按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
wn with the reverence he deserves！'
Slumped over the side of the lead coffin； Sabat fumbled to unravel the blanket shroud from around the corpse's shoulders。 He closed his eyes； didn't want to see； felt soft dead flesh； the sponginess of the severed neck。 He retched。 Any moment he would throw up。
His hands were numb with the cold but even so he felt the faint movement of that thing on which his fingers rested； like some organism that breathed faintly。 Cold fetid breath that was a stale reminder of the taste in his own mouth。 And then with an effort he was snatching his hands away； falling backwards； lying there on a cold stone floor gasping for breath。
'You did well。' Madeleine Gaufridi glanced inside the coffin； turned back to him with a smile。 'You have earned a rest。 Over there in the corner is a mattress and some blankets。 We must rest； sleep away the daytime hours and be refreshed for when the others arrive tonight。'
Sabat staggered across to where she indicated； saw that a rough double…bed had been made up in readiness for them。
'Just a few nights and it will be Walpurgisnacht* she breathed softly； as she slipped out of her jeans and blouse； leaving on only her bra and pants。 'We shall remain here until then； Sabat； to guard the most precious of all bodies that has ever lain in state。 Just you and me。 Nobody else。' A little laugh that would have sent icy shivers down Sabat's spine had not his body already been frozen。 With numbed fingers he fumbled with buttons； wondered why the hell they couldn't keep their clothes on。
Her flesh rubbed against his as they slid between the blankets。 So cold； or was it himself？ He couldn't stop thinking about Nevillon and how she had thrust her tongue into that dead mouth； the same tongue that was starting to trace a frozen path up his own neck； her fingers going where once he had willed them。 Now he was stiffening with revulsion。
'Your lover。 。。' he snatched at the first excuse that came into his head； 'he might be angry if。。。 if you are unfaithful。'
'No；' she whispered and began to rub him softly。 'He won't because until Walpurgisnacht I am free。 Louis will only live again when his sacred flesh has been devoured。 He will be reborn into another male body and； who knows； Sabat； it could be you！ Then we shall be together； you and I： Louis Nevillon and Madeleine de Demandolx de la Palud reborn to live forever！'
Sabat shuddered silently and wondered how he managed to bee aroused。 He knew only too well…because Madeleine and Louis Nevillon had him totally in their power。 Mark Sabat； priest and exorcist； was dead； finished； Quentin Sabat was in his place； the same body but the soul was as evil as that of the guillotined corpse which lay in that coffin； only a few yards away from where Sabat and Madeleine were joined in a union that was more than just a physical copulation。
Sabat stirred restlessly； tried to tell himself that he had been in a fevered nightmare； that he was back in his own London home； it was all a dream and now it would evaporate with waking。
But Madeleine Gaufridi was there； wearing that long black dress which she had worn the evening of that vile feast。 She appeared to have been up for some time for the dark candles on the altar were burning steadily； giving offa pungent aroma of sickly perfumed wax。 The lid of the coffin was closed。
She saw that he was awake； fixed him with a stare that was almost hostile。 'Get dressed； Sabat。 The others will be here shortly。'
He nodded； hastened to obey because he was cold and maybe his clothing would help to warm his flesh。 As he shrugged himself into his jacket he felt the weight of the ？38 in its holster bumping against him。 He still had his gun but it was no more use to him than a child's water pistol。
A trestle table near the door had been laid as though in preparation for some kind of buffet。 He stiffened when he noted the crockery and cutlery。 A pile of plates that appeared to be made out of some kind of black ivory； knives and forks that had been blackened。 There was no sign of any food。 That was what worried and nauseated him most。
'Tonight we celebrate the advent of Walpurgisnacht and ask the Master to give life to Louis Nevillon again。' Her tone was in the form of a recitation； her features impassive。 'Ii is very important that everything is done right。'
Sabat licked his dry cracked lips。 A feeling akin to embarrassment bordering on fear。 Fear had always been something virtually unknown to him。 Until now。 Now he knew that he was powerless to fight and it was a terrifying prospect。
