline was wrong, but there is a reference to a Padre Sebastiano that intrigues me.

In 1776, the parish of San Lorca de los Penitentes funded an expedition to sail to Peru to recover the bodies of seventeen priests.  The bodies were to be returned to Spain for burial in the cemetery in the town of Cantaluz, high in the Pyrenees.  And the leader of the expedition was a priest named Sebastiano.

A common name, so initially I figured that this was a different Sebastiano, but it wasn’t.  I did a little more research.  The parish of San Lorca de los Penitentes was abandoned in the mid-1550s because the parishioners vanished.  And we now know why – it’s because Cuellar ate them, so there would have been nobody there to fund the expedition.

Yet Sebastiano sailed in March of 1776, returning later that year with seventeen coffins.  My friends, what do you think might have been inside those seventeen coffins?  If you’re thinking priests, I’m a little disappointed.

July 23, 2011
Seville, Spain
Cuellar    http://www.perdido.blogspace9.ex

You know, a little forgiveness goes a long way.  Had you been there in that village, you’d have a sense of how insufferable those wretches were.  But I try not to dwell on the past.

A tidbit I wish to convey – the Cardinal of Seville has been summoned to the Alcazar tomorrow at sunset to secretly officiate a wedding.  A cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church is not normally, nor easily, summoned.  Yet summoned he was.

The Inquisitor intends to take a bride tomorrow, a bride who is already in residence.  Your friend has arrived.  I can’t imagine it will be possible to secure an invitation at this late date, but I’m certain that gifts will be appreciated.

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The Mummies of Blogspace9: Chapter Thirty-Five

July 22, 2011
Madrid, Spain
Samples http://www.greatbigLeon.blogspace9.ex

Just landed in Madrid, Bruce, my brother.  Hang tight.  I’ll be in Seville in three hours.   I know how to find you.

Let’s be clear about something.  All I want is Kim.  I’m coming for her.  And hey, the flight was nice.  But I didn’t fly first class.  I traded in that ticket for two coach flights.  I brought a friend.  You’re going to like him.

July 22, 2011
Seville, Spain
Hanson http://www.historyismine.blogspace9.ex

Mass was ending at the cathedral, so it was easy for me to slip into the crowd.  We had exchanged clothes, Cuellar and I, and I smelled like a urine-soaked corpse.  I got a few evil looks from good Catholics, but that’s all.  I don’t think anyone recognized me.

I recognized Laney instantly.  I knelt at a pew and bowed my head in some semblance of prayer, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.  She was standing in front of that giant sarcophagus, the magnificent tomb of Christopher Columbus.  Even now, some pilot light of love refuses to be extinguished.  What can I say?  I miss her.

She frowned when Cuellar approached, but she left with him, followed semi-discreetly by three guys who looked like cops.

I’m not sure why I trusted Vasco Cuellar.  He was almost certainly insane, not without reason.  But I knew he would do as I requested, and lead Lane around the city until he was sure they weren’t followed.  Then he’d take her to Corte Ingles, the  department store, and buy her a change of clothes.  She’d change in front of him so he’d be sure she didn’t have any wires or tracking devices.  Sorry for that, Laney, but there was no other way.

I was my usual table behind the bar at Duplex, the bistro next to my apartment.  I drank two beers and ate three plates of tapas, and I was starting in on a plate of cheese croquets when she arrived.  Cuellar told her where to find me.

“I don’t know if I like you with a ponytail,” she said.  “Is that even your hair?”

“Some of it.”  I kissed her on the cheek.  “Sorry for the run-around, but I had to make sure that your goons weren’t going to be joining us.  I like your tracksuit.”

She sat, and I ordered her a glass of wine.  “You look good, Laney.  Just there, you coming in through the door, it reminded me of that party in New Haven when we met.  A girl like you going for a guy like me, it seemed too good to be true.”

“What’s her name?”

“Excuse me?”

“The girl, what’s her name?  I have a right to know, even after all this.  Cheating is the worst.”

I shook my head.  “No, it’s not.  But for what it’s worth, her name is Naya.”

“A one time thing, or is this still going on.”

I looked down.  Despite everything, I felt guilty.  “It’s still going on.”

“I see.”

“My turn.  So this was all a big set-up from the start?”

“Yes.”

“You and Cyrus needed me on the project, so you screwed me and screwed with my head and brought me onboard because I was the best historical researcher currently working on sixteenth-century Peru.  I was your best chance of finding the gold.”

“That’s right.”

“To old times,” I said, when her wine came.  We toasted.  “What’s in it for you?  What did the good Grand Inquisitor/Sopay offer you in return?”

