gns.cannibalcult-第31章
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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's banquet is already cooking！ Nevillon has arisen and claimed his victim and his astral body has already fled； leaving behind it a useless shell。 But who cooks in the oven？'
There was only one way to find out。 Those long fingers which had somehow gnarled and cracked this last hour closed over the door handle； yanked it back。 Thick choking steam billowed out； scalding fog that hid the horrors of that dark recess。 Something moved； a bulky blistering roasting shape that had been resting against the door； a monster emerging from its hell…hot lair！
Sabat recoiled； saw smoking hands clawing through the steam； groping for him。 A head； the shape was right but where there should have been features there were only blackened lumps and orijices； eyes that stared pain and malevolence out of charred sockets。 Unrecognisable； a half…cooked thing that wheezed whispered screams of agony amidst clouds of nauseating vapour。 And still lived！
Sabat's brain reeled； he felt terror clutching at his heart； revulsion but not pity because Pierre de Lancre was beyond pity。 The steaming fat on that still…living form thinned； he saw it more clearly。 Breasts that had once been shapely were shrivelled by the heat； nipples scorched but still hard and firm like glowing cinders。 Hairless； a head that bobbed up and down； the mouth twisted into mute shrieks of pain。 A hand found his jacket； clutched at it with roasted fingers that were no longer slender and shapely； tried to drag itself up on him。 He felt the dry hot breath on his face like a gust of wind across an arid desert； even the wounded of Armageddon never suffered a fate such as this！ He lip…read his own name on those moving lips。 'Sabat。。。 Sabat。。。 help me！'
Revulsion powered the short left jab； his bunched knuckles striking that face； throwing it back。 The girl； for it was undoubtedly female； hit the floor； lay there looking up at him； hurt in those eyes； a dog that had been struck by its master when all it sought was affection。 'Sabat。。。 help me！'
Recognition now； physically the girl could have been anybody； any age； that blackened bald head belonging to a horrific hag from an age…old fable graphically illustrated by a twisted artist。 Yet that body； charred but still alive； seductive even in the ultimate agony and degradation； could have belonged to only one person。
'Madeleine Gaufridir Sabat's whisper was loud； a hoarse shout of shocked horror that never made it to full volume。
'Sabat。。。 help me。。。 Sabat！'
'I am not Sabat。 Nor Quentin。 I am Pierre de Lancre； witchfinder。 Would I rescue you from the burning stake？'
She flinched as though he was about to strike her again； fell back。 She knew； oh God； how she knew now！ She saw his features as they once had been in another place； another life。 Her festered lips closed tightly to choke back yet another plea for mercy because she knew the futility of pleading with this terrible man； one who was more malevolent in his own way than even her beloved Louis。
He looked into her eyes； read her silent plea。 'Kill me； Sabat。 Please！ I ask nothing else but that you end this agony for me； if only for what has been between us。'
Sabat stepped back； slid the ？38 out of its holster； its cold steel soothing to his hot hand。 He held it loosely at hip level in the manner of a western gunfighter； his decision was made； all he had to do was to go through with it。 His fingers curled over the trigger； the first pressure。
'So Louis betrayed you in the end。* Sabat wondered if he spoke or whether he just heard his own thoughts； his utter contempt for one who had e back from the guillotine and rejected the only one who was loyal to him。 'You must die； Madeleine； and this time you will not return。 But take this one forting thought to the black beyond with you。 Louis Nevillon has fled to the astral； to skulk there until he chooses to be reborn。 But I shall seek him out there； for only I can follow him to such a place； and then my vengeance will be more terrible than had I found him here。 Goodbye； Madeleine！'
The ？38 crashed once； bucked in his hand。 He saw that burned face disintegrate into a crimson mulch； the squatting body holding upright for a second or two as though it was unwilling to capitulate。 Then； slowly； it fell back； hit the stone floor almost sedately。 In death； as in life； Madeleine of the many aliases bowed out with dignity。
Sabat turned away； holstered his smoking weapon。 Already the tragedy of a young girl possessed was pushed from his mind； his puter…like brain devouring data for the next move。 He looked down into the coffin again。 There was no doubt that only a dead physical body reposed there； flesh which would begin to depose now that its evil soul had departed for another world。 He could have destroyed it but there was no point because when Nevillon returned he would use a different body； just as Quentin had until Pierre de Lancre had proved his superiority。
There was no time to be wasted。 S
