gns.thegraveyardvultures-第23节

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h；　the　souls　of　many　at　dire　risk；　and　now　Sabat　had　the　Archbishop's　blessing　to　continue　the　case。　He　would　have　done　so　even　without　it　but　it　made　it　easier。
　　
　　The　drizzle　had　gone　and　the　night　was　clear　and　dry；　the　moon　reflected　on　the　river　as　Sabat　passed　through　Evesham。　Only　twenty　miles　to　go；　he　almost　relaxed　as　he　motored　through　leafy　avenues　that　were　the　pride　of　England；　his　acute　sense　of　smell　picking　up　the　odour　of　extensive　orchards　of　ripening　fruit。
　　
　　Suddenly　he　was　braking；　the　tyres　squealing　their　protest　as　he　hit　an　unexpected　bank　of　thick　fog。　The　nearside　wheels　mounted　the　verge；　slewed　back　on　to　the　road　again；　and　the　DaimJer　skidded　to　a　halt。
　　
　　'Fuck　it！'　He　stared　in　disbelief　at　the　thick　swirling　white　vapour；　a　cold　clammy　steam　that　was　even　now　drifting　in　through　the　open　window；　his　body　chilling　instantly。　The　opaqueness　threw　back　the　powerful　headlight　beams；　dazzling　him。
　　
　　And　in　that　instant　he　knew！　Oh　Jesus；　the　dark　forces　which　had　delayed　him　at　the　car　while　Miranda　was　snatched　away　were　now　bent　on　ensuring　that　he　did　not　reach　his　destination；　that　he　did　not　discover　the　whereabouts　ofRoyston　's　temple　of　evil！
　　
　　He　stiffened；　closed　his　eyes；　and　only　opened　them　again　when　the　searing　blindness　was　gone。
　　
　　Silence。　Darkness。　The　engine　was　no　longer　running　and　the　headlights　appeared　to　have　gone　out。　。　。　unless　the　fog　was　so　thick　that　it　hid　them　pletely！
　　
　　Sabat　braced　himself；　waited　for　the　mocking　laughter　which　he　knew　would　follow。　'You're　beaten　this　time。　At　our　mercy！'　Quentin's　voice　without　a　doubt；　ing　like　a　hammer　blow　to　the　jaw　of　a　boxer　already　reeling　on　the　ropes。
　　
　　But　Sabat　had　been　in　tight　corners　before；　had　learned　to　control　his　rising　panic。　Around　his　neck　was　the　protective　crucifix；　garlic　bulbs　in　his　pocket；　a　paratively　safe　defence；　but　there　was　an　enemy　within　the　flesh　and　bones　of　his　besieged　fort　…　Quentin！
　　
　　Maniacal　laughter　jarred　his　nerves；　had　him　writhing　as　though　in　physical　pain。　Those　cold　fingers　like　the　hands　of　Death　himself　were　touching　his　face；　icy　sweat　running　down　his　face。　Then　amid　the　terror　came　an　idea；　loud　and　clear　like　the　clarion　call　of　a　rescuing　pany　of　troops；　a　sliver　of　ingenuity　impinging　itself　in　his　muzzy　brain。　He　had　exorcised　many　places；　people　…　why　not　himself'
　　
　　He　shuddered　at　the　implications；　that　boxer　again；　pinned　back　on　the　ropes；　swinging　one　mightly　knockout　punch。　If　it　landed；　he　won。　If　not；　his　defences　were　wide　open。　A　last　desperate　throw！
　　
　　Failure　he　dared　not　contemplate。　Neither　did　he　wish　to　dwell　on　his　decision。　Win　or　lose；　it　was　made。　Quentin's　voice；　an　inprehensible　babble　that　was　wearing　him　down；　opening　up　the　gate　to　let　the　enemy　in。
　　
