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been done to protect him。 The Hirschlanden Warrior of L'lmpernal had given his word； but would it be enough？ How many other druids were there who might be blinded by the desire for vengeance on the mortals who had destroyed Alena that they ignored the bargain？
Sabat pushed it all from his mind and accelerated； had the Daimler's speedometer flickering on 80。 At this moment he was powerless to protect his colleague。 All his efforts must be concentrated on a dangerous nocturnal mission which was already in progress。 He had an unscheduled appointment with Bishop Boyce before dawn broke！
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE BISHOP'S palace was in total darkness； just as Sabat had hoped and expected it would be。 He wondered whether it might not have been easier to have tricked Boyce into acpanying him to Stonehenge on the morrow。 It was too risky； though。 The bishop might have somehow collaborated with Hurst in the meantime and then Lola would not have been able to get them both there。 There was only one way to be sure … to transport Bishop Boyce there physically！
Sabat parked the Daimler； went the remaining three hundred yards on foot。 In his dark clothing he became just another flickering shadow； moving through the night as silently as a prowling cougar。
The Close。 A tranquil backwater in a busy city； the impressive cathedral dominating； its extensive lawns neatly mown and fringed with towering chestnuts； the same trees which might have sheltered Bishop Avenson on his way to munion on a rainy morning two and a half centuries ago。
Sabat paused； breathed in the atmosphere。 It was difficult to believe that in this place lived the spider that had spun its web of evil and corruption。 His lips tightened and he remembered briefly his own days in holy orders； a certain dean who had terrorised not only the residents of the close but many of the townspeople with his dominant； cantankerous personality； made life for the choirboys intolerable。 So Sabat had left； joined the SAS； learned to kill in unarmed bat； and often in his own imagination his foe had been that same dean。 The dean had died a couple of years or so ago from old ago but Sabat's hatred for him had lived on。
Sabat forced himself back to the present； slid inside the palace gates。 It seemed incredible that only twenty…four hours ago he had been breaking into Stone's house； like a re…run of an old film。 It could get boring； make you careless； and then you slipped up。 There must be no mistakes for too many lives depended upon this night's work。
Alert again； listening to every sound。 Somewhere an owl hooted mournfully and his scalp tingled。 It reminded him of that time when the blood hunters were gathering in the concrete jungle； massing for all…out carnage led by Lilith； Goddess of Darkness。* This time the danger was even greater。
The palace window； if anything； afforded easier access than the more modern one in Walter Stone's house had done。 Sabat swung himself over the sill； dropped into a wide hallway。 He crouched there； deliberately regulating his breathing and allowing his eyesight time to adjust to the semi…gloom of a building which was never fully dark because of the streetlamps in the Close outside。
The hall was oak…panelled with a high ornate ceiling； and decorated with innumerable oil paintings of men with smug faces and long white hair。 Bishops dating back to the beginning of the fifteenth century。 Surely the infamous Avenson was here； Sabat smiled to himself； but he had no time to examine the name…plates on each frame。 A wide oak staircase stood at the far end。 Doubtless even bishops went upstairs to bed； Sabat concluded as he began to mount them。
There was a huge landing directly above the hall； a polished floor graced with a single strip of frayed carpet which ran the whole length。 At least ten doors led off from each side。
Sabat paused； wondered idly how you recognised a bishop's bedroom by its door。 You didn't； to find it was a matter of elimination。
He took his time； listened carefully at each door before slowly turning the knob； easing the door open a fraction； peering through the crack into the darkened room beyond。 Six unused bedrooms； one linen and store…room； and a long leather book…lined reference library which had three doors。 Sabat checked his impatience； began the return journey on the opposite side of the landing。
Three doors along he found the room for which he was searching； Bishop Boyce's sleeping quarters！
Sabat listened； heard the heavy rhythmic breathing and then eased himself into the room； closed the door softly behind him。 His keen eyesight made out the huge outline of an ornate four…poster bed； the curtains partly drawn。 He smiled。 The conceited bastard believed in carrying on in the tradition of his predecessors。 Maybe he wore a nightcap and nightshirt just to add to his fantasy！
The ex…SAS man knew that he had to make Boyce walk out of here on his own two feet。 He could easily and silently have rendered the other unconscious but there was no way he could carry a man that size and weight out of here without being spotted。
Sabat tip…toed towards the bed； tried to see in through the partly…open curtains。 It was too dark to make out anything other than a huge bulk that rose and fell steadily with a bronchial wheezing sound； snuffling like a nocturnal fox searching dustbins for edible refuse。
A light…pull touched Sabat's face like some huge spider dangling from the ceiling on its web。 His fingers gripped the cord whilst his other hand eased the …38 out of its pocket holster。 The gun was loaded and he would use it if he had to； praying that the Hirschlanden Warrior would understand。
Then in one blinding instant the closeted bedquarters were flooded with light。 Sabat saw the heavily jowled face； mouth wide like some huge； red sandstone cavern； the wart on the thick lower lip sprouting wisps of hair。