She ate one of my cheese croquettes.  “You know, the kind of things that are hard to refuse; eternity and great wealth.  I grew up poor, Bruce.”  She reached for my hand.  “I was always going to tell you.  We could still finish this together.”

“Right.  So it started out as a scam, but then you grew to love me.”

She drank more of her wine.  “No, Bruce, I never grew to love you.  There’s nothing that appealing about you.  And I can honestly say that I tried.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“So no, we can’t still be together.  Besides, you cheated on me.”

“I did.  And it was really great.”

“But we can still finish this together.  You know where that gold is.  Tell me.  Give me the book.  I get what I want, and you get a pile of money.  Then go do whatever thing you want.”

“And if I say no, you hunt me for eternity, call your cop buddies, all of whom work for that Sopay.”

“Something like that.”  She motioned to the bar girl for more wine. “Bruce, honestly, I am fond of you.  And I would like to see you live through the night, but that’s not going to be possible unless you do as I say.  You have no idea what my friends are capable of.”

“I have friends too, Laney.”

“I know.  Sacromonte has been good to you, but he’ll be dead before morning.  And Cuellar, well aside from being dead, is a barely-sentient creepy troll.  And that was just mean having me undress in front of him.  He was actually drooling.  It was disgusting.”

“You misjudged me,” I said.

She shook her head.  “I don’t think so.  Half the men in this bar are giving me the eye, and each one of them is thinking the same thing – what is she doing with that loser.  So when I get up in thirty seconds and give one of them a great big kiss, and ask to borrow his phone, he’s going to smile.  And Bruce, if I make that call, you’re going to die.  So be smart.”

A girl came over with her wine, my girl.  She was lovely, I can’t even begin to describe just how lovely.

“I’d like you to meet Naya,” I told Laney.  “I’ve told her a lot about you.”

Laney looked confused.  That confusion turned to horror when Naya grabbed hold of her wrist.

“I told her that you had exceptionally good taste, but she said she’d have to find out for herself.  Goodbye, Laney.”

The Mummies of Blogspace9: Chapter Thirty-Four

July 22, 2011
Seville, Spain
Hanson       http://www.historyismine.blogspace9.ex

Sacromonte warned me not to go alone.  In fact, he forbade it.  But in the end I snuck out, which turned out to be a very bad idea.

It was a grey morning in Seville.  Though the chance of summer rains here is nearly nil, the sky was filled with dark clouds, and as I walked toward the cathedral, I felt as if they were following me. 

My best friend in college was a guy named Martin Fletcher who played pool every day.  I haven’t seen him in awhile.  We were supposed to go visit him last Christmas, Laney and I, but his mom passed away so we postponed.  Martin lives in Columbus, Ohio.  So I understood Laney’s reference.  I was on my way to the cathedral to meet her at Christopher Columbus’s tomb.

Rounding the corner, passing my old stomping ground – the Archive of the Indies, I glanced up at Giralda Tower, the twelfth-century minaret that crowns the cathedral, and I nearly fainted.  There was something up there, something very dark, and it was staring right at me.  I can’t tell you how I know this, but it felt like half of hell was perched up at the top of that tower.

I took a moment to calm myself.  I bought a coffee, and then another for a vagrant who asked me to.  A small kindness, I told myself.  He was a miserable wretch of a man, nearly toothless, smelling like damp earth, weighing a hundred pounds if his pockets had been full, which they presumably were not.

I was early for my meeting with Laney, and I didn’t want to spend any more time than I had to near that tower, so I wandered through the alleys of old Seville.  Looking back, alarm bells should have rung when I noticed the vagrant following me, sipping his coffee as he stumbled to keep up.

I don’t know how exactly it happened, those alleys wind back on themselves, but one moment I noticed he was no longer following me, and a moment later he was standing in front of me.  “You think he can’t see you right now,” he said, “but he can.  From that tower, he can see the whole world, even as far away at the sun as it spins around us.”

I felt a spike of fear.  I threw my coffee at him and turned to run, but I didn’t even get a step in.  He was on me faster than I would have thought possible, and his grip was unlike anything I have ever felt.  I thought my arm would break in two.

“It is nearly unbearable,” he began, once he had me up against a door, his hand on my throat.  His breath was fouler than I care to describe.  “Nearly unbearable, the praise he would lavish upon me if I gave you to him.  My soul cries for that kind of praise.  Perhaps I would even be forgiven.”

“Who are you?”  I could barely get the words out, so choked with fear. 

“Do you think he might forgive me?”  He shook nervously.  “Might I enjoy his holy forgiveness?  He is, after all, a priest, as am I.  How many Hail Marys do you think for my penance, young Bruce?  How many?  Can you answer me that?”

