gns.cannibalcult-第2部分

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ven　before　he　had　got　the　words　out；　'on　the　third　day　I　shall　live　and　you　will　fear　my　ing！'
　　
　　'This　is　blasphemy！'　the　padre　paled；　almost　dropped　his　prayer　book。　'Monsieur　Gallon；　delay　no　longer　in　the　name　of　Our　Lord！'
　　
　　'I　shall　rise　again！'　Nevillon　repeated　and　saw　the　reflection　of　the　executioner's　hand　on　the　switch；　he　heard　a　faint　click　but　had　no　time　to　anticipate　the　falling　heavy　blade。
　　
　　The　priest　turned　his　head　away；　heard　the　first　thud　as　the　knife　struck；　followed　by　a　lighter　one　as　the　severed　head　rolled　into　the　basket。　A　spurting　gurgling　sound；　the　main　artery　jetting；　the　drain　below　the　basket　taking　the　flow　of　blood。　Somewhere　below；　water　was　flowing　to　wash　the　scarlet　fluid　into　the　city's　sewers。
　　
　　Gallon　paused　to　survey　his　handiwork。　Perfect。　So　quick；　and　that　was　always　a　pity　where　a　man　like　Louis　Nevillon　was　concerned。　The　two　warders　just　stared；　if　they　came　upon　a　gory　road　accident　tomorrow　they　would　stop　and　look。　Blood　fascinated　them；　so　long　as　it　was　not　their　own。
　　
　　'Thank　you；　gentlemen；'　Gallon　was　the　formal　national　executioner　once　more。　'Your　presence　has　been　a　great　help　to　me。　The　condemned　man　died　quickly　and　painlessly。'　Unfortunately！
　　
　　Outside；　the　crowd　had　fallen　silent。　Obscene　chanting　had　died　to　low　muttered　conversation　and　then　petered　out　altogether。　Yvette　de　Coulon　had　been　avenged。　There　was　nothing　more　to　stay　here　for。
　　
　　Slowly　the　gathering　broke　up；　began　to　file　away　in　an　orderly　fashion。　The　watching　police　bolstered　their　pistols　and　breathed　an　audible　sigh　of　relief。
　　
　　The　Beast　of　France　was　no　more。　In　time　the　bitter　and　gruesome　memories　would　fade。　It　was　all　over。
　　
　　'I　say　it　is　impossible！'　The　prison　governor　trembled　and　banged　his　desk　with　a　clenched　fist；　causing　an　open　ink…well　to　overturn　and　spill　its　blue…black　contents。　'It　is　absolutely　impossible。　This　is　some　kind　of　joke　and　the　perpetrator　will　be　punished！'
　　
　　'It　is　no　joke；　monsieur；'　the　deputy　governor　licked　his　lips　nervously。　'I　have　been　and　seen　for　myself；　for；　like　yourself；　I　did　not　believe　it　at　first。　But　there　is　no　possible　doubt…the　corpse　of　Louis　Nevillon　has　disappeared　from　the　execution　chamber；　both　head　and　trunk。　All　that　remains　are　a　few　bloodstains　that　failed　to　wash　away！'
　　
　　'But　how？　And　why？
　　
　　'I　wish　I　knew；　monsieur；　but　I　think　this　is　a　matter　for　the　Surete。'
　　
　　An　uneasy　frightened　silence。
　　
　　*I　will　e　and　look。'　The　governor　stood　up；　a　man　in　his　mid…forties　who　had　suddenly　aged　considerably。　'Perhaps　。。。　perhaps　there　is　some　mistake。'
　　
　　There　wasn't；　there　could　not　be　because　there　was　nowhere　in　the　execution　chamber　where　the　decapitated　。body　of　Louis　Nevillon　could　be　lying　hidden。　Ashen…faced　and　trembling　visibly；　the　governor　checked　the　'basket'；　a　stainless　steel　container　below　the　block　with　a　wide　drain　fitted　at　the　bottom。　Just　some　blood　which　was　rapidly　congealing；　nothing　else。　The　blade　rested　where　it　had　fallen；　a　crimson…splattered　chunk　of　honed　steel　that　glinted　in　the　harsh　electric　light；　seemed　to　gloat　as　though　it　guarded　some　sinister　secret。　The　rest　of　the　room　was　bare。
　　
　　'But　how？'　the　governor　wrung　his　hands　helplessly。　'Somebody　has　stolen　it。　The　guards　。。。'
　　
