gns.thegraveyardvultures-第12节

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　dreadfully　sorry　about　your　Domesday　Book。　I'm　afraid　it　has　gone　for　good　in　the　fire。'
　　
　　'It　is　a　small　price　to　pay　for　your　life。'　Storton　made　gooey　noises　in　his　pipe　in　an　attempt　to　clear　some　obstruction　which　was　preventing　it　from　drawing　to　his　satisfaction；　'but　did　you　manage　to　find　anything　out　from　its　pages　before　it　was　destroyed？'
　　
　　Briefly　Sabat　told　him　of　his　discovery　concerning　William　Gardiner。　Storton's　eyes　widened　and　he　abandoned　the　task　of　blowing　down　his　pipe。　'How　awful；'　he　muttered　when　his　visitor　had　finished；　'how　perfectly　awful。　And　you　are　convinced；　Mr　Sabat；　that　they　。。。　they　actually　called　up　。。。？'
　　
　　'The　most　powerful　evil　entity　which　it　is　possible　to　summon。'　Sabat　nodded。　'One　that　does　not　return　empty…handed。　The　man　Horace；　who　is　now　in　a　mental　hospital；　knew　this　which　was　why　he　offered　a　prostitute；　Sheila　Dowson；　along　with　the　dead　virgin。　He　realised　that　if　he　was　successful　his　Master　would　demand　a　life　and　he　wasn't　going　to　take　any　chances　on　any　of　themselves　being　singled　out。　By　the　way；　can　you　throw　any　light　on　a　big　man　called　Royston；　I　don't　know　his　second　name；　who　is　now　running　the　coven　and　appears　far　more　knowledgeable；　powerful　and　dangerous　than　ever　friend　Horace　was？'
　　
　　Maurice　Storton　shook　his　head；　pursed　his　lips。　'No；　I'm　afraid　I　can't。　Had　you　not　better　request　the　police　to　trace　him？'
　　
　　'No；'　Sabat　smiled　wanly；　Tm　afraid　Detective　Inspector　Plowden　has　already　made　clear　his　views　on　my　investigations；　so　not　wishing　to　be　hindered　by　petty　restrictions　I　shall　work　alone。'
　　
　　'And　what　is　your　next　step？'
　　
　　'My　ultimate　aim；'　Sabat　replied；　'is　to　find　the　bones　of　William　Gardiner　and　exorcise　them；　thereby　destroying　the　evil　which　festers　in　them。　But　there　are　many　things　to　do　before　then。　I　must　find　the　man　called　Royston　and　his　new　temple　of　devil　worship；　but　to　do　that　I　shall　have　to　venture　on　to　the　astral　plane　again　and　to　do　that　I　must　restore　myself　to　full　health；　a　matter　of　a　few　days；　hopefully。　In　my　present　state　of　weakness　I　would　be　easy　prey　for　the　vultures　of　darkness。　However；　I　think　my　initial　task　will　be　to　cleanse　your　churchyard　of　the　evil　which　exists　there；　to　render　it　a　place　of　peace　and　quietness　again；　somewhere　which　can　never　again　be　used　by　the　followers　of　the　Left　Hand　Path。　I　must　exorcise　it；　Reverend！'
　　
　　The　other　nodded。　Once　he'd　attended　an　exorcism　service；　a　few　prayers；　muttered　incantations　by　the　exorcist。　The　curate's　personal　opinion　was　that　the　whole　affair　was　a　lot　of　mumbo　jumbo；　nothing　to　get　excited　about　even　though　it　appeared　to　have　done　the　trick。
　　
　　But　Sabat　knew　different；　realised　and　accepted　the　dangers。　And　this　time　they　were　going　to　be　increased　a　hundredfold。　It　was　his　big　test；　his　first　direct　confrontation　with　the　dark　forces；　apart　from　that　psychic　attack　upon　himself；　since　Quentin's　soul　had　merged　with　his　own。　On　that　occasion　in　his　own　home　he　had　fought　and　overe　a　single　evil　entity；　next　time　he　would　be　challenging　the　evil　powers　in　force；　a　single　mortal　outnumbered；　relying　on　just　his　own　faith　and　strength。　It　was　suicidal；　his　soul　at　stake　with　Quentin　ready　to　pounce　and　aid　his　own　kind。