“You’re Cuellar,” I managed to gasp before his grip tightened.

“Shhhh!” He looked around in fear.  “Do you think he can’t hear you?”

“What do you want?”

“How many Hail Marys do you think, for my penance?”

“All of them.” 

He shook his head, then he let me go.  “You’re right, of course.  There is no forgiveness.  There is nothing for me.  He took it all.  I was damned long ago.”

“Why did you follow me?”

“To protect you maybe, to help you.  To save you, to capture you perhaps, even to eat you.  I had not made up my mind.  Choices are difficult for me.  Picking which socks to wear can take me upwards of an hour’s time.  And I have only the one pair.”

“How did you find me?”

He rubbed his hands and stared nervously as a young woman walked past us carrying a bottle of wine.  “So tender,” he said, admiringly.  “I wander the streets.  I’ve been watching you for some time.  You should be quite thankful for my help.  Not five nights ago a policeman followed you back to your apartment.  I killed him as he took out his telephone, presumably to make his report.”

“Why are you following me?”

“Because you’re in danger.  You would go now to the cathedral, I might guess.  You’re to meet your girl there but they won’t let you leave.  They won’t ever let you leave.  They’re gathered there now.”

“Who is gathered there?  How do they know where I’m headed.”

“All the minions of hell, that’s who.  Sopay would have you within the hour.”

“How do they know where I’ll be?”

He looked me in the eyes.  “You know how they know.  You’ve known for some time now.”

I nodded. 

“She was always his.  I’ve told you this before.”

I nodded.  “But I still need to see her.”

The Mummies of Blogspace9: Chapter Thirty-Three

July 21, 2011
Frankfurt, Germany
Cavalcante          http://www.diggirl.blogspace9.ex

 

I’m not sure what you want me to say, Bruce.  We’re supposed to be engaged, but that doesn’t keep you out of other girls’ beds?  I’m sure she is extraordinary, but it doesn’t matter.  If you’re mine, you’re mine.  Are you still mine?

I’ve had some time to think.  I know we’ve been through a lot, but it’s important that we meet.  I’m coming to see you, Bruce.  We need to talk, but I know we can’t just come out and pick a meeting place.  You are, after all, the most wanted man in Europe. 

We spent last Christmas in Boston.  I’ll never forget it; the snow, the eggnog at your Aunt Ruth’s.  The dinner cruise on the Bay – it all seems like another life, doesn’t it?  But we almost didn’t go to Boston, if you recall.  In fact we were going to go someplace else.  Your old tennis buddy from college, we were going to visit him.  I’m not going to say too much because I don’t want to give it away.  But the name of that city, where your friend lives, references a locale in the city you currently reside in.

I arrived in Frankfurt an hour ago, and I’ll be in Spain in the morning.  Meet me at that place at 9:00 am.  I will look forward to seeing you, Bruce.  We have a lot to discuss.

 

July 21, 2011
New York, NY
Duran                   http://www.harqubusier.blogspace9.ex

Colleagues, you’ll surely hear of this as soon as the authorities determine what exactly they are dealing with, but let me provide you with some news you may find illuminating.

The cargo ship Parador Joya approached the Spanish port of Malaga last night just after midnight.  Because port authorities had received no radio communications from the vessel, they dispatched not only a harbor pilot boat but also a Civil Guard patrol vessel. 

Recent concerns about smuggling and terrorism have rendered military authorities skittish, and a fast-approaching ship that does not respond to repeated contacts is not normal.  In short, when armed naval soldiers accompanied the harbor pilot onto the vessel, they found not a single living soul.

Captain Alarcon was discovered on the bridge – I suspect that’s how it will be reported by the news agency.  But in fact, my contacts in the shipping industry have privately informed me that most of Captain Alarcon was discovered on the bridge.  The partial remains of seven other crew members were discovered in the ship’s hold, where presumably they had taken unsuccessful refuge from whatever was hunting them.

No cargo was found on board, and one of the life rafts was missing, leading the authorities to conclude that whoever committed these murders disembarked as the ship approached port.

Colleagues, we can countenance no reasonable doubt as to the identity of the perpetrator of these events.  And she is coming your way.  So therefore, am I. 

July 21, 2011
Seville, Spain
Cuellar    http://www.perdido.blogspace9.ex

She’s coming to me, I can feel it.  I can smell her in the summer air.  And I plan to welcome her with the warmest embrace.  I shall love her always.  How long I have waited for another of my kind!  Gumecindo, I don’t know how I will feel about seeing you again.  I will endeavor to be civil, I assure you, but you must promise me – if the girl favors you, you must promise to relinquish her to me immediately. 