'Wha 。 。 。 wha 。 。 。 what 。。。 is 。。。 it？' Bishop Boyce struggled to surface from a deep slumber and Sabat winced as he caught the full force of stale whisky fumes。 'Who 。 。 。 what's going on？'
'Shh！ It's me； Bishop。 Sabat！'
'Sabot？ Boyce heaved himself up on to his elbows； his huge eyes flickering open in bewilderment。 'What the 。。。 deuce are you doing in my bedroom； Sabat？ And what d'you mean by ing here at this time of night and 。 。 。 '
'You and I are going for a nice long ride in my car；' Sabat held the pistol up； let the barrel waver vaguely in the direction of the other's chest。 'Now； don't make a sound and get dressed as quickly as you can。'
That 。 。 。 that's a 。 。 。 gun！' the bishop swallowed。
'Sure it is。 A ？38 could blow half your head off from this range； Bishop！'
'I'll call the police。 I'll have you locked up！' Blustering； his voice a croak； the lower lip trembling so that the hairy wart bobbed up and down。 And； to Sabat's disappointment； he noticed that the other wore pyjamas； lime green ones that were almost transparent； showing the rolls of fat that lay beneath。
'Maybe you wouldn't really like to call the police； because if you did I might give them some very interesting information。 I had a chat to Walter Stone before he 。。。 died；' Sabat lied。 'And right now I've just e from Darren Hurst's house。'
'What's 。 。 。 what's your game？' Bishop Boyce's plexion had gained a sickly pallor in the yellow electric light。 'I suppose it's money you're after； Sabat。'
'Not exactly； although cash is always wele；' Sabat laughed softly。 'Really； you've only got yourself to blame for this； Bishop； because it was you who called me in on the case； paid me to find out what was going on。 Which I did。 And that's why I'm here now。'
'You're behind all this！' the other's gaze was fixed on the barrel of the pistol； edging away as far as the confines of the four…poster would allow。 'It was you all along； Sabat。 You mitted those murders and 。 。 。 '
'No；' Sabat replied。 'I didn't kill anybody； at least not in the way you mean； Boyce。 In fact； there are certain； er； people； for want of a better explanation； who would like me dead right now。 But you're missing the point。 I'm here because。 I found out what was behind it all； what had caused the psychic disturbance at St Monica's。 You're the biggest fucking hypocrite I've met in many a year and I'd be doing your Church a big favour if I blasted your brains all over the wall behind you。 Which I might just do if you cause me any trouble。 Anyway； I haven't time to stand here all night telling you what a bastard you are。 We've got a long journey ahead of us。'
'Where to？'
'Wiltshire。 Darren Hurst will be driving down to meet us there tomorrow night； I guess your luck has run out； Boyce。 Your corrupt deal might fall through and you might also get a …38 slug in the back of your head if you try to run out on me。 Now； get dressed and let's get moving。 It can't be far off dawn and the fewer people who see us； the better！'
Bishop Boyce was trembling violently as he attempted to dress； fingers fumbling with buttons； having great difficulty getting his legs into a pair of wide grey flannel trousers。 Sabat made no attempt to help him； watching hawk…like； the barrel of the ？38 steady。 In some ways he would have weled the easy way out but he had to account to the Oke Priests if Kent was to have his sanity restored to him。
Dawn was just beginning to streak the eastern sky as they emerged from the palace。 Sabat kept close behind the bishop； the pistol gripped in his pocket。 All the same； Boyce would neither run for it nor try to attract attention。 He was a very frightened man and he was puzzled about why they were…going to Wiltshire。 He was unlikely to give any trouble。
It was fully light by the time they arrived back at the curate's house。 Sabat pulled the Daimler to a halt； killed the engine。 His features were etched with lines； almost pallid with tiredness； he had to call upon his last reserves of energy to keep going。
'Don't try anything；' he warned the bishop。 'Now； let's go inside。'
Apprehension that brought a tightness to Sabat's chest as he opened the door； a build…up of tension inside him like a boiler that was overheating and might explode at any second； scared at what he might find inside。
The moment he stepped into the hall he knew that everything was all right； the atmosphere almost tranquil。 He let out his pent…up breath slowly； motioned to Boyce to follow him。
Kent greeted them with a vacant expression from the centre of the pentagram； nasal； meaningless vocal sounds； 'glug…glug 。 。 。 uh…ah…uh…uh。 。 ； 。 ' The jewelled sword lay by his side； untouched； seemingly a lifeless object in the cold light of day； as harmless as a cast…off garden spade。
'What's 。 。 。 what's the matter with him' Boyce's expression was one of horror and revulsion。
'He's temporarily lost his mind；' Sabat answered。 'Which is the main reason for my trip down to Wiltshire。 Yours is to meet Hurst。 Now； we don't need to start until early afternoon and I think we all need some sleep。 I'll show you the spare bedroom。 The bed's already made up。'
Boyce followed him unprotesting； dazed by recent events。 Sabat closed the door behind the bishop； then went downstairs and rummaged through the late Philip Owen's desk。 He found what he was looking for； three drawing pins and a length of string。
Upstairs again he could hear Bishop Boyce moving about inside the room。 Sabat wasted no time； stuck the pins into the soft cheap wood of the bedroom door and pulled the string around them into a triangular shape。 A few muttered Latin words and he knew that his prisoner would not be going anywhere until he was released。
Sabat went back downstairs； stretched himself out on the couch in the hall。 Above him he heard footsteps； the door handle rattling； then footsteps again and the utility bed creaking beneath the bishop's weight。 Boyce wouldn't be going anywhere； that much was certain。
Sabat had learned the art of relaxing； indu