　　'Nobody　can　escape　from　here；　dead　or　alive；'　the　small　deputy　stated；　as　though　he　had　rehearsed　the　sentence　word　for　word　schoolboy…fashion。
　　
　　'Then　there　is　a　conspiracy　afoot；'　the　other　was　desperately　trying　to　force　himself　to　believe　some　logical　explanation。　Nevillon　had　been　evil；　had　muned　with　the　devil　and　eaten　human　flesh。　Yet　dead；　he　was　as　other　corpses；　he　could　not　be　otherwise。　His　magic　had　died　with　him。
　　
　　'We　shall　have　to　inform　the　Surete　and　conduct　an　inquiry。'　The　governor　walked　quickly　back　towards　the　door。　He　shivered；　it　was　icy　cold　in　here　and　the　strip…lighting　seemed　to　have　dimmed。　Perhaps　it　was　his　imagination。　'Until　then　nobody　must　enter　this　chamber。'　He　locked　the　door　behind　them。
　　
　　The　inquiry　into　the　disappearance　of　Louis　Nevillon's　corpse　was　conducted　jointly　by　the　prison　authorities　and　the　Surete。　Everybody　was　interrogated　from　the　governor　down　to　the　most　junior　warder；　but　in　the　end　no　conclusion　was　reached…except　by　four　men　who　kept　their　opinions　to　themselves。　Monsieur　Gallon；　the　infamous　French　executioner；　the　padre；　and　the　two　warders　who　had　been　in　attendance　at　Nevillon's　death。　They　remembered　the　murderer's　final　words　as　his　head　lay　on　the　block。
　　
　　'On　the　third　day　I　shall　rise　again。　I　shall　live　and　you　will　fear　my　ingr
　　
　　The　body　of　the　Beast　of　France　had　vanished　into　thin　air；　Louis　Nevillon　had　spoken　the　truth。
　　
　　He　would　live　again。
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　TWO
　　　
　　SABAT'S　BROW　furrowed　into　a　worried　frown。　He　shook　his　head　slowly；　stroked　a　finger　down　the　long　scar　on　his　left　cheek；　a　memento　from　his　SAS　days　that　still　seemed　to　smart　on　odd　occasions。　His　dark　eyes　narrowed；　his　lips　pressed　into　a　thin　bloodless　line。　Tall　yet　muscular　beneath　his　dark　suit；　he　gave　the　impression　of　a　coiled　spring；　latent　power　that　was　not　to　be　trifled　with。
　　
　　He　read　through　the　short；　almost　insignificant；　passage　at　the　foot　of　an　inside　page　of　the　Telegraph　a　second　time。　EXECUTED　MAN'S　BODY　DISAPPEARS
　　
　　The　corpse　of　Louis　Nevillon；　guillotined　in　Paris　last　week　for　mass　murder；　is　reported　to　have　disappeared　from　the　execution　chamber。　A　Surete　spokesman　declined　to　ment　on　it。
　　
　　Which　meant　that　the　French　authorities　were　baffled；　they　rarely　mented　on　failures。　The　newspaper　fell　from　Sabat's　fingers　and　he　stared　vacantly　out　of　the　window；　did　not　see　the　dense　shrubberies　which　gave　his　WestHampstead　house　its　seclusion；　saw　only　in　his　mind　a　grey…haired　man　with　aristocratic　features；　a　hint　of　nobility　that　failed　to　hide　the　evil　in　those　close…set　eyes　and　narrow　mouth。　Sabat　recalled　every　detail；　indelibly　imprinted　on　his　brain　from　the　one　occasion　when　he　had　met　Nevillon。　Maybe　the　intervening　years　had　changed　the　Frenchman　physically；　a　few　lines　here　and　there；　the　grey　slowly　turning　to　white；　but　the　man　himself　would　not　alter。　A　Grand　Master　of　the　Left　Hand　Path。　The　Beast　of　France。
　　
