gns.thegraveyardvultures-第31章

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r　thighs；　a　mockery　in　death　of　the　way　she　had　lived。
　　
　　Sabat　hesitated；　hovering　close　to　the　bowing　ceiling　of　the　crypt。　In　some　ways　he　doubted　the　wisdom　of　leaving　his　body。　It　still　lived　and　the　Reverend　Spode　had　only　to　return　and　administer　some　unspeakable　physical　attack　and　Sabat　would　be　prevented　from　returning　to　it。　Yet　if　he　lingered　within　himself　then　they　could　trap　his　astral　in　the　short　blackout　following　death　when　he　was　helpless；　and　give　only　Quentin　his　freedom。　Surely　Royston　Spode　realised　that　once　Sabat　slumbered　his　astral　would　be　able　to　escape；　or　was　there　some　ulterior　motive　behind　it？
　　
　　Certainly　Sabat　could　not　harm　the　living　in　his　astral　form；　he　could　only　attack　Royston　if　the　latter　chose　to　join　him　on　one　of　the　planes　and　it　was　obvious　that　the　evil　vicar　was　going　to　be　far　too　busy　throughout　the　day…fight　hours　to　do　that。　In　which　case　Spode　had　allowed　Sabat　astral　freedom　knowing　that　in　this　form　he　was　relatively　harmless　and　when　night　fell　he　would　instinctively　rejoin　his　body　in　the　hope　of　somehow　being　able　to　avert　death。
　　
　　There　was　nothing　to　be　achieved　by　remaining　in　this　place　of　death　and　mutilation　any　longer。　He　soared　with　a　sense　of　relief　down　that　wet　cold　passage；　shot　out　into　the　open　like　a　bat　emerging　at　dusk　from　its　daytime　roost。　Almost　with　reluctance　he　entered　the　vicarage；　now　sensing　the　atmosphere　of　latent　evil　which　he　had　failed　to　notice　earlier　because　he　had　been　blinded　to　it　by　his　faith　in　a　country　vicar。
　　
　　The　hall　and　drawing　room　were　empty　so　he　made　for　the　stairway；　knew　only　too　well　that　Royston　Spode　was　here　somewhere。　The　landing　was　wide　with　several　doors　leading　off　from　it。　He　hesitated；　almost　turned　back　because　there　was　no　time　to　waste　in　idle　curiosity。　But　it　would　only　take　a　few　seconds　and　he　had　several　hours　left　before　nightfall　when　the　coven　would　converge　on　their　temple　of　worship　to　carry　out　the　ultimate　act　of　depravity。
　　
　　The　Reverend　Royston　Spode　was　in　the　third　bedroom　which　Sabat　entered；　his　spreading　quivering　body　virtually　hiding　the　girl　who　writhed　beneath　him。　Sabat's　first　sensation　was　one　of　revulsion；　those　rolls　of　fat　which　had　possibly　once　been　solid　muscle　were　obese；　the　wobbling　bottom　reminding　him　of　his　oft…quoted　quip　about　clergymen　who　grew　fat　arses　by　sitting　on　other　people's　sofas　and　drinking　scrounged　cups　of　tea。
　　
　　Sabat　moved　lower；　intent　on　seeing　who　it　was　with　whom　the　clergyman　copulated。　Of　course；　it　was　the　West　Indian　girl；　radiantly　beautiful　in　her　nakedness。　Her　eyes　were　closed　as　she　writhed　and　gasped　and　almost　certainly　Royston　would　not　be　venturing　on　to　the　astral　plane　in　the　near　future。　Sabat　left　them　to　it；　pitied　the　girl　in　spite　of　the　fact　that　she　had　given　him　doped　coffee；　she'd　had　her　orders　and　it　would　be　more　than　her　life　was　worth　to　disobey　her　master's　demands。　Just　as　she　could　not　refuse　him　now。
　　
　　Sabat　soared　up　into　the　summer　sky；　saw　some　diving　swallows　and　envied　them　their　freedom。　Below　him　the　village　resembled　a　toy　model；　growing　smaller　as　he　gained　height；　and　he　found　it　hard　to　believe　that　dangerous　evil　could　be　spawned　in　such　a　tranquil　setting。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　Daimler　where　he　had　parked　it；　they　had　wasted　no　time　in　disposing　of　it。　Sabat's　trail　was　already　obliterated。
　　
　　In　due　course　he　came　to　that　barren　wasteland　which　was　his　intended　destination；　that　arid　expanse　where　the　final　battle　between　the　dark　and　light…skinned　races　had　been　fought。　Here　he　changed　his　form；　a　bearded；　sweat…soaked　warrior　clad　only　in　a　tattered　loincloth；　experiencing　the　rigours　of　the　merciless　sun；　scuffing　blistered　feet　in　the　powdery　silver　sand。
