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abat crossed the room； unlocked the door but even as he flung it open the heat had him recoiling。 The entire landing was ablaze； the stairway already disintegrating into crumbling fiery struts。
Sabat closed the door； leaned back against it and tried to recollect his thoughts。 He wasn't going to panic； that was why household fires claimed so many victims。 They were responsible； of course； the man called Royston and his devilish followers of the Left Hand Path。 They had been one move ahead of him； spotted him from the outset and were determined to eliminate him as quickly as possible。 Death that would be worse than death because Quentin would trap his soul in the dark void of Hades for eternity。 The flames were just the beginning； physical death。
Sabat did not pray； neither did he curse。 Just a vow of vengeance and a promise to himself that somehow he would e out of this alive。 At least he had returned to his body in time 。 。 。 but only just！
The flames were already licking at the door； forcing him back into action。 A few moments spent in dressing； not because he needed his clothes but because there were certain items which he could not leave behind。 He stuffed the chalice into a jacket pocket along with the small crucifix and those vital herbs； felt the forting weight of the 。38。 The latter might be handy if there was to be physical contact with the members of the coven。 Given the opportunity he would put a bullet in Royston's brain。
He crossed the room and stared down from the window。
A crowd had gathered in the car…park； many with dressing gowns and coats thrown hastily over night attire； horror…stricken faces staring up at him。 More people were arriving； villagers rushing to the scene determined not to miss this ghastly spectacle； a highlight in their sober conventional lives。 A small minority hoped secretly to witness a horrible death； see a fellow human with the flesh on his body burning； melting the fat like beef dripping。
A fiery avalanche as some rafters collapsed and showered burning debris in front of the window。 The watchers moved back。 Then came a flashing blue light； eerie as it was reflected on the leaping yellow and orange； a banshee…like wailing and a scarlet metallic monster was easing its way on to the car…park'。 The fire brigade had arrived but Sabat knew they were too late to reach him。 The verandah below his window was a mass of shooting flames and there was no way the firemen were going to put a ladder across it。
He turned back from the window and thought for a moment that this really was the end； there was a roaring in his ears and he thought he could hear Quentin laughing。 There's no way out for you this time； Mark！
Suddenly Sabat had a brief sensation of sea…sickness； that fleeting moment which inexperienced sailors experience when a ship lurches with the current； a giddiness that has your stomach rolling as you grab the nearest obstacle because if you don't you fall。
Sabat grabbed the bed； felt it beginning to move； sliding away from him。 But that was impossible 。。。 a splintering of timber and then the bed was tipping up； one corner wedged firmly in a hole where the floorboards had collapsed。 He rubbed his smarting eyes； saw a jagged gap about a foot square that went right down to the room below … the lounge bar！ Ancient wooden beams and floorboards had cracked under the strain as the upper…storey contracted with the intense heat。
Sabat saw a chance； a slim one； but he had been handed a slender lifeline and did not hesitate。 He got his back to the wall； both feet securely wedged on the tilted headboard of the old…fashioned bed； and exerted every ounce of his waning strength。 Sweat ran down his face in rivulets； bining with the smoke to sting his eyes so that he could not see。 For a few seconds nothing happened and then with a rending crash the front of the bed bulldozed its way through the woodworm…riddled fire…weakened boards。 Sabat lost his footing； sprawled headlong and when he opened his eyes found himself staring down into the room below。
The fire was restricted at the moment to the upper…storey where it had obviously been started； already it was beginning to eat its way through the wall from the adjoining bedroom so that the heat was blistering his skin。 Frantically he stamped with his feet at the edges of the hole made by the bed； sent slivers of snapped wood flying down below； widening the hole。 And then he jumped。
Sabat hit the carpeted floor and roiled over。 Blazing debris was cascading everywhere and a ten…foot beam above the door was threatening to collapse at any second。 He leaped for the door； heard a bang like the report of a shotgun and even as he felt the weling rush of cool night air on his overheated body； a tremendous blow struck him。 His leap became a stagger； he felt his senses starting to slip away。
And then the fiery night turned to unrelenting blackness。 Total oblivion； so cool and refreshing after the heat。
Sabat struggled to e to terms with his own mind。 Consciousness was as elusive as a marshland Jack…o…lantern； taunting him； slipping from his grasp just as he reached out for it。 He could still smell the fire； wondered if he had actually got out and just when he had almost convinced himself that he had he fell back into that awful black abyss。 Floating in a semi…atose state； aware that around him was dazzling painful light。 Maybe he was dead and his astral was condemned to wander the barren wilderness of the first plane forever； a low entity； a poltergeist likely to be summoned by its Master for menial hauntings at a moment's notice； but until then he must remain in this awful desert。
Some time later； it could have been hours； days or weeks； he came to the conclusion that he was in hospital。 Although he stili smelt occasional odours of acrid smoke； his senses were dominated by an odour of disinfectant and scrupulous cleanliness； the constant movement of blurred； white…clothed bodies and voices that spoke in low whispers。
