gns.cannibalcult-第27部分

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　　She　had　a　sensation　of　flying　through　the　air　and　in　that　instant　all　feeling　was　restored　to　her　body。　Covering　her　head　with　her　arms；　knowing　that　she　must　fall　sometime。　Then　she　hit　the　floor　with　a　bone…jarring　force；　lay　there　bruised　and　winded　as　the　terror　finally　seeped　back。　Her　brain　could　not　cope；　sought　a　logical　explanation。　It　wasn't　him；　you　were　masturbating；　got　carried　away。　Liar！
　　
　　Madeleine　could　not　see　him　but　she　knew　he　was　there；　a　silent　thing　that　stood　in　the　darkness；　one　who　needed　no　light　to　see；　an　omni…powerful　creature　who　had　satisfied　himself　on　her　and　had　spurned　her　undying　love　for　him。
　　
　　This　was　not　Louis；　not　he　whom　she　had　served　so　faithfully　for　so　long。　Something　had　gone　wrong。。。
　　
　　She　could　hear　him　moving　about；　purposeful　footsteps　as　he　busied　himself　with　some　task。　She　heard　the　clank　of　the　firebox；　heavy　logs　being　deposited　inside；　a　crackling　of　flames。　Oh　God；　he　was　stoking　the　oven；　preparing　to　satisfy　his　hunger　after　a　long　abstinence。
　　
　　Madeleine　wanted　to　cry　out；　'No；　Louis。　There　is　no　need。　I　have　cooked　meat　in　readiness　for　your　ing。　It　is　there　on　the　table。'　But　her　voice　had　gone；　just　lips　moving　but　no　sound　ing　forth。　Sheer　terror　had　claimed　her；　turned　her　into　a　mute　slave。　She　was　praying；　not　to　the　God　of　the　convent　at　Aix…en…Provence　but　to　one　much　older；　one　she　had　once　witnessed　in　the　darkness　of　a　black　mass　when　Louis　Nevillon　had　presided；　for　only　he　could　have　called　up　such　a　powerful　entity；　a　beast…like　thing　that　snorted　in　the　shadows；　only　its　glowing　red　eyes　visible。　An　overpowering　stench　of　putrefaction；　a　thundering　of　powerful　hooves。　You　dared　not　look　any　closer。
　　
　　Now　she　prayed　that　it　might　e　again　and　save　her　from　one　who　had　once　loved　her。　Or　that　it　might　send　Sabat　and　that　he　would　be　in　time。
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　SIXTEEN
　　　
　　SABAT　PULLED　the　Daimler　off　the　road　and　killed　the　engine。　A　silent　monster；　it　sat　sedately　amidst　the　trees；　out　of　its　own　environment　of　hard　roads　and　city　lights。　It　would　have　been　sacrilege　to　take　it　up　that　rutted　track。
　　
　　Sabat　stretched　in　the　seat；　relaxed。　He　should　have　been　hurrying　with　a　sense　of　urgency　up　that　muddy　slope　but　instead　he　felt　lethargic。　Not　tired；　more　of　a　basking　in　his　own　satisfaction。　Schmid　and　his　coven　were　finished；　there　would　be　nothing　to　fear　from　them。
　　
　　A　strange　feeling　which　he　found　difficulty　in　ing　to　terms　with。　A　muzziness　that　fogged　his　thinking；　voices　screaming　at　him　but　he　neither　understood　nor　recognised　them。　It　might　have　been　Quentin；　his　own　soul　in　conflict；　but　he　ignored　it。
　　
　　He　sat　there　staring　through　the　windscreen　at　the　dark　mass　of　indistinguishable　trees；　shapes　that　might　have　been　demons　out　there　on　a　night　when　the　ultimate　in　evil　was　about　to　be　reborn。　Possibly　the　event　had　already　happened。　In　which　case　Sabat　was　too　late。　His　reasoning　faltered　again；　a　man　with　amnesia　whose　memory　came　back　to　taunt　him　in　brief　flashes　and；　like　a　will…o'…the…wisp；　vanished　before　he　could　claim　them　for　his　own。
