gns.thegraveyardvultures-第4部分

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　　Sheila's　struggles　were　futile　in　the　grip　of　the　two　young　men　who　hastened　to　obey　their　leader's　orders。　She　was　seized；　gagged　with　her　own　underwear；　her　wrists　bound　fast　with　a　pair　of　tights。　Wide…eyed　she　edged　as　far　as　she　could　from　the　cold；　stiff　girl　who　lay　beside　her；　those　dead　eyes　having　been　prised　open　so　that　Sylvia　stared　sightlessly　up　at　the　moon　directly　above。
　　
　　'Now　we　can　begin。'　Horace　held　his　arms　aloft；　noting　with　no　small　degree　of　satisfaction　the　way　in　which　his　followers　flung　themselves　prostrate。　His　naked　body　glowed　with　a　fiery　warmth　in　spite　of　the　fact　that　the　temperature　seemed　to　have　dropped　considerably　during　the　last　few　minutes。　The　moon　was　darkening；　a　fleeting　bank　of　cloud　possibly。　His　gaze　rested　on　the　beautiful　corpse；　now　a　pale　silhouette；　her　details　obscured　and　flicked　on　to　Sheila　who　had　ceased　to　struggle。　His　arousement　was　almost　painful　but　he　knew　he　must　wait　until　the　Master　had　claimed　this　sensual　human　offering　before　he　took　his　own　pleasure。
　　
　　Dark　now；　so　dark　that　it　was　impossible　even　to　make　out　the　outlines　of　those　around　him。　Still　muttering；　incoherently　because　at　times　like　these　everybody　was　afraid。　Closing　his　eyes　because　he　did　not　want　to　see；　feeling　the　atmosphere　cold　and　alive　with　a　sensation　akin　to　that　of　an　electric　storm。　Hearing　the　fearful　babblings　of　his　followers。　Sheila　struggling　with　her　bonds；　shuddering　and　gasping　as　though　she　was　orgasming。。。
　　
　　Then　the　smell；　a　putrid　stench　that　had　the　bile　rising　up　into　Horace's　throat；　an　odour　that　was　familiar　and　all　the　more　frightening　because　he　recognised　it。
　　
　　Like　the　stench　of　a　foul　stable　that　had　not　been　cleaned　out　for　centuries；　rancid　with　urine；　excreta　and　animal　sweat。　Horace　clasped　his　hands　to　his　ears　in　an　attempt　to　shut　out　the　pounding　of　hooves　and　the　terrified　human　screams。
　　
　　Sabat　had　not　liked　Bishop　Wentnor　even　in　the　days　of　his　own　priesthood　when　the　bishop　had　been　a　mere　canon。　Overweight；　florid…faced　（there　were　rumours　that　he　drank　heavily）；　all　bining　to　give　a　supercilious　attitude；　a　man　who　did　not　tolerate　any　disagreement　with　his　own　opinions。　A　rebel　in　his　own　way；　Wentnor　had　gambled　on　some　unconventional　political　views；　hoping　that　if　the　right　party　won　the　next　election　he　would　receive　the　favours　due　to　him　for　his　loyalty。　The　gamble　had　paid　off　and　he　had　bee　a　bishop。　In　his　own　way　he　was　as　ruthless　as　Sabat　was。
　　
　　And　Wentnor　made　no　secret　of　his　dislike　for　Sabat。　One　who　has　shown　disloyalty　to　the　Church　should　have　been　defrocked。　Unfortunately　it　was　a　case　of　once　a　priest　always　a　priest。　The　Dean　and　Chapter　remembered　Sabat's　powers　of　exorcism　and　had　advocated　calling　him　in　once　the　police　had　hinted　that　there　was　more　to　the　desecration'　of　these　graves　in　St　Adrian's　churchyard　and　the　exhumation　of　corpses　than　just　plain　vandalism。　Wentnor　had　refused　adamantly　but　within　a　week　he　had　received　a　directive　from　the　Archbishop　that　Sabat　was　to　be　contacted。　Wentnor　fumed　secretly　but　he　had　no　choice。
　　
　　Nevertheless；　on　principle；　the　bishop　kept　Sabat　waiting　almost　an　hour　at　the　palace。　Damn　the　feller；　he'd　got　to　be　put　in　his　place；　he'd　turned　his　back　on　God　and　such　an　act　did　not　mand　the　respect　of　those　in　holy　office。
　　
　　'Ah；　Sabat；'　Wentnor　smiled　facially　as　he　seated　himself　behind　his　huge　ornate　desk　in　his　plush　study。　No　apologies；　make　the　young　upstart　feel　unfortable。　'I　don't　need　to　go　into　a　lot　of　details　on　this　business；　do　I？　You've　read　the　papers；　doubtless。'
　　
