按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
nearly unconscious； one last supreme effort。 'Beat down Satan quickly。'
Just when it seemed that Mark Sabat was slipping down into a red…tinged black abyss he found himself floating back up； gasping for air and managing to draw great lungfuls in because the crushing grip on his windpipe had relaxed。 His head still ached but not so violently as before and he found that he could move his limbs。
For some time he lay there on the hall floor； the darkness weling and no longer cold。 Total relaxation； calling upon his knowledge of yoga to calm mind and body； knowing from experience that the attack would not be renewed 。。。 yet！ For the moment he had won； just another round in an eternal battle； but nevertheless he had overe his attackers。 Quentin certainly had instigated this because only Quentin would know of his intention to fight the supreme evil behind the necromancy at St Adrian's。 Whatever his brother had called upon it was some low entity； a powerful yet ignorant poltergeist； a crude beast from the dark jungles beyond the ken of Mankind。
But； most important of all； Mark Sabat was still in possession of his most powerful weapon； the ability to exorcise an evil spirit。 That was some consolation； even though the enemy had been a low entity。 Nevertheless； the real test would e when he went down to that remote village in the heart of leafy England； a countryside steeped in legend where once King Arthur's knights had sat at their mythical round table and where Guy of Warwick had fought and killed the terrible Dun Cow。 A land soaked in blood and evil where the dark forces would be all…powerful。 Sabat shuddered at the thought。
Some time later he rose to his feet； tried the light switch and flooded the hallway with bright fluorescent light that jarred his aching head。 He felt physically and mentally drained as he mounted the wide； carpeted stairs and made his way to his bedroom on the landing above。
Every nerve in his body screamed for sleep but he must keep them waiting a while yet for there was important work to be done before he could relax。 It was unlikely that the attack would be renewed this night but he was taking no chances。
His large bedroom was surprisingly sparsely furnished when pared with the others in the house。 Bare floorboards； a double bed and a wardrobe。 Nothing else。
Wearily Sabat set to work。 First the floor was swept clean； every effort taken to ensure that no obvious particle of dirt remained。 Then he produced chalk and string and painstakingly began to mark out a pentagram with the bed in the centre。 After that followed an inner circle。 Then the small silver chalice filled with water from the bathroom tap and charged。 Sabat's voice low and meaningful； sincere in every sentence。 It was almost as though he had thrown off the evil which flowed through him but he knew only too well that that was not so； he had only submerged it。 He would not make the mistake of being caught unawares again。
He undressed； stripped naked and flung his clothes out of the pentacle for fear that some evil entity might have lodged in some dust on the cloth and would materialise later。 He sighed； flung back the quilt and eased his nude body on to the under sheet。 Sabat never wore night attire； likening it to going to bed in a suit。 He liked to experience the freedom of his body as God had intended it to be； totally unclothed and。。 。
It came as a shock to him to realise that his exhaustion had evaporated totally during the process of undressing。 A glance down at his own body confirmed the reason； the rigid pulsing erection； the sensation spreading up from his lower regions。 He groaned softly to himself … another trick of the Left…Hand Path to undermine his resistance； or just the fact that sexually he had gone into overdrive again？ His sexual appetite knew no bounds； was seldom fully satisfied。 He shrugged as his fingers slid down his flat stomach and began to ruffle the bushy black pubic hair； drawn irresistibly to that part of his body like iron filings to a magnet。
His fantasies came like scudding clouds on a breezy day； beginning with that youthful indiscretion which had once caused him so much mental anguish； now he found it exhilarating and lived it over again。 Racing in time with his finger movements； one encounter after another； all leading up to an explosive finale in which the colonel's unfaithful wife cast aside her vicious hunting crop； tugged off her black leather boots and crawled across to him with her mouth wide in expectation。
For the second time that night Sabat writhed and fought and by the time his exhaustion was beginning to creep back the first grey light of a new day was creeping in through the chinks in the curtains。
Relief at last because it was his own body that had done this to him； not some insidious sensual plot by Quentin and his evil ones to weaken him。 One final pang of fear that followed Sabat into a troubled slumber … that one day they might send Erzulie； the Black Venus； to him as he convulsed powerless in one of his crazed masturbation fantasies； and that the beautiful black goddess of voodoo would succeed where others had failed。
CHAPTER TWO
THERE WAS nothing untoward about the village itself； Sabat decided as he drove his silver Daimler in on the winding north road。 Once it had been a hamlet； renovated and extended agricultural cottages dating back to the fourteenth century。 But the evil serpent of conurbation was not to be kept at bay as the housing estates on the outskirts sprawled untidily like floodwater from a swollen river； swamping all before it； leaving just one tiny island in the middle。
Sabat slowed on a rise that fell away to the old village； cast his gaze upon the unsightliness of it all。 New houses； strangers moving into the area； the old evil being joined by new evil in an unholy alliance。 The population had swelled and that was going to make it a thousand times more difficult to find those who indulged in necromancy。