　　
　　It　was　like　a　kind　of　dream　going　on　all　around　you　and　yet　you　played　a　vital　role　in　it；　being　swept　along　by　events　which　in　themselves　controlled　you。　A　sense　of　helplessness；　too；　but　you　didn't　try　to　fight　it。
　　
　　He　flicked　on　the　interior　light　of　the　car；　experiencing　a　burning　desire　to　see　his　own　face　in　the　mirror。　He　had　almost　forgotten　what　he　looked　like；　needed　to　re…acquaint　himself　with　himself。　He　stared；　saw　his　own　reflection　in　the　small　oblong　and　a　faint　cry　of　surprise　and　fear　escaped　his　lips。　For　the　face　that　stared　back　at　him　was　not　wholly　his　own！Nor　Quentin's；　as　his　brother　had　once　been！
　　
　　There　was　certainly　a　resemblance；　but　the　features　had　undergone　a　drastic　change！　Harsh；　vicious；　the　eyes　seemed　to　have　moved　in　closer；　narrowed　to　an　expression　of　sheer　maliciousness。　The　nose　decidedly　more　hooked；　like　the　beak　of　a　fierce　bird　of　prey。　The　mouth　a　grim　bloodless　slit。　The　long　hair　appeared　to　have　taken　on　a　different　texture；　coarser；　falling　about　the　collar；　now　streaked　with　silver　grey。　Sabat　stared　in　disbelief　at　an　overall　barely　recognisable　reflection。　Ancient！　It　was　Sabat　and　yet　not　Sabat。　Something　familiar　about　the　facial　change；　a　countenance　upon　which　he　had　gazed　recently。　And　then　he　knew！
　　
　　Merciful　God；　only　Sabat　could　accept　this　as　possible！　That　dream；　his　panion　of　that　night　of　evil　whom　he　had　helped　put　those　witches　to　the　torch。　Pierre　de　Lancre　lived　again　in　the　body　of　Sabat！　'Ifyou　ever　have　need　of　me　do　not　hesitate　to　call　me。　Do　that　and　Pierre　de　Lancre　will　e；　that　I　promise。'
　　
　　And　the　witchfinder　had　e；　true　to　his　word！
　　
　　Sabat　stared　at　his　hands；　talon…like　with　long　ragged　dirty　fingernails；　the　skin　dry　and　cracked；　held　them　up　to　his　face　in　revulsion；　watched　them　tremble。　Yet　Pierre　de　Lancre；　the　witchfinder；　had　e　when　he　needed　him　most　and　this　was　no　time　to　spurn　his　help。
　　
　　Sabat　switched　off　the　light；　opened　the　door　of　the　Daimler　and　slid　silently　out。　He　stood　there　in　the　pitch　blackness　breathing　in　the　fragrant　smell　of　damp　pine　woods；　suddenly　felt　stronger；　fitter。　It　was　as　though　the　remaining　effects　of　his　illness　had　evaporated　and　he　bit　on　those　thin　lips　until　he　tasted　blood　as　he　remembered　everything　that　had　happened　to　him　since　that　fateful　trip　up　the　Jungfrau；　No　longer　did　he　feel　pity　for　Madeleine。　She　was　a　witch　who　had　so　far　escaped　the　fiery　stake；　just　as　Louis　Nevillon　had　cheated　the　guillotine。　Now　they　must　both　pay　in　full　for　their　evil　which　spanned　three　centuries！
　　
　　He　moved　off；　treading　silently　through　the　tall　pines；　a　flitting　shadow　in　the　faint　starlight。　He　checked　that　he　still　had　his　？38；　reminding　himself　at　the　same　time　that　this　night　he　would　need　more　than　mortal　weapons　to　overe　his　dangerous　adversaries。　They　could　not　guess；　surprise　was　his　trump　card。
　　