　　Sabat　sighed。　Such　powerful　evil　could　not　be　wiped　out　by　the　guillotine。　In　the　same　way　that　bullets　had　been　unable　to　destroy　Sabat's　own　brother；　Quentin；　that　day　when　Mark　Sabat　had　attempted　to　blast　him　into　oblivion　during　their　final　encounter　down　in　that　mountain　grave。*　The　dead　man's　soul　had　found　another　body…　his　own！　And　Sabat　had　harboured　Quentin's　evil　ever　since；　struggled　to　overe　it　but　it　had　only　been　subdued；　his　own　strength　and　faith　keeping　it　under　control。　One　momentary　flash　of　weakness　on　his　own　part　and　it　rose　up　again　like　a　deadly　snake；　spread　its　poison　through　him；　dominated　his　every　thought　and　action。　Quentin　still　lived。　Even　now；　he　could　hear　that　nasal；　mocking　laughter　in　the　recesses　of　his　own　brain；　whispered　taunting　words：　'They　didn't　kill　Louis　Nevillon；　He　lives　again'
　　
　　He　cleared　his　throat；　tried　to　get　rid　of　the　rasping　soreness　that　began　in　his　tonsils　and　seemed　to　travel　right　down　to　his　lungs。　He　shivered；　felt　suddenly　cold；　his　flesh　goosepimpling。　Damn　it；　he'd　got　a　chill。　Even　the　fittest　of　men；　and　Sabat　had　looked　after　his　body　since　his　ignominious　discharge　from　the　SAS；　picked　up　the　odd　infection。　Maybe　he　would　be　better　off　in　bed。　It　was　like　giving　in；　surrendering。　Quentin's　laughter　again；　sensing　any　weakness；　mental　or　physical；　a　lurking　inner　deadly　enemy。
　　
　　Sabat's　head　was　aching。　It　had　been　feeling　muzzy　ever　since　he　had　got　up　and　now　his　temples　were　throbbing　as　though　an　invisible　goblin　was　pounding　away　at　them　with　a　tiny　hammer。　His　eyes　smarted　and　there　was　a　dry；　sour　taste　in　his　mouth。　Bed　wis　definitely　the　best　place。
　　
　　It　was　an　effort　to　climb　the　stairs；　dragging　himself　up　a　step　at　a　time；　his　sweaty　hands　slipping　on　the　polished　oak　rail。　A　stiff　whisky　and　a　couple　of　aspirins；　he　would　be　OK　in　the　morning。
　　
　　He　shivered　uncontrollably　as　his　naked　flesh　came　into　contact　with　the　sheets；　cooling　his　body　temperature　fast　and　making　him　curl　himself　up　into　a　ball　in　an　attempt　to　generate　heat。　The　whisky　had　burned　his　throat；　he'd　had　difficulty　getting　those　aspirin　tablets　down。　He　felt　as　though　he　might　vomit　and　wondered　if　he　was　capable　of　making　it　across　to　the　bathroom。
　　
　　He　closed　his　eyes；　saw　Louis　Nevillon's　face　again；　smirking。　A　voice　somewhere；　he　couldn't　make　out　the　words　but　he　knew　it　was　Quentin's。　Nobody　was　bothering　much　about　the　murderer's　missing　decapitated　body　except　a　few　red…faced　prison　officials　whose　security　system　was　being　criticised。　They　didn't　realise；　they　couldn't　be　expected　to。　Somebody　had　to　。。。
　　
　　What　the　hell's　it　got　to　do　with　you；　Sabat？　Nothing。　It's　none　of　my　business。　Trying　to　find　a　reason　not　to　do　anything　about　it。　I'm　not　well　enough　to　go　to　Paris。　I　don't　have　the　time　anyway。　Jumbled　thoughts　which　emanated　from　that　open　clearing　in　the　wooded　mountains　and　travelled　incoherently。　A　beautiful　SAS　colonel's　wife　who　liked　to　whip　men　until　they　cringed　and　pleaded　for　mercy。　Lilith；　Goddess　of　Darkness；　reborn；　using　that　same　colonel　to　do　her　bidding；　indoctrinating　him　into　believing　that　he　was　a　reincarnation　of　Adolf　Hitler　and　that；　between　them；　the　world　was　theirs　for　the　taking　with　their　pseudo　vampire　army。　And　a　clergyman　who　also　thought　he　could　bring　the　world　to　its　knees；　a　takeover　by　the　dark　forces。
　　
　　And　so　it　would　have　been　were　it　not　for　your　meddling；　Sabat！
　　
　　Vicious　female　tones；　a　cry　of　hate　and　anguish　from　beyond　the　grave。　Laughter。　Sabat　wasn't　sure　whether　it　was　his　brother's　soul　or　the　insane　cacklings　of　Royston　Spode；　from　the　depths　of　that　crumbling　crypt　where　the　evil　churchman's　dreams　had　finally　been　buried。　They　were　all　trying　to　get　at　him　from　beyond　the　final　barrier。