　　Sabat　was　shouting；　screaming；　trying　to　pronounce　each　word　clearly；　frightened　lest　the　mental　confusion　might　close　in　before　he　was　finished。　'I　mand　you；　evil　spirit；　in　the　Name　of　God　the　Father　Almighty；　in　the　Name　of　Jesus　Christ　his　only　Son；　and　in　the　name　of　the　Holy　Spirit　。　。　。　'　he　had　to　gasp'　for　breath；　a　kind　of　asthma　constricting　his　lungs；　threatening　to　collapse　them。　That　。　。　。　harming　no　one　。　。　。　you　depart　from　this　。　。　。　creature　which　is　myself　。　。　。　and　return　to　the　place　appointed　you；　there　to　remain　forever。'
　　
　　He　exhaled　deeply；　had　to　draw　again　for　life…giving　breath；　the　pain　in　his　chest　crippling。　Noises　inside　his　head　which　threatened　to　dement　him；　clinging　desperately　to　a　cliff　face　beneath　which　a　black　chasm　yawned；　a　voice　that　threatened　to　suck　him　down。
　　
　　He　heard　Quentin　again。　This　time　there　was　no　laughter；　just　an　obscene　blasphemy。　'Damn　you；　you　won't　rid　yourself　of　me　like　that　because　I　am　you；　Mark　Sabat。　You　torture　yourself。'
　　
　　That　much　was　true。　Sabat　felt　the　excruciating　pain；　screamed　his　agony　but　somehow　held　on　to　his　sanity。　A　duel　was　taking　place　within　him；　the　same　as　it　had　that　last　time　between　Quentin　and　himself。　The　chasm　below　was　that　grave；　bigger；　alive　with　evil。　The　。38　barked　its　hate；　spewing　his　brother's　brains　out　like　stringy　phlegm。
　　
　　Winning　and　yet　losing；　a　stalemate　once　the　powdersmoke　had　drifted　away。
　　
　　Sabat　sank　sideways　across　the　front　seat；　closed　his　eyes　and　experienced　an　overpowering　exhaustion。　He　wanted　to　sleep　。　。　。　had　to。　Silence；　the　voice　had　gone；　just　a　terrible　stillness　which　left　him　trembling。
　　
　　'But　you　haven't　won　the　day；　Sabat！'　Quentin's　voice；　vibrant　with　fury；　but　dying　away；　to　an　unintelligible　muttering。
　　
　　And　Sabat　knew　that　he　was　alone　at　last。　That　last　super…psychic　effort　had　repelled　the　enemy；　driven　them　back　into　the　darkness。　He　reared　up　on　an　elbow；　glanced　through　the　windscreen；　saw　that　the　fog　had　gone。　Silvery　moonlight　reflected　on　the　hedges　and　a　warm　summer　breeze　was　breathing　its　fragrant　breath　in　through　the　window。
　　
　　Sabat　made　a　supreme　effort　and　struggled　up　into　a　sitting　position。　If　he　had　not　grasped　the　steering　wheel　he　would　have　slumped　back。　God；　his　whole　body　ached；　his　brain　was　numb　the　way　it　often　was　after　an　exorcism　when　he　had　projected　his　entire　mental　strength　at　an　opposing　evil　spirit。
　　
　　The　engine　had　stalled。　He　tried　to　start　it；　…barely　had　the　strength　to　turn　it　over　once。　And　that　remaining　strength　was　wilting　like　an　autumn　flower。　Totally　spent；　exorcist　and　exorcised；　a　bined　role　that　had　sapped　him。
　　
　　Even　as　he　felt　for　the　starter　again　he　sensed　himself　falling；　that　black　chasm　again　but　the　evil　had　gone　from　it。　Just　cool　and　weling；　a　place　in　which　to　drift　and　sleep。。　。
　　
　　Miranda　had　sat　silent；　staring　straight　ahead　of　her　but　seeing　nothing　on　the　roads　that　led　away　from　Warwickshire；　a　total　lack　of　awareness　so　that　when　the　big　man　behind　the　wheel　took　a　sharp　bend　too　fast　she　was　thrown　against　the　door。　A　bang　on　her　head　that　would　normally　have　brought　a　cry　of　pain　from　her　lips　did　not　so　much　as　alter　the　glazed　expression　on　her　features。　Yet　she　was　aware　of　her　predicament；　her　terror；　in　the　107　same　way　that　a　hospital　patient　stirring　in　a　deep　a　knows　but　is　unable　to　municate。　An　acceptance　of　her　fate　because　she　knew　that　she　could　not　escape　it。　In　a　way　she　had　already　died。