　　
　　Sabat　looked　at　his　watch。　2。30pm。　'Now；　Reverend；　I'll　take　advantage　of　your　kind　offer　and　get　some　rest。　I'd　be　obliged　if　you　would　see　that　I'm　not　disturbed　for　the　next　six　hours。　And　then　I　shall　ask　you　to　pray　for　me　while　I　go　alone　to　St　Adrian's　churchyard　in　an　attempt　to　drive　out　the　evil　that　began　with　the　interment　of　William　Gardiner　and　has　grown　in　power　over　the　years。　It　is　a　battle　I　must　win　for　a　lot　of　reasons。'
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　FOUR
　　　
　　SABAT　AWOKE　just　as　the　last　rays　of　the　setting　sun　were　making　weak　patterns　on　the　wall　above　his　bed；　squares　and　diamonds　that　faded　even　as　he　lay　watching　them。　Then　came　dusk；　darkening　the　room。
　　
　　Something　he　was　aware　of　the　moment　he　sat　up　and　swung　his　legs　to　the　floor；　a　freedom　of　movement　unhindered　by　pain；　his　head　no　longer　throbbed　and　the　earlier　bouts　of　dizziness　had　not　returned。　He　gave　way　to　a　momentary　feeling　of　euphoria；　the　knowledge　that　his　deep　untroubled　sleep；　during　which　his　astral　had　remained　close　to　him；　had　healed　him　as　effectively　as　that　doctor　at　the　hospital　and　all　his　modern　drugs　could　have　done　over　a　period　of　weeks。　Not　miracle　healing；　just　a　matter　of　mind　over　body。　And　Sabat　was　ready　for　battle。
　　
　　He　dressed　slowly　with　the　ease　of　one　preparing　for　a　social　evening；　brushing　flecks　of　dust　from　his　somewhat　crumpled　and　singed　dark　jacket；　checking　his　。38　to　ensure　that　it　was　fully　loaded。　The　crucifix；　the　garlic　cloves；　he　recalled　how　they　had　bounced　harmlessly　off　Quentin　that　time　but　that　had　been　his　own　fault；　a　wavering　of　his　faith　just　when　he　needed　it　most。　Had　his　faith　been　strong　enough　then　his　brother　would　have　been　destroyed　forever。　Grimly　he　recalled　a　childhood　fable；　a　story　his　mother　had　once　read　him　about　Sinbad　the　Sailor；　how　Sinbad　had　been　accursed；　pelled　to　carry　that　vile　Old　Man　of　the　Sea　on　his　back　wherever　he　went。　Little　did　the　God…fearing　Mrs　Sabat　realise　that　one　day　that　fate　would　befall　her　own　two　sons　in　a　deadly　battle　of　their　souls。
　　
　　As　Sabat　went　downstairs　the　Reverend　Maurice　Storton　opened　the　door　of　his　study　and　shuffled　out　into　the　hall。　The　old　clergyman　looked　tired　and　strained；　a　pathetic　figure　nearing　the　end　of　his　days。　Yet　he　still　retained　an　expression　of　stubbornness　and　determination；　the　will　to　go　down　fighting。　He　was　not　going　to　surrender　his　pride　easily。
　　
　　'Mr　Sabat；'　he　said；　'perhaps　it　would　be　best　if　we　both　went　along　tonight。'
　　
　　'No；'　Sabat　gripped　him　by　the　hand；　'not　tonight；　Reverend。　You　can　help　me　best　by　staying　here　and　praying。'
　　
　　'It　is　very　dangerous；　isn't　it？'　A　sudden　flicker　of　fear　in　those　old　grey　eyes。　'More　dangerous　than　even　you　have　told　me。'
　　
