gns.thegraveyardvultures-第6部分

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　　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　win