The Mummies of Blogspace9 (6 page)

Piecing things together, our dear ordained friend,
Father Sebastiano Gota
, if that is indeed his name, seems to have written several letters in addition to his journal. But we’d have to assume that none of the letters were sent, since they’re still there. So either he couldn’t find a stamp (joke) or he just never mailed them. Maybe he was afraid to.

So far you’ve unearthed seventeen letter fragments plus a twenty-three page journal with only five legible sections. Not a huge corpus, right? But there are already
five
references to our pyramid:

1)
….piramide de fantasmas…
– ghost pyramid

2)
….en esa estructura demonico…
– in that demonic structure

3)
…los del piramide ya no tienen almas…
– those of the pyramid now have no souls

4)
…a los indios en mi cargo, quienes numeraron treinta y un indios…
(OK, I’m just going to go with the translations here because the spell checker is giving me grief)… – to the Indians under my care, who number thirty-one males and fifty-three females with their children, who belong, it seems to me, belong to the pyramid, where they claim their dead still walk

5)
…pase otra noche encima del piramide mientras comunicaban…
– I spent another night on top of the pyramid while they communicated…

To sum up what we now know: in 1580, a young Franciscan priest named Sebastiano Gota arrived in Peru and was sent to Segovia, a small, remote Indian village of about a hundred residents. He was not the first priest to be sent there, we know that because the church was founded in 1578. What became of that first priest, after just two short years, we don’t yet know.

Like all priests in the new world, Sebastiano is charged with converting the Indians. But he’s afraid. There’s something in the pyramid that’s scaring him — and I don’t blame him, it scares me too. But instead of leaving, or locking himself in the church at night, he goes out and climbs the pyramid.

I didn’t know where to go next, so I started reading some general ecclesiastical letters written by the Archbishop of Lima to Pope Gregory XIII. At one point, he notes that the Incas treat their ancestral mummies as if they were still living.

Now, we know that the Inca emperors considered themselves immortal, and were mummified after their death so that they could live forever. But what if it was more than the emperors? What if that was a more common funerary practice? What if everyone was doing it?

That could be what Sebastiano was writing about: his Indians kept their mummies in the pyramid, and would go there to talk with them. Anyway, it’s something to think about. Maybe that’s what’s keeping you all up at night; all the mummies arising to walk with the living!!!

I spent the rest of the day working on the scans of the journal, and I’m now not sure it’s a journal. I think it might be a manual. The word ‘maleus’ on the cover doesn’t mean anything in any language I can find. But there are a couple of instances where I’ve found Sebastiano’s spelling to be sub-par. Maybe he meant to write ‘malleus.’

In 1486, the Catholic church published
Malleus Malefacicarum
– hammer of the witches. It’s now commonly referred to as the Malleus, and it spells out the church’s belief about witches – women who engaged in orgiastic behavior, ecstatic intercourse, and shape changing, all of which my sweet Michelle has been known to partake of from time to time.

Here are some passages from the Malleus: “women are naturally more impressionable than men, and more ready to receive the influence of a disembodied spirit….they have slippery tongues…they are feebler in mind and body…they are intellectually like children.”

That being said, I think we’re dealing with something different. Malleus Malefacicarum was responsible for fanning the flames of the Witchcraze in Europe, but much of that had burned out, especially in Spain, within a few decades. So if our good Friar Sebastiano is walking around Peru a hundred years later, I find it hard to believe he was afraid of witches.

There weren’t five Spanish women in Peru back then, and chances are, no more than three would have been witches. As for local witches, well maybe. But I can’t see a priest writing his own Malleus. I spent much of the afternoon trying to follow this up, but I didn’t get any further. Finally, I went back to the main search directory, and just for shits and giggles, entered “Fr. Sebastiano Malleus Segovia pirámide.” And guess what? I got a hit. A document referenced as
‘TrujilloArchivoGioti-privato-doc.corr. LLX16705409.’

That’s not a standard index reference, so when I tried to request the document using my investigator’s license, it just spit it back out. I asked the reading room administrator, and she said she would contact the director to see what could be discovered. But for now, I’m at a standstill, and it’s nearly five. I might just call it a day. It looks like I’m the last one here anyway. All my amigos are gone. They invited me to tapas but I’m shy.

Hey guys, I’m noticing something strange. I just started packing up my things, getting ready to leave, and there are no guards here in the reading room. Actually, I’m the only one here right now, which never happens. There are still at least half a dozen original documents sitting out on the tables waiting to be re-shelved. And I’m alone in the room with them, which is not allowed. I’m not sure what’s going on here. I’m going to go see what’s up downstairs. If I don’t come back, avenge my death.

June 17, 2011
Segovia, Peru
Cyrus Sanderson

Listen to me very carefully, Bruce. I think you are engaging in something unwise, and it needs to stop. We have a brand new ultraviolet scanner here that was delivered this morning. It’s the size of a refrigerator, and we have no idea who sent it, but we can now image a whole lot more of what’s written on the documents we’ve excavated.

Michelle and Leon are out at the pyramid. They’ll be back for lunch any moment now, so I’ll be brief. Blunt too. Shut this thing down, Bruce. I don’t want any more of our material flowing out into cyberspace. You never know who might be paying attention.

This is raw archaeological data we are developing, and it is of great value. I know I signed off on this blog thing, but this is still my project, and I want my information pipeline capped.