July 21, 2011
New York, NY
Duran                   http://www.harqubusier.blogspace9.ex

Vasco, even the most feeble-minded of imbeciles would not naturally conclude that the girl is coming for you.  Now please go ply yourself with some voluminous intoxicating beverage so that you might disabuse yourself of this folly. 

Given that, curiously, I look forward to seeing you, my oldest friend, after all these many centuries.

The Mummies of Blogspace9: Chapter Thirty-Two

July 20, 2011
Seville, Spain
Cuellar    http://www.perdido.blogspace9.ex

Atone, Gumecindo?  Do you think God cares about you?  Are we not damned?  God has no love for the damned.  He has precious little love as it is.  All my life I’ve called out to him, begging to be saved, and not a whisper in any of the world’s winds have I heard in response.  And I am a priest.

That being said, I confess I take some pleasure in learning that young Bruce has found enduring love with one of our kind – Sebastiano’s old consort at that.  The precious young priest wasn’t perfect after all, was he?  Always so pious.  He’d leave my home riding that stupid mule and I’d feel such shame about my behavior; my fornications, my murders, my cannibalism, my apostasy.  And all along, he was breaking his own vow of celibacy.  Well, none of us are perfect, are we?

But I’d dearly love to meet this girl.  Many a poet has opined that a woman gets lovelier with each passing year.  But so few poets pen sonnets to the lines of beauty that the centuries etch into her face.

 

July 20, 2011
Cupertino, CA
Administrator http://www.admin.blogspace9.ex

Although we are committed to providing an exemplary level of service, and a platform of communication beyond compare, we here at Blogspace9 pride ourselves on our commitment to user privacy.  That being said, our economic analysts from time to time uncover information items that may be useful to our clients.

While based in the United States, we have users in 180 countries, so we pay close attention to international market fluctuations.  And we were as surprised as everyone else with the recent free-fall of the Bolsa de Madrid, the Spanish stock exchange.  Where we differ with other analysts is that we think this is your fault.

This Peru/Spain archaeology/history project has admittedly become more complex than we anticipated, and while we understand you are not directly responsible for some of the issues, deaths, and international manhunts that have resulted, we nonetheless find ourselves in a difficult legal position.

To be blunt, we cannot continue to be involved with a project that threatens to bring the Spanish economy to its knees.  Last night, after meticulous inspection, it became clear to our chief economist that much of the economic turbulence could be traced to a single Spanish company, the privately-held, but immensely-powerful Grupo Yapos Iberia (GYI).

Within the last week, this company has withdrawn its support from two major international business mergers, leaving Santander Aeronautics without the financing to commit to a major defense contract, and causing FerroSpain to lose its bid on a railroad building contract in Mongolia.

In short, though no company spokesperson will respond to inquiry, Grupo Yapos Iberia seems to have not only the ability, but also the inclination to pummel the Spanish economy.

Only by way of highly-confidential and anonymous information provided by one of our partners were we able to get as sense as to why.  Apparently GYI sent only a single line of text to the CEOs and administrators of the multinational firms with which it does business: “When the book is delivered to us, we can all go back to making money.”

Nobody seems to know what this means.  However, we feel that we are in a position to hazard a guess.  GYI is wholly owned by reclusive Mallorca-based banking magnate Alonzo Victor Quiroga y Vela, but is administered by an unnamed proxy in Seville.

In sum, it is apparent to us that until this company gets its hands on Bruce Hanson and the Malleus Momias book that is presumably in his possession, the Spanish economy will continue to suffer.  As a small internet startup company, we feel that we cannot be party to the possible dissolution of a sovereign economy, so we believe the time has come to part ways.  You have seven days to conclude your business, after which time we will be withdrawing our support and our services, and our equipment.

 

July 20, 2011
Seville, Spain
Hanson http://www.historyismine.blogspace9.ex

Laney – I haven’t heard a peep from you in days.  We have a lot to talk about.

Administrator – noted.  Seven days will be ample time to conclude our business.  And yes, I am in possession of the book.  And yes, I’ll soon be delivering it to the unnamed Grupo Yapos proxy here in Seville, though he won’t be happy with how I go about it.

Leon – the conquistador armor that the muki is tossing out at you –  I’m going to go out on a limb and bet that you’ll find a marking on the breastplate.  Check the picture in that conquistador tome in the library, but I think you’ll find the mark of the Gitanos, the gypsies who served as weapons-bearers for the Spanish soldiers.

And Leon, going out on another limb here, I think you found something in your recent excavations, something you haven’t mentioned, and I need you to bring it to me.  There’s a plane ticket waiting for you at the Lima airport; Iberia, first class to Seville, via Madrid, courtesy of my friend Sacromonte.  Also, bring the armor.