　　
　　At　last　the　car　slowed；　the　tyres　crunching　on　thick　gravel；　crawling　up　a　winding　drive　lined　with　rhododendrons；　ing　to　a　halt。　Royston　switched　off　the　engine；　turned　to　his　panion。
　　
　　'So　easy/　he　murmured；　his　eyes　narrowing；　once　again　the　hawk　which　had　swooped　and　taken　off　again　with　its　helpless　prey　dangling　in　its　talons；　not　even　struggling。　'And　in　spite　of　Sabat's　meddling　we　are　in　time。'　He　laughed；　an　unpleasant　sound；　got　out　and　came　round　to　unlatch　the　passenger　door。
　　
　　Miranda's　movements　were　jerky；　a　robot　in　human　shape；　her　only　feeling　that　one　spark　of　terror　somewhere　deep　inside　her。　Her　limp　hand　was　clutched　and　she　found　herself　stumbling　along　at　the　side　of　her　tall　panion；　wicked　briars　reaching　out　to　clutch　at　her　ankles；　low　branches　whipping　her　face　as　though　the　forces　of　Nature　were　eager　for　the　torment　to　mence。
　　
　　They　skirted　the　large　black　and　white　timbered　house；　half　moonlit；　half　in　shadow；　a　place　that　seemed　to　brood；　its　windows　eyes　that　scrutinised　her。　Down　paths　that　twisted　and　wound　back　on　themselves　in　places。　Once　Miranda　would　have　fallen　headlong　had　not　Royston　been　gripping　her　wrist；　he　caught　her；　pulled　her　roughly　upright　in　the　same　movement。　There　was　no　time　to　linger。
　　
　　She　saw　the　yawning　black　hole　before　her　but　did　not　understand；　had　her　captor　not　steadied　her　she　would　have　fallen　head　first　down　the　flight　of　broken　steps　that　led　below。　Royston　went　first；　picking　his　way　carefully；　holding　her　close　to　him；　gripping　her　as　though　he　both　hated　and　lusted　for　her；　fingers　squeezing　with　intent　to　hurt。
　　
　　A　narrow　passage；　its　stone　walls　running　with　moisture；　its　roof　bulging　in　places　as　though　it　might　collapse　at　any　second。　The　floor　was　uneven；　water　splashing　Miranda's　ankles　where　the　seepage　from　above　had　formed　puddles。　She　was　breathing　unevenly；　her　respiratory　system　rebelling　at　the　pungent　musty　odour；　her　skin　goosepimpling　because　it　was　so　very　cold　down　here。　Yet　she　was　not　aware　of　any　disfort。
　　
　　Light　was　ing　from　somewhere　ahead；　a　soft　yellow　glow　that　grew　brighter　with　every　bend　in　the　passage　until　at　length　they　emerged　into　a　large　underground　room。　Again　the　walls　were　rough　hewn　and　the　ceiling　was　supported　in　places　by　wooden　props　in　addition　to　the　existing　stone　pillars。　A　row　of　black　wax　candles　filled　the　area　with　an　oily　smoke　that　took　its　time　filtering　out　into　the　passage　down　which　the　two　newers　had　arrived。　And　people　moved　amid　the　smoke　haze。
　　
　　Heads　were　turned　towards　them；　eyes　glinting　with　the　same　carnal　lust　that　was　to　be　seen　in　Royston's；　all　focused　on　the　girl。　Even　in　her　trance…like　state　she　sensed　their　hostility；　their　evii　a　vibrant　wave　that　hit　her　and　set　every　nerve　tingl