gns.thegraveyardvultures-第26部分

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is　surroundings。　A　typical　churchman's　abode；　he　smiled　wryly；　a　gardener　paid　a　pittance　out　of　the　offertory　money；　a　facade　to　mask　a　hypocritical　religion。　Nevertheless；　Sabat　had　to　pander　to　the　whims　of　the　Reverend　Spode。　He　left　the　car；　mounted　a　flight　of　wide　steps　and　rung　the　bell。　Somewhere　in　the　recesses　of　the　vicarage　he　heard　it　clanging　faintly；　echoing。
　　
　　It　was　fully　five　minutes　before　Sabat　heard　approaching　footsteps；　a　light　tread　that　was　definitely　female。　He　conjured　up　in　his　imagination　an　apron…clad；　rosy　cheeked　middle…aged　spinster　or　widow；　a　typical　housekeeper　who　would　usher　him　into　a　drab　Victorian　drawing　room；　a　wait　maybe　of　quarter…of…an…hour　because　it　was　'the　thing'　where　visitors　were　concerned；　a　die…hard　tradition　amongst　this　latter　generation　of　clergy。
　　
　　'Good　morning。　Can　I　help　you？'
　　
　　Sabat　stared；　for　a　few　seconds　his　brain　refused　to　relate　the　girl　who　peered　out　of　the　partly　open　door　to　an　ageing　vicar's　housekeeper。　Small　and　slim　she　could　not　have　been　more　than　thirty；　her　smooth　skin　very　slightly　darker　than　that　of　an　average　sun…tanned　European。　Wide　brown　eyes　that　almost　matched　her　afro　hairstyle　and　perfect　features　that　radiated　sheer　beauty；　all　enhanced　by　the　ankle…length；　hand…woven　dress　of　a　dozen　different　colours。
　　
　　'Er　。　。　。　yes。'　Sabat　overcame　his　surprise；　a　white　West　Indian　without　a　doubt。　Td　like　to　see　the　Reverend　Spode。'
　　
　　'Perhaps　you'd　care　to　step　inside。'　Her　smile　showed　two　rows　of　flashing　white　teeth。　'I'm　afraid　the　vicar's　not　back　yet　from　taking　early　munion　but　he　shouldn't　be　long。'
　　
　　'Thank　you。'　Sabat　stepped　into　the　gloomy　hall；　smelled　strong　lavender　polish。　'I　hope　the　vicar　won't　be　too　long。'
　　
　　'I'm　sure　he　won't。'　The　perfect　hostess　in　the　vicar's　absence；　ushering　him　into　a　drawing　room；　a　feature　which　at　least　met　with　his　expectations　of　a　sombre　vicarage。　'Would　you　like　a　cup　of　coffee　while　you　wait？'
　　
　　'That　would　be　fine。'　Sabat　smiled；　would　have　accepted　an　invitation　to　partake　of　a　massive　English　breakfast　there　and　then　if　it　had　been　offered。　He　had　not　eaten　for　almost　twenty…four　hours　and　he　was　ravenous。　But　food　could　wait。
　　
　　A　few　minutes　later　the　girl　returned　carrying　a　small　tray　on　which　stood　a　cup　of　delicious…smelling　coffee；　a　small　jug　of　milk　and　a　bowl　of　sugar。　'I'm　sorry　to　have　to　keep　you　waiting；　Mr　。　。　。　？'
　　
　　'Sabat。'
　　
　　'Sa　。　。　。　bat；'　she　repeated　the　name　slowly　as　though　savouring　every　syllable。　Til　tell　the　Reverend　Spode　that　you're　here　the　moment　he　returns。'　With　a　sudden　turn　that　swirled　her　dress　like　that　of　a　ballerina；　the　girl　took　her　leave。　Sabat　had　one　glimpse　of　the　shapely　legs　beneath　the　home…woven　material　and　then　she　was　gone；　her　footsteps　receding　down　the　stone…flagged　passage　which　led　to　the　rear　of　this　large　house。
　　