The original village was much the same as it had always been； doors and windows opening directly on to pavements； a small general store valiantly trying to pete with the large supermarket in the new part。 A blacksmith's shop； horseriding was very much a status symbol with the nouveaux riche。 Then the church； a crumbling fortress which had been overrun by the godless invaders and condemned to dereliction。 He made out the cemetery adjoining but the hedges and undergrowth were too wild and struggling to afford him much detail。
The 'Dun Cow' （there were several in the county named after the legendary monster） stood at the far end of the street beyond the rambling vicarage。 While the main edifice still retained much of its originality； an extension twice the size of the old pub had been built on at the rear； cunningly screened from the road by architects who had fought for and finally won planning permission。 A disco to lure the teenagers every Saturday night。
Sabat eased his car into the spacious car…park； noted the deep pot…holes and some broken bottles which had not been picked up。 The 'Dun Cow' was making its profit； it had no time to consider the safety and convenience of its clients。
The sign over the door stated that Herbert Walley was licensed to sell beer； wines and spirits； and the gentleman himself behind the lounge bar was doing exactly that； pouring cloudy pints of ale while dressed in a collarless striped shirt with sleeves rolled up above the elbow。 Once a powerful man his muscles were running to fat in middle…age and his expanding waistline was a fair sign that he drank large quantities of his own beer。
'Yes； sir' Walley looked round and Sabat was quick to notice an unmistakable southern accent。 Another stranger。
'I'm looking for acmodation for a few nights。' Sabat pulled a yellowing meerschaum pipe from his pocket and began stuffing long…stranded tobacco into the bowl。 An intermittent smoker he preferred a pipe； especially on those occasions when he indulged in cannabis； for so much of the expensive substance could be wasted in the rolling of a cigarette。
'I think we can arrange that； sir；' forced jocularity； 'dinner； bed and breakfast。 The food's excellent； it has to be … my wife's the cook。'
Sabat nodded； his face hidden behind a cloud of blue smoke。
'If you'd like a drink I'll go and check that we've a room vacant。 Bar meals at lunchtime； and they're good！'
Sabat winced at the sales talk and thought again about those wicked slivers of glass in the car…park。 Evil came in varying degrees。 Sipping a whisky and pep he glanced casually around the large room； noting its occupants and how far removed they were from traditional villagers。 Some were obviously reps passing through； others businessmen who had probably driven in from the factories they ran on the nearby trading estate。 Alcohol flowed freely and it was difficult to believe that the country was in the grip of an economic recession。
Then his gaze stopped and centred on a red…haired girl by the bar。 She was seated on a high stool and Sabat got the feeling that her skirt had not ridden up accidentally so that it showed ample shapely thighs and just a glimpse of suspenders。 Not bad looking； he thought； and guessed that the men on either side of her were able to see well down her low…cut blouse。 A mole on her left cheek added to her sensuality and he guessed that she was in her mid…to…late twenties。 It seemed that she was a regular customer here； and his sensitive hearing picked out her name across the hub…bub of the bar。 Randa； the man standing directly behind her was calling her； his hand edging further and further around her waist。 That would be short for Miranda； Sabat concluded； and wished that he didn't get erections so frequently。
He glanced at the girl again； felt that maybe he'd seen her somewhere before； or it could be that she was just a type … a type that turned him on。 Then Herbert Walley was breaking into his reverie； smilingly advising him that there was a vacant single room to let； Sabat drained his drink； nodded； and followed the landlord through an interior door。 A clock on the wall showed that it was 1。30pm。 This afternoon Mark Sabat would begin his investigations。
Tm…pleased to meet you； Mr Sabat；' the ageing Reverend Maurice Storton dribbled down a long…stemmed pipe and made sucking noises in time with the bobbing of his oversized bald head。 Last week had seen his seventy…fourth birthday as well as the ninth anniversary of his ordination in holy orders。 He reflected that the Church was as good a part…time retirement job as most； a steady routine until somebody began digging up the graves in the cemetery。 That was when life really became difficult。
I'd like to examine the church archives back as far as they go。' Sabat did not feel his usual animosity towards the Cloth in Storton's case； rather pity； plus anger towards the Church hierarchy for the way in which they were exploiting this elderly man； giving him the same responsibility that a full…time curate had shouldered in the past。 But instead of a salary； all Storton received was rent…free acmodation in this tumbledown vicarage。
'The police have taken them away；' Storton bubbled an apology into the gooey bowl of his pipe； then removed the stem from his mouth； still adhered to his lips by a string of spittle。
'I don't know when they'll bring them back but there's nothing much they'll learn from them； just dull records； like a register of churchwardens and authorised lay preachers。 You could always contact Detective Inspector Plowden； I suppose； but he's very officious and rather rude； too。'
'I don't intend to work with the police unless I get really stuck。' Sabat decided to join the clergyman in a pipe of tobacco and pulled his meerschaum out of his pocket。 'All the same； it's a pity he's got those records。'
'But I didn't give him the Domesday Book。' Storton closed an eye and contorted his features in what was supposed to be a wink。 'Because he didn't ask for it； and after the way he spoke to me I wasn't goin