　　'I'd　rather　you　did。'　Sabat's　dark　eyes　never　flinched；　gave　nothing　away。　'The　press　have　a　habit　of　exaggerating　these　things。　I'd　rather　have　the　facts　first　hand。　From　you；　Bishop。'
　　
　　Bishop　Wentnor　felt　his　pulses　starting　to　race。　Sabat　showed　not　the　slightest　trace　of　subservience。　Nor　respect。
　　
　　'Very　well　then；　Sabat。'　Curt　now；　glancing　at　the　dark…haired　man　sitting　opposite　him　but　finding　himself　dropping　his　gaze　and　staring　up　at　the　carved　ceiling　above；　fingertips　pressed　together；　a　posture　he　adopted　in　the　cathedral。　It　gave　one　a　bearing　of　holiness；　he　thought；　at　least　in　the　eyes　of　the　average　conventional　congregation。　'At　first　it　was　the　usual　vandalism。　A　word　sprayed　on　the　church　doors　。。　。　'
　　
　　'What　word？'
　　
　　'I。。。　really；　Sabat；　that　is　of　no　consequence。　Suffice　to　say　that　it　was　an　obscene　one。'
　　
　　'The　word；　Bishop。　I　must　collate　every　minute　detail；　every　fact　known　however　irrelevant　it　may　appear　if　I　am　to　conduct　a　proper　investigation　prior　to　an　exorcism。'
　　
　　Wentnor's　plexion　reddened　a　deeper　hue。　He　stole　a　glance　at　Sabat；　but　found　himself　looking　quickly　away　again。　Damn　him；　he　just　wants　to　make　me　say　that。　'All　right　then；　Sabat。　It　was　F　U　C　K。'　Spell　it　out；　it　sounds　better　that　way。
　　
　　Sabat　nodded　but　gave　no　hint　of　the　inner　satisfaction　he　felt。　'Then　the　graves　started　being　opened？'
　　
　　'That's　right。　One　or　two　of　the　older　ones　were　interfered　with　but　fortunately　there　weren't　any　living　relations　to　kick　up　a　fuss。　Until　they　dug　up　this　young　girl；　Sylvia　Adams。　A　tragic　life　cut　off　before　it　began；　sweet　innocence　itself。　。　。　and　then　to　have　that　happen。'
　　
　　'What　did　they　do　to　her？'
　　
　　'Indescribable　and　I　absolutely　refuse　to　go　into　details。　The　worst　case　of　necromancy　that　it　has　been　my　lot　to　e　into　contact　with。　Her　folks；　understandably；　are　kicking　up　a　terrible　fuss。　These　vile　people　must　have　brought　along　an　animal　of　some　kind　and　mated　it　with　the　corpse。　The　police　are　under　the　impression　that　it　was　a　goat　but　the　only　trace　of　its　cloven　hooves　are　on　the　dead　girl　herself　　Not　a　single　print　on　the　ground　around　the　tomb。'
　　
　　Sabat　pursed　his　lips；　ran　his　tongue　along　the　fringe　of　his　moustache。　'Celestina　of　Haiti　was　formally　married　to　a　goat　for　the　purposes　of　voodoo。　Voodoo　is　still　as　rife　on　the　island　now　as　it　was　then；　Bishop。　And　it　has　spread　across　the　world　。。。　to　places　like　England！'
　　
　　'Surely　you're　not　suggesting　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'It　is　too　early　to　suggest　anything　yet。　I　am　merely　stating　a　few　facts。　But　please　go　on。'
　　
　　'The　police　drew　a　blank。　Certainly　some　of　the　villagers　know　something　about　what's　been　going　on　but　door　to　door　enquiries　have　e　up　with　absolutely　nothing。　Then；　within　a　month　of　this　disgusting　exhumation　yet　another　grave　was　dug　up。　*
　　
　　'Whose　this　time？'
　　
　　'Not　a　recent　burial；　I'm　glad　to　say。　In　fact；　the　grave　was　just　over　a　hundred　years　old。　A　man　by　the　name　of　William　Gardiner。'
　　
　　'And　what　did　they　do　to　the　skeleton？'
　　
　　'I've　no　idea。　It　has　never　been　found　since！'
　　
　　'Christ　alive！'　Sabat　sat　bolt　upright。
　　
　　Bishop　Wentnor　glared；　made　as　if　to　reprimand　his　visitor　for　blasphemy　but　changed　his　mind；　he　wanted　to　get　this　meeting　over　and　be　rid　of　Sabat。　'The　police　believe　they　may　have　dumped　it　somewhere；　probably　it　will　never　be　found。　Terrible　as　the　desecration　of　these　graves　is；　it　isn't　like　murder；　is　it？'
　　