It seemed an eternity before Sabat regained full consciousness； managed to squint painfully through half…open eyes and saw the bare； white…washed walls。 He was lying in bed in a small room； the only item of furniture a table by the far wall。 A private ward。
A few minutes later a tall； balding man in a long white coat entered； a smile that could only be interpreted as one of professional relief on his features。 'Ah； Mr Sabat； you've decided to return to the land of the living at last。'
'As close as that； was it？' Sabat barely recognised his own voice； a rasping croak that hurt his throat and made his jaw ache when he moved his mouth。
'Almost。' The doctor seated himself on the edge of the bed。 'You cheated the blaze at the pub but a falling beam clobbered you just when you were almost clear。 Nothing too serious； though。 It was the concussion that worried us。 We were afraid you mightn't e out of the a but I guess now you're going to be all right。 You'll have to take it easy for a week or two though。'
'How long have I been unconscious？'
'Three days。 You're in the East Birmingham accident hospital； by the way。'
〃Thanks for telling me；' Sabat grimaced。 He lifted a hand and felt the bandages which swathed his head； noted the restricting pyjamas in which he was clothed。 The sooner he was out of this place； the better。 A favourite quip of his was that there were three places one should keep clear of …prisons； churches and hospitals。 He felt a hypocrite right now。
'You'll be in here for a week at least；' the doctor's tone was stern； almost as though he could read his patient's thoughts。
Sabat tried to relax after the doctor had gone out but it was impossible。 The enemy had failed to kill him but they had certainly removed him from the battleground。 And the man called Royston would already have prepared his new black altar in their latest meeting place； and the mouldering bones of William Gardiner would be ready to call up unspeakable evil。 Sabat was in the same situation as a racing driver who had crashed … for his own sake he had to get back into action as quickly as possible。 And also he had a score to settle； a hatred that was festering inside him for the big man named Royston who was responsible for this。 The SAS had taught him how to kill and he had learned well。
Sabat had not been expecting a visitor so soon。 The man who was ushered into the room had the role of policeman stamped indelibly on his features； even civvies could not hide that。 The nurse stood hesitantly in the doorway； wondering if she had done the right thing。 The doctor had said definitely no visitors。 But there was no way she could refuse that important…looking； awe…inspiring pass which had been flashed under her nose。 One did not argue with the police。
'Plowden；' the newer's introduction was peremptory； no enquiry after the patient's health； adding 'Detective Inspector。'
Sabat regarded him stoically。 His painstaking efforts to avoid contact with the police had proved futile。 He nodded； for once feeling at a disadvantage wrapped in bandages。 'Pleased to meet you； Inspector。' That was a downright lie。
'I understand you've been making enquiries into this St Adrian's business；' Plowden's tone was hostile。 'I would have thought it only courteous for you to have contacted us。'
'Considering I'd only been in the village a few hours；' Sabat's tips tightened； 'I'd had no chance to； even if I'd wanted to； which I didn't because my enquiries were of a different nature to yours and I saw no reason for us to collaborate。 The Bishop
Plowden managed to refrain from saying 'fuck the Bishop' and snapped： 'We've found a body in the river。 One bearing the same crushing hoofprints that were found on the corpse of the girl those bastards dug up。 Her name's Sheila Dowson； has a record for soliciting in London's East End。 Also served a term of imprisonment for involvement in drug pushing。 It's a murder enquiry now！'
The other stiffened； conjured up a mental picture of a battered corpse； the skull crushed by flailing cloven hooves。 He made it up on to one elbow； experienced a wave of dizziness that receded and left him feeling sick。
'You're going to e up with some preposterous theory about the devil having been called up；' the policeman's tone was heavy with sarcasm。 'I'd prefer to think in more realistic terms； like cudgels being fashioned with iron hooves so that they leave the marks we saw and half these bloody drug…crazed idiots believing that they've actually succeeded in summoning Old Nick。 We'll get 'em； though。 But I haven't e here to discuss the police's findings； Mr Sabat； you'll no doubt read all about it in the sensational dailies。 I've e to warn you 。 。 。 don't start interfering or else I'll have you charged with obstructing police investigations！'
'You'd find that rather difficult； I think。' Sabat's head was throbbing and he was forced to close his eyes momentarily。 'Nevertheless； you have told me something that I already suspected。'
'And what's that？'
'That we are not dealing with some teenage sensation…seeking cult； we are up against one of the most dangerous covens that has ever existed； one which harnessed a dangerous and terrible power！'
'Bullshit！' Plowden snapped。 'They'll all be under arrest before long； that I promise you。'
'I wish you success；' Sabat's voice had a ring of sincerity as well as doubt； 'but I don't think you'll find it quite that easy； Inspector。 Have you found the missing skeleton yet； the remains of William Gardiner？'
'No。 But I don't regard it as being of any importance now except perhaps as evidence against those who exhumed and stole it。 Possibly it's been disposed of； burned in an incinerator and we'll never find it。'
'I see。' Sabat closed his eyes again； deliberately kept them shut and when he opened them the inspector had gone； it was the easiest way of concluding their brief discussion。
It was a sheer physical effort to get out of bed。 Every nerve in his body screa