'Listen！' She held up a finger。
Somewhere he heard the sound of approaching vehicles； engines that revved when the wheels stuck in the squelching mud。 ing closer。 Louder。 Dying away。
A moment's silence then low muttered voices and the slamming of car doors。
'They are here；' Madeleine Gaufridi added； smiling； 'Now we shall。。。'
She was interrupted by a scream from outside； a piercing yell of terror that was magnified and rendered more terrible because of the stillness of this remote wooded clearing。
And Sabat recognised it as the scream of a child that was suddenly cut off； as though a hand had been clapped over its mouth！ He found himself glancing back towards that table and noting again that there was no food on display！
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE DOOR opened and people began to file in。 Andre Schmid was in the lead； but was no longer clad in those worn； tight…fitting jeans which rolled over at the waistband。 Scarcely recognisable from a distance； he was dressed in black flowing robes that gave him a monastic appearance； a cowl that was flung back so that his jowls were still visible。
However； it was the limp form which he carried in his arms which attracted Sabat's attention； hypnotised him with a feeling of horror。 A child； doubtlessly the one who had screamed a few moments ago； now head down； with blood dripping steadily from a gash across his forehead。
Schmid paused before the closed coffin； gave a slight bow； and laid his burden stretched out on the lid。 Now Sabat could see the unfortunate child clearly in the circle of light cast by the flickering black candles。 It was a boy； no more than seven at a guess； a squat limp figure clad in brown shorts and a rainbow…striped shirt。 The blood was still flowing from his head； forming a pool on the lead surface。 But there was。。。 something not quite right！
Sabat stiffened as he suddenly caught a glimpse of the boy's face。 Oh merciful God！ A Grotesque； almost flat features； hideously misshapen。 A mongol！ Anger and pity mingled inside Sabat。 These bastards needed a human being for their vile cannibalistic rites so they had procured some subnormal harmless child。 So easy to lure away。
Sabat clenched bis fists； almost rushed forward but something held him back。 A voice。 'It's kindness really。 The boy is better dead than alive。 In any case he probably wouldn't live more than a few years。 Better that he serves some useful purpose。' Quentin's voice； condescending。
Sabat sighed。 It was true。 There was nothing he could do anyway。
He had expected the usual form of human sacrifice mon to such places as Haiti where the throat was slit； the spurting blood caught in vessels and drunk by the worshippers of evil； and had steeled himself to witness it。 But it didn't happen that way。 Suddenly everybody was moving away from the inert form on that awful coffin。
Sabat couldn't work out whether Madeleine or Andre Schmid was directing operations。 The others； with slow jerky movements that reminded him of the living dead in Haiti； were removing the altar cloths； carefully setting those candles down on an adjacent shelf； the material wafting and flickering the tiny flames； threatening to extinguish them。
It took several seconds for the awful truth to dawn on Sabat。 He had expected to see some form of wooden table as the basis for the altar…instead he saw a huge old…fashioned cast…iron oven of the Rayburn type； a filthy uncleaned monster； its front daubed with spilled fat and what appeared to be congealed gravy； except that he knew it wasn't because already his acute sense of smell had picked up a faint stale aroma and recognised it。 The acrid tang of burned human flesh！
He felt himself starting to retch； almost threw up。 He wanted to turn away； flee from this place； leave these people to their vile atrocities。 But he knew he could not； he was Quentin and he had to go along with whatever they were planning to do this night in their build…up to the climax of Walpurgisnacht！ He sensed the evil； was part of it himself。
A thin youth was struggling to carry an aluminium bucket containing coal and some chunks of wood。 Another was busy crumpling up sheets of newspaper； stuffing them in through the small door of the firebox。 Now there was a sudden sense of urgency； a rattling of a matchbox； a scraping and a smell of sulphur。
Sabat heard the roar of flames； the crackling of kindling