　　'In　many　cases　it　is　far　worse　than　murder。'　'In　the　case　of　the　Adams　girl　I'll　agree　but。。。　'That　was　possibly　only　a　taste　of　things　to　e；　Bishop。　Necromancy　can　take　many　forms。　Possibly　the　Adams　girl's　body　was　merely　used　for　vile　participation　in　an　obscene　act。　At　least　that　was　the　original　intention。　Those　cloven　prints　on　her　body　could　have　been　implanted　there　by　the　members　of　this　particular　cult。　On　the　other　hand　。　。　。　'　he　paused；　possibly　debating　whether　or　not　to　expound　his　theory　further。　'On　the　other　hand；　Bishop；　they　could　just　have　succeeded　in　calling　up　the　ultimate　in　evil。　It　has　been　done；　you　know。　A　classic　case　was　when　the　infamous　Aleister　Crowley　raised　up　Pan　in　Paris。　He　did　just　that　and　as　a　result　Crowley　spent　several　months　in　a　mental　institution；　virtually　a　gibbering　idiot。　His　panion　in　the　experiment　was　struck　dead。　It　is　a　known　fact　that　such　powerful　evil　summoned　from　beyond　never　returns　empty　handed。　So　it　would　be　feasible　to　assume　that　although　Sylvia　Adams'　corpse　was　used　for　the　purpose　of　powerful　black　magic；　whatever　was　called　up　took　another　life。　Thus；　what　became　of　the　body？　Are　there　any　missing　persons　reported　in　the　locality？'
　　
　　'Not　that　I　know　of　but　you　can　check　with　the　police　on　that。'　Bishop　Wentnor's　ruddy　plexion　was　now　considerably　paler　and　he　drummed　his　fingers　on　the　desk　top　nervously；
　　
　　'My　first　task　will　be　to　try　and　locate　the　missing　skeleton。'　Sabat's　eyes　narrowed。　Then　we　need　to　know　just　who　these　devil…worshippers　are。　They　may　not　be　locals；　often　a　coven　will　travel　many　miles　if　they　find　a　place　suitable　for　their　activities；　and　from　what　you　tell　me　St　Adrian's　church　and　its　grounds　have　all　the　right　ingredients。　However；　I　must　look　further　afield　if　necessary；　but　to　begin　with　I'll　need　acmodation　in　this　village。　Incognito。　Full　expenses　and　I'll　let　you　have　a　scale　of　my　charges。'
　　
　　Bishop　Wentnor　blanched　even　further；　conjured　up　a　mental　picture　of　a　recent　balance　sheet　of　diocesan　accounts。　'I　。。。　well；　yes；　of　course。　But　I　was　under　the　impression　that　exorcists　did　not。。　。'
　　
　　'Charge　for　their　services？'
　　
　　'Yes。　A　sort　of　tradition；　like　bone…setters。　A　gift　from　God　not　to　be　exploited　in　monetary　terms。　Like　water…diviners　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'Perhaps　you　would　like　to　use　one　of　your　own　exorcists　then；　Bishop。'　Sabat　rose　to　his　feet；　buttoning　his　dark　serge　jacket。
　　
　　'No；　no；'　Wentnor　held　up　a　hand。　He　would　have　liked　nothing　better　than　to　have　dispensed　with　the　services　of　this　man　but　the　Archbishop　would　not　have　accepted　his　explanation　lightly。　'Of　course　you'll　be　paid　in　full。　Just　submit　your　bills。'
　　
　　'Thank　you。'　Sabat　smiled；　a　kind　of　leer　that　a　caged　lion　might　have　given　its　keeper　at　feeding　time。　'I　shall　prepare　to　depart　for　my　destination　tomorrow。'
　　
　　'The　police　are　still　conducting　their　investigations　in　the　locality。　You　may　care　to　make　yourself　known　to　Detective　Inspector　Plowden　who　is　leading　the　enquiry。'
　　
　　'I　may；'　Sabat　paused　in　the　doorway；　and　added；　'on　the　other　hand　I　may　not。'
　　
　　Sabat　returned　to　London　and　darkness　had　already　fallen　by　the　time　he　reached　his　exclusive　West　Hampstead　home。　Unlocking　the　front　door　he　stepped　inside；　paused　to　savour　that　aroma　which　never　ceased　to　afford　him　a　great　deal　of　personal　satisfaction；　the　smell　of　French　polish　and　that　almost　undefinable　odour　which　es　from　antiques　and　antiquarian　books；　the　flavour　of　accumulated　wealth。　He　smiled　faintly　to　himself；　life　had　been　good　to　him　in　many　ways。　That　terrorist　armaments　cache　he　had　discovered　during　his　SAS　days。　That；　he　decided；　had　been　the　turning　point　in　his　life；　the　bridge　that　divided　a　mediocre　ine　from　wealth。　He　could　have　reported　it；　possibly　received　a　mendation　and　within　a　month　everybody　would　have　forgotten　about　it　because　there　were　bomb　factories　all　over　the　country。　Sabat　had　made　a　bargain　with　the　an