　　It　took　him　twenty　minutes　to　reach　the　clearing　in　which　the　small　chapel　stood。　His　pulses　were　racing　with　the　eagerness　of　a　hunting　beast　of　the　wild　closing　in　for　the　kill。　The　same　cunning；　waiting　and　listening；　nostrils　flaring　as　he　sniffed　the　night　air　and　smelled　an　aroma　that　had　him　tautening；　those　broken　fingernails　digging　into　the　palms　of　his　hands。　For　he　smelled　the　rancid　odour　of　roasting　human　flesh！
　　
　　Nauseating。　He　recalled　its　taste；　almost　vomited。　But　he　was　strong　now；　stronger　than　them。　And　was　not　his　very　name　feared　throughout　the　continent　and　all　the　other　countries　of　the　world？　Pierre　de　Lancre；　merciless　hunter　of　witches。　He　smiled　grimly　to　himself　and　moved　stealthily　forward　a　few　steps　then　stopped　to　listen　again。　Light　came　from　within　the　building；　slitting　out　through　the　ill…fitting　door；　but　there　was　no　sound　to　be　heard。　Sabat　was　wary；　Nevillon　and　his　young　mistress　were　no　ordinary　witches。　They　might　sense　his　presence。
　　
　　He　hesitated　at　the　door。　That　smell　of　burning　meat　was　much　stronger　now；　perhaps　he　was　already　too　late。　He　braced　himself；　drew　a　deep　breath　and　let　it　out　slowly；　his　own　way　of　steadying　those　racing　pulses。　Whatever　the　oute　he　had　to　go　in　there；　confront　his　deadliest　foes　face　to　face。　His　fingers　strayed　to　the　butt　of　his　revolver　then　fell　away。　This　would　be　no　time　for　bullets；　it　would　be　a　duel　with　much　deadlier；　far　more　dangerous　weapons。
　　
　　His　knee　went　up；　shot　forward　with　tremendous　force；　a　blow　that　devastated　the　rotting　woodwork；　splintered　the　matchwood　panels　of　the　door　as　it　flung　it　back；　pulling　a　rusted　hinge　out　by　the　screws。　Sabat　leapt　forward；　an　SAS…type　entrance；　low　and　fast；　a　difficult　moving　target。　Then　he　pulled　up；　almost　felt　foolish。　The　room　was　much　as　he　had　last　seen　it；　twin　black　candles　burning　on　the　shelf　adjacent　to　the　old　cast…iron　stove　which　was　no　longer　draped　in　black；　that　lead　coffin　with　its　lid　closed；　stark　and　horrific。　Nothing　else；　there　was　no　sign　of　Madeleine　Gaufridi！
　　
　　Sabat　tensed；　suspected　a　trap　of　some　kind。　Two　long　strides　took　him　to　the　coffin；　his　strong　fingers　gripping　the　lid。　This　time　his　muscles　responded　like　smooth　well…oiled　machinery；　flexing　and　taking　the　strain　of　the　heavy　weight。　The　lid　shot　back；　hit　the　wall　with　a　dull　clang　and　showered　lime　plaster　and　dust　out　of　the　crumbling　bricks。
　　
　　He　coughed；　peered　through　the　grey　cloud　。。。　saw　the　shrouded　corpse　of　the　Beast　of　France　lying　there；　staring　up　with　sightless　eyes！　Dead　pallid　flesh　gave　off　its　own　unpleasant　stench　but　Sabat　scarcely　noticed　it。
　　
　　'He　is　still　dead！'　the　witchfinder　spoke　his　surprised　relief　aloud。　'He　has　not　risen　again。　Maybe　I　am　still　in　time　even　though　Walpurgisnacht　is　well　advanced　。。。'
　　
　　His　words　tailed　off　to　a　hoarse　whisper　as　his　nostrils　flared　again　at　the　stench　of　roasting　human　meat。　His　eyes　widened；　he　wheeled　and　saw　the　temperature　gauge　on　the　front　of　the　old　cooker；　300。
　　
　　'My　God！'　Sabat　glanced　back　at　that　coffin。　*　The　meat　for　this　unholy　night'