　　'Yes；'　there　was　nothing　to　be　gained　by　trying　to　cover　up　the　full　extent　of　the　perils　of　this　night；　'the　most　dangerous　task　I　have　ever　faced。　'Wait　up　for　me　if　you　will；　but　。　。　。　but　if　I　do　not　return　。　。　。　remember　there　is　nothing　more　that　can　be　done。　Don't　even　attempt　a　second　exorcism　for　they　will　have　won。　Leave　the　evil　to　spawn　their　evil。'　And　he　muttered　to　himself：　'for　I　shall　then　be　one　of　them　out　there！'
　　
　　Maurice　Storton　watched　his　visitor　step　outside　and　close　the　door　softly　behind　him。　The　curate's　hand　trembled　as　he　crossed　himself　and　only　then　did　he　appreciate　the　full　extent　of　his　fear。　For　years　he　had　preached　against　evil　but　he　had　never　realised　just　what　evil　was　until　this　moment。
　　
　　Sabat　took　full　advantage　of　the　shadows　on　the　short　walk　to　the　church；　a　fugitive　of　the　night　hours。　There　was　always　the　possibility　of　a　policeman　being　posted　to　watch　the　churchyard　and　Plowden's　threats　concerning　Sabat's　return　could　waste　valuable　time　and　do　untold　damage。　Delay　at　this　stage　would　be　fatal。　He　was　taking　no　chances。　The　next　gale　would　in　all　probability　demolish　the　lichgate；　Sabat　decided　as　he　passed　through　it。　The　weathercock　and　a　few　more　slates　would　go；　too。　It　was　all　part　of　a　godless　plot　by　the　Left　Hand　Path；　harnessing　the　forces　of　Nature　for　their　own　ends。
　　
　　He　unlocked　the　church　door　and　stepped　inside　but　did　not　put　on　the　lights。　Once　his　eyes　became　accustomed　to　the　darkness　he　would　be　able　to　see　enough　to　carry　out　what　he　had　to　do。　And　there　was　no　time　to　be　lost。
　　
　　Even　as　he　filled　the　chalice　from　the　tap　in　the　vestry　and　carried　it　towards　the　altar　he　sensed　the　evil　in　the　atmosphere。　Only　his　own　extra…perceptive　senses　could　have　picked　it　up；　a　cold　mustiness　that　could　not　be　attributed　solely　to　the　old　church　which　was　kept　unheated　and　shut　up　for　most　of　the　time；　icy　fingers　that　seemed　to　touch　him　and　a　whispering　that　might　just　have　been　the　wind　soughing　in　the　trees　outside　unless　one　listened　very　carefully。　And　Sabat　tried　not　to；　told　himself　that　it　wasn't　Quentin's　laughter　he　heard　from　afar　but　his　own　imagination。
　　
　　He　worked　fast；　blessed　the　water；　not　in　the　traditional　priestly　way　by　placing　his　hands　over　the　chalice　but　by　lining　both　forefingers　in　the　manner　of　twin　guns　being　sighted　on　a　target；　conveying　his　whole　personal　force　down　into　the　colourless　liquid。　Quentin's　laughter　again　but　Mark　Sabat　ignored　it。
　　
　　He　reached　down　the　big　cross　that　stood　on　the　altar；　held　it　like　a　crusader's　sword；　seemed　to　sense　a　faint　vibration　along　it。　The　power　was　there　but　would　it　be　enough？　No　longer　did　he　doubt　that　this　night　there　would　be　a　terrible　confrontation　between　opposing　forces。
　　
　　It　had　grown　much　colder；　the　temperature　dropping　by　several　degrees；　seeming　to　numb　his　brain　like　that　of　an　arctic　explorer　exposed　in　a　barren　freezing　wasteland。　They　were　beginning　to　work　on　him；　the　fight　had　already　begun
　　
　　Totally　unrelated　thoughts　began　to　flood　his　mind　like　the　scrambling　of　a　radio