　　Sabat　sipped　his　coffee；　savouring　its　unique　flavour　and　aroma。　It　was　certainly　no　cheap　mass…produced　blend　of　mongrel　beans；　rather　a　delicate；　subtle　continental　taste。　At　least　he　thought　so。　He　couldn't　quite　place　its　origin。
　　
　　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　8。30。　He　seemed　to　have　been　here　hours。　Suddenly；　he　felt　tired；　too；　found　himself　yawning；　a　loud　vulgar　sound　as　though　his　body　was　fighting　desperately　to　dispel　a　fatigue　that　was　building　up。　His　eyelids　drooped　and　he　had　to　keep　them　open　with　a　conscious　effort。　Hell；　Spode　was　taking　his　time；　must've　had　a　packed　church　for　munion。　Sabat　supposed　that　in　a　small　village　such　as　this　most　of　the　population　attended　every　service。　Because　their　fathers　and　their　fathers'　fathers　before　them　had　done　so；　a　foundation　upon　which　the　Church　today　relied。　The　present　generation　were　free　thinkers；　made　up　their　own　minds　whether　or　not　they　went　to　church。　And　most　of　them　didn't。
　　
　　He　consulted　his　watch　again；　having　to　concentrate　to　work　out　which　hand　was　which。　8。30。　It　must've　stopped。
　　
　　He　tapped　it；　shook　his　wrist；　held　it　up　to　his　〃ar。　It　was　ticking　all　right。　Probably　it　had　stopped　and　started　again。　Then　he　heard　the　nearby　church　clock　chime；　two　resonant　clangs；　the　half…hour。
　　
　　Only　then　did　he　begin　to　realise　that　something　was　wrong。　He　tried　to　get　up　but　his　limbs　refused　to　move。　Now　he　could　not　even　lift　his　arms。　His　mouth　was　dry；　a　sharp　bitter　tang　on　his　palate；　even　his　tongue　seemed　leaden。
　　
　　Oh；　Jesus　Christ　what　the　hell　was　wrong　with　him？　He'd　never　felt　fitter；　fresher　than　when　he'd　driven　into　the　village　a　short　time　ago。　It　wasn't　fatigue；　more　like　some　kind　of　tropical　sleeping　sickness　where　one　kept　on　dozing　off　until　finally　one　went　to　sleep　and　did　not　wake　up　anymore！　He'd　have　to　close　his　eyes　for　a　few　moments；　cat…nap　like　he'd　learned　to　do　in　the　SAS；　and　when　he　woke　up　maybe　he'd　feel　better。
　　
　　Suddenly　he　heard　footsteps　in　the　passage　outside。　This　time　it　was　not　the　dainty　tread　of　the　West　Indian　girl　but　a　much　heavier；　dragging　male　step。　The　doorknob　rattled；　turned；　and　Sabat　felt　a　draught　on　his　face。　He　fought　to　open　his　eyes　but　only　managed　a　blurred　squint；　enough　to　make　out　a　tall；　heavily…built　man　framed　in　the　doorway；　a　breeze　from　somewhere　fluttering　the　long　black　robes　which　he　wore。　This　had　to　be　the　Reverend　Spode；　Sabat　decided；　and　could　not　prevent　his　eyes　from　closing　again。　He　opened　his　mouth　to　speak　but　only　succeeded　in　emitting　another　loud　yawn。
　　
　　'Ah；　Mr　Sabat；'　a　cultured　forceful　voice。　'And　tired　after　your　long　journey　here；　I　perceive。'
　　
　　Something　jogged　Sabat's　muzzy　brain；　a　sharp　recollection；　recognising　something　but　not　knowing　quite　what；　another　of　his　inbuilt　instinctive　warning　systems　was　suddenly　operating　at　full　blast；　urging　him　to　open　his　eyes！　That　voice　；　。　。　so　familiar　。　。　。
　　
　　With　an　almost　superhuman　effort　Sabat　forced　his　eyes　open；　stared　hard　until　that　cataract…like　opaqueness　dissolved　and　he　could　see　clearly。　And　then　every　alarm；　every　nerve　in　his　body　was　screaming　at　him！
