See this previous post for a communication to any who would join me in writing.  For a thought on David Lynch, see this article.  And see this article to read the story from the beginning.  Meanwhile…

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A strange creature walked the streets of the city outside the Holy City.  It was a spirit creature made flesh, but it was no angel.  Black fur erupted from most of its body, less like a cat than a tarantula.  It was as narrow as the thinnest human, with shoulders just a bit more narrow than humanly possible, and a single angry pink eye dominated the void of its face.  There was no visible nose, but the spiky black fur thinned and shortened enough to make out a mouth, in the naturally down-turned expression of a cat.

Nobody stared at the creature.  They had bigger things to worry about, and the fact it was clothed spoke to its civilized nature.  It was a duende, of the kind that were commonly seen on small astronave crews that transported smaller cargo between worlds.  To say “of the kind” might suggest there were others that looked the same, and this was not at all true.  They were truly unique creatures, but the more animalistic would typically run nude, and not be seen pushing mysterious metal cylinders around urban streets with a dolly.

The duende wheeled its prize down a garbage-strewn lane, half clogged with the improvised shelters of the homeless, and into a mysterious dark clearing, deep in the heart of an ancient block of buildings.  It had once been a plaza, but was now protected by a slumlord who rented it out to small astronaves.  The Leveret was one such craft, its four legs bunched like a resting spider awaiting ecdysis.  The machine was as unique as its duende pilot, seemingly made from white metal with gilt decor, each leg’s terminal length a carousel horse’s head.  It resembled the flying cabriolets of the cardinals, but was a bit larger, with a powerful spirit capable of navigating the astrocielo.

The Leveret’s owner positioned the big cylinder below the craft, then hoisted it into one of a series of six ports on its belly.  Past a certain length, the ship took over pulling the cylinder inside with a hydraulic shunk, and the pilot closed a hatch over the port.  Each port was covered then, presumable all filled with the fuel needed for its voyages.

A voice called from the shadows.  “Heyy, corsario.”

The duende cast about for the source, and saw a filthy corazona leaning on a pile of trash.  “Yes,” it said slowly, mode switching to her language, “I am a corsario.  And you are a disgusting vagrant.  Leave me alone.”  Its voice was high, less like a woman than a teenage boy.  It would have just gotten into the craft, to demonstrate its lack of fear, but it couldn’t trust that creature with its exposed backside.  The duende rested its hand on a belt, which sported a variety of tools.  Was one of those things a gun?

“You’re all fueled up.  I’ve been watching you work,” Blasfemia said.

Its big pink eye narrowed.  “I suppose you’re wanting to steal from me?”

“No.  I just need a ride to Corazon 2.”

“You’re covered in waste.  You are not climbing into my nice clean ship.”

“You got something to clean up with?  I’ll wipe myself down before I get in.  I don’t like gettin’ all nasty any more than you.”

“Then why’d you end up like that?”

“Killed the fucking pope.  You wanna be next, duende?”

The corsario considered its weapons, and considered the woman thing before it.  If it was telling the truth, its bloody little hands had turned the Wheel of Heaven itself.  It knew for a fact that wheel had been turned, and the death of a pontifex was a possible cause.  “If I take you to Corazon 2, can I leave you behind, and never see you again?”

“Swear on a dead pope.  Gimme a wet towel, man.”  Her teeth gleamed, cleaner than anything else on the surface.

“Just a minute.”  The corsario opened another hatch and clambered inside.

Blasfemia lunged forward and quickly blocked the hatch from closing.  The duende did some quick work, then produced a hot wet towel.  She banged on the inside of the hatch with her tools.  “Come out and wait for me.  Can’t have you flying off without me, can I?”

“Coming.”  It got down to the cobblestones, and she shoved it away from the craft.  It stood nearby, sullen.

Blasfemia didn’t have any modesty for spirits.  It’s not like they were real people.  She got naked there, in the dusky alley, rubbing herself all over with the towel before reluctantly putting her filthy clothes back on.  She at least whacked the biggest clods of gore off on one of the astronave’s legs first.

“She doesn’t appreciate that,” the corsario said.

“The astronave?”

“The Leveret is a duende like me.  I wrestled her out of the astrocielo, tamed her.  Or maybe she tamed me; I don’t remember anymore.”

“You’re a space vaquero?”  She cocked her head at the strange being, still lacing her last boot.

“Try to pay attention.  I said she doesn’t like getting dirty, or having people slap her around.  Don’t get her mad.  You’re about to depend on her, for your life.”

“Alright, Capitan.  Let’s get going.”

The bizarre spirit nodded, and made all the same gestures as a human.  According to some theories, all the spirits except for angels are reflections of things in the mortal world, and this cycloptic spider-cat-pilot was surely reflecting people, in its own way.

Blasfemia went first, but had to hang there over the portal until the corsario was inside, not knowing what to do with herself in the odd little room.  Nothing looked like a seat.  The duende pulled down a bench with safety belts, that had been folded against the wall.  It wasn’t much.

“How long will it take to get to Corazon 2?”

“A hell of a lot less time than in long space, but you’ll still get your beauty sleep in.”  It rolled its eye, as it made flight preparations at the front end.

“What was that look for, duende?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get the stench out of here.  Is that what happens when you kill a human?”

“Only if you do it messy.”  It was her turn to pull a solemn face.

The corsario’s back was to her, but it sensed a mystery in the moment of silence.  “You really set this all off by murdering the pontiff?”

“Yeah, I mean.  It’s probably no big deal, right?  I heard a guy say this happened the last time a pope died in office, y’know, all the angels crying and stuff.  Before my friend Christina shot him.”

“Oh, it’s a bigger deal than that.  Something terrible is happening, and I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“You know what it means?  It’s all just … too big for me to understand.  I confess, duende.”

“You know how in astrocielo, there are angels and spirits as big as whole worlds?  They usually just float there in space, like big lumps.  Well, one of them just moved.  I’ve heard that they can, but it hasn’t happened in my lifetime – which is a lot longer than yours has been, monkey.”

She nodded to herself.  “Yeah, it figures.  I just don’t get why his old ass was so important.”

“A pontiff wears the Mandate of Heaven.  It’s the linchpin of the Celestial Hierarchy.  They become a living bridge between Heaven and Dio 6.”

“Was that angel God?”  Concern rose in her voice.

“No.  His name is Michael.  God is the thing in the astrocielo that corresponds to the star Dio itself.  I’d hate to see what happens if that moves.”

“Don’t worry.  I’m fresh out of popes to kill.”  The astronave lurched to its feet and she buckled herself to the bench.

The corsario worked the controls of the Leveret, readying her for astral flight.  It wanted to ready itself for what it would encounter in the astrocielo above Dio 6, but with Michael fallen, it had no idea what to expect.  If it survived that situation, surely things couldn’t get any weirder or worse than it already had, right?

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