Here’s why: information has been/will be/should be controlled. It’s not for every-day consumption. Do you think the Inca emperors cared about sharing knowledge with the masses when they devised their quipus, the most complex record-keeping system ever created by humans? Do you think the Maya lords let any old farmer peruse their tax roles? What do you think Pharaoh Ramses II was thinking when he had his scribes adorn Karnak with more Byzantine words than any king had yet written in stone?

These men were living gods, and they understood one important aspect of power: control your information. Fail to do that, and you never know who is going to start poking around your business. And once you start worrying about that, you’ll do little else. You’ll worry all the time. You’ll fail to pay attention to details, and the Huns will come. Or the Assyrians, or the Romans, or the Spanish. But the point is, someone will come.

So can we please shut down this internet experiment before we let someone in that we’d rather not let in? It’s bad enough we now have a 19th-century Spanish gunfighter sitting out by the pool with spurs and a Mai Tai.

June 17, 2011
Segovia, Peru
Michelle Cavalcante

Say what you need to, Cyrus, but as you know, grants are not as lucrative as they once were. And if you recall, the Ministry of Culture refused to give us excavation permits unless we agreed to
Blogspace9
’s involvement. You know as well as I do that money changed hands there. I’m not afraid to write it. Somebody paid somebody off. Can you pass that yellow hot sauce, Cyrus? You hanging over me watching me type is not going to change what I type.

The world is changing, Cyrus. The axis of information has shifted dramatically since you were in graduate school back during the Paleolithic. Information is still power, but that power now comes from sharing rather than hoarding. That’s something the Inca never realized. That’s something the Egyptians never suspected. That’s something the Maya never dreamed of.

The kings of old were paranoid sociopaths, more concerned with their own fragile thrones than with the larger more glorious pictures that were everywhere before them. The professors of old were no different. But those kings are long gone, Cyrus. And those old professors are on their way out, soon to be replaced by a vast army of underpaid, uninsured, unloved adjunct professors who will, in short time, be chewed up by academia and become alcoholics.

You want to wait, Cyrus? You want to process your data, and then sit back and write an article for Latin American Antiquity, circulation 1, 600? Light your tiny candle, big guy! As of this morning, our hit counter is at 702, 429. Almost three quarters of a million people are going to read the words I am typing right now. I’m only thirty-two years old, and I have more people paying attention to me than all the Inca emperors combined ever did. Now pass me the damn yellow hot sauce.

Thank you.

In any case,
Blogspace9
gave us a lot of money. So, if you want to cancel our agreement, and take a chance at losing our permits, then have at it. Go get us some grants. On the other hand, you own three houses, Cyrus. Sell two and pay us what we’re worth.

Bruce: I’m going to send you the scans that Kim is pulling off this infrared light box or whatever it is. We’re still trying to figure out where it came from, but you’re not going to believe how much of the lettering is legible now.

Leon is here and he wants to write something. I think he wants to tell you about his new man crush. I can’t yet tell who is more taken by our new bodyguard Mr. Bolivar – Leon or Kim.

Before I go, Kim wants you to look for a name –
Quiroga
. It looks like Father Sebastiano was expecting a visit from him, and it doesn’t look like he was much looking forward to it.

June 17, 2011
Segovia, Peru
Leon Samples

Bruce, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that smoking a cigarette by the pool wearing nothing but horse-riding boots and a Speedo isn’t cool. And ordinarily I would agree with you, but that’s what my new best friend is rocking right now, and he’s the coolest cat I’ve ever seen.

He’s only been here a day and a half, but I’m already tight with Bolivar. He’s like the Starsky to my Hutch, the Hall to my Oates. I think Kim is in love with him, and you know what, I don’t blame her.

Bolivar is a former police constable from Caracas. He’s also a champion marksman and sword fighter. He’s forty-seven years old, speaks nine languages, and weighs about thirty-nine pounds by the looks of him. But he’s a tough little guy, solid like a puma.

I’m not sure exactly what he’s doing here. He says he’s protecting us, and I expect he means from the zombies or the convicts or whoever the hell it is prowling around at night. But so far, he hasn’t done much except drink rum, sit by the pool, and look cool.

He says he’s going outside tonight. He’s planning to spend the night on top of the pyramid, and I’m going with him. At least I want to, but when I asked, he just ignored me.

Check this out – Kim just walked up to the edge of the pool, and right this minute, she just took her top off in front of him. And he hasn’t moved a muscle. Cyrus is standing out there too, and he just dropped his guavas. I have to go.

June 17, 2011
Seville, Spain
Bruce Wheeler

Guys, now things are starting to get strange. I’m still here at the Archive, but I’m alone, and the reading room doors are locked from the outside. I tried calling out but there doesn’t seem to be anyone downstairs at the desk. OK, now the lights just went out. This is starting to worry me. And apparently there is no electricity – I just checked. That means I’m on battery power. I’m going to log off for a bit and see if I can make a plan. If you guys are online, don’t go away.

June 17, 2011
Seville, Spain
Bruce Wheeler
(continued)
Me again. It’s 8:00 at night and I’ve been sitting here for three hours. The doors and windows are locked. I thought about trying to light a fire under the fire alarms to summon help. Well, I did more than think about it. I tried to light a fire for about an hour but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. At least I don’t have to worry about freezing to death — summer in southern Spain! Other than that, I’m out of ideas. I’ve been waving at the window but I’m too far up for anyone to notice, and this is all safety glass, so nobody can hear me.

About ten minutes ago a light went on downstairs. I haven’t heard anything, so it might be an automatic timer thing. I’m going to go…