　　
　　In　that　terrible　moment　he　saw　and　understood；　saw　the　big　clergyman　standing　before　him；　the　receding　hairline　that　traced　a　thinning　path　to　a　balding　crown；　the　jellified　jowls　that　wobbled　their　way　to　a　leering　grin　and　the　hooked　nose　which　resembled　the　outsize　cruel　beak　of　a　bird　of　prey；　oversized　on　those　aquiline　features。　There　could　be　no　possible　doubt　concerning　the　true　identity　of　the　man　who　faced　him！
　　
　　'Allow　me　to　introduce　myself；'　the　newer　laughed；　a　throaty　chuckle；　'the　Reverend　Spode　。　。　。　Royston　Spode！'
　　
　　His　words　hit　Sabat　like　a　burst　of　。45　slugs。　He　found　himself　pressing　back　in　his　chair；　his　stomach　knotting　as　though　he　suffered　from　a　bout　of　colic。　You　fucking　idiot；　you　walked　right　into　the　lion's　den；　didn't　even　look　the　place　over　first。　Now　you've　found　Royston　and　he's　got　you　right　where　he　wants　you。　It　was　the　coffee；　of　course；　some　paralysing　drug　。　。　。
　　
　　'I　believe　you've　been　wanting　to　meet　me　for　some　time；　Sabat！　the　other　was　euphoric；　pacing　slowly　to　and　fro；　hands　clasped　behind　his　back；　a　vicar…like　pose　which　he　had　perfected　until　it　became　a　habit。　'I　was　expecting　you；　of　course。　I　knew　that　you　would　find　your　way　here。　Consequently　preparations　have　been　made　for　your　arrival。'
　　
　　〃The　Archbishop　knows　I'm　here。'　Sabat　found　that　speaking　was　not　quite　such　a　problem　as　moving。　'It　won't　be　long　before　somebody　es　looking　for　me。'
　　
　　〃Then　let　them　e。'　Spode　laughed　again；　spread　his　large　hands　wide。　'Of　course　Mr　Sabat　came　here；　arrived　about　eight　on　Wednesday　morning。　He　wanted　a　list　of　old　crypts　which　might　possibly　be　used　for　the　purpose　of　Satanic　worship。　I　gave　him　some；　and　he　remarked　that　he　was　going　to　mence　his　search　up　in　the　north　of　England。　Yorkshire；　if　my　memory　serves　me　right。　He　drove　off　and　I　haven't　seen　him　since。　The　disposal　of　your　car；　not　to　mention　your　corpse；　presents　no　problem；　I　can　assure　you。'
　　
　　'What've　you　done　with　the　girl？'　Sabat's　tone　was　harsh；　emery　paper　being　rubbed　on　rough　wood。
　　
　　'You　refer　to　Miranda；　of　course。　A　lovely　body　even　if　she　was　a　mon　whore。'
　　
　　'Was？'
　　
　　'e　now；　Sabat；　you　didn't　expect　to　find　her　alive；　did　you？　Of　course　you　didn't。　However；　she　wasn't　just　punished　for　the　treachery　she　planned　against　me；　I　had　her　lined　up　for　a　spectacular　role　some　weeks　ago。'
　　
　　'What　role？'
　　
　　'Have　you　ever　been　to　Haiti；　Sabat？'　Spode　answered　with　a　question；　eyes　narrowing；　voice　sharper。
　　
　　Sabat　tried　to　nod　but　couldn't；　so　he　just　grunted　in　the　affirmative。
　　
　　'In　which　case　you　are　well　acquainted　with　bocors　and　houngans　and　various　voodoo　rites。　Voodoo　is　the　most　powerful　of　all　magic；　its　secrets　known　only　to　a　handful　of　people　living　today。　Few　of　the　bocors　in　Haiti　today　really　understand　it；　their　knowledge　merely　having　scratched　its　surface。　Pardon　a　well…used　cliche　but　a　little　knowledge　is　dangerous。　I　have　probed　deeper；　perhaps　one　day　I　shall　pay　the　full　price　for　the　bargains　I　have　made。　You　to