　　
　　Water　holes　beckoned　and　then　mocked　him　by　fading　into　the　shimmering　haze；　palm　trees　that　turned　out　to　be　stunted　cacti　when　he　approached　them。　Sabat　knew　it　was　self…torture；　masochism；　that　he　could　have　used　the　shape　of　a　desert　bird　to　traverse　the　distance　so　much　quicker；　but　this　was　the　way　it　had　to　be；　a　pilgrim　on　his　way　to　worship　at　the　shrine　of　the　gods；　humble　and　beseeching　his　gods　to　grant　his　request。
　　
　　The　sun　was　past　its　zenith　when　he　spied　the　battle　scene；　bloated　vultures　waddling　amongst　the　slain。　Their　cruel　beaks　speared　dead　eyes；　their　crops　bulging　with　a　glut　of　these　delicacies。　Tomorrow；　when　they　had　digested　their　optic　banquet；　they　would　return　for　the　deposing　flesh。　Days　later　they　would　be　gleaning　the　whitening　bones　and　then　there　would　be　no　way　of　identifying　the　slain　forces　of　good　from　the　corpses　of　evil。
　　
　　Slowly　Sabat　wound　his　way　between　the　bodies。　Eyeless　sockets　seemed　to　follow　his　every　movement；　the　smell　of　death　and　flesh　which　was　already　beginning　to　putrefy　hung　heavy　in　the　still　atmosphere。　The　slain　stretched　as　far　as　the　eye　could　see；　rigor　mortis　capturing　the　final　throes　of　agony。　Then　a　sudden　movement　halted　him　and　he　shielded　his　eyes；　saw　human　forms；　a　hundred　yards　or　so　away。　Four　of　them；　huddled　cloaked　figures；　bowed　with　grief　as　they　surveyed　the　carnage　around　them。
　　
　　Sabat　experienced　a　sudden　chill；　a　shiver　running　through　him　in　spite　of　the　intolerable　heat。　He　turned；　began　to　make　his　way　towards　them；　a　feeling　of　guilt　causing　him　to　avert　his　eyes。　For　he　had　no　right　to　be　here；　a　trespasser　in　the　land　of　the　gods；　one　who　came　only　when　the　final　conflict　was　over。　But　it　was　not　over；　an　eternal　struggle　in　which　the　forces　of　good　struggled　to　repel　the　armies　of　evil；　a　battle　won　today　would　be　lost　tomorrow；　and　so　it　would　be　for　always。
　　
　　He　raised　his　head；　saw　that　all　four　of　them　were　watching　him　intently；　yet　their　expressions　were　impassive。　Three　men　and　a　woman；　at　least　those　were　the　forms　in　which　they　showed　themselves　to　him；　robed　and　cowled　so　that　they　might　just　have　been　desert　wanderers　who　had　happened　upon　the　slaughter　like　himself。
　　
　　'You　came　too　late；　Sabat。'　The　oldest　of　the　men　spoke　with　a　heavy　nasal　accent；　one　that　could　not　be　likened　to　any　race　anywhere　in　the　world。　'This　day　has　been　long　although　it　is　far　from　finished。　Warriors　have　been　slain　by　the　thousand　but　there　is　neither　conqueror　nor　conquered。　And　so　it　will　always　be；　eternal　strife　and　suffering。'
　　
　　'That　is　why　I　e；　my　Lord　Damballah；'　Sabat　spoke　humbly。　'Greetings　to　you　and　your　woman　Aida　Ouedo。　Had　I　a　white　cock　and　hen　1　would　sacrifice　them　to　you　but　all　I　see　around　me　are　vultures。'
　　
　　'So　be　it。'　Damballah　waved　a　hand　in　the　direction　of　his　three　panions。　'Today　is　Wednesday　which　is　my　day；　Damballah's　day。　Yet　you　may　also　address　Papa　Legba；　the　giver　of　opportunities；　and　Maitre　Carrefour；　the　Lord　of　the　Crossroads。　See；　they　even　pay　homage　to　him　in　this　land　of　death。'
　　
　　Sabat's　eyes　followed　the　pointing　finger；　saw　a　crude　wooden　cross　some　seven　or　eight　feet　high　on　which　had　been　draped　a　tattered　tail…coat；　above　which　hung　the　remnants　of　a　top　hat。　The　Lord　of　the　Crossroads；　indeed；　was　represented　here　but　today　it　was　Damballah；　chief　of　the　Rada　gods；　who　manded　worship。　Sabat　was　fortunate；　any　other　time　he　might　have　happened　upon　the　evil　Petro　gods　and　surely　Baron　Cimeterre　would　not　have　forgiven　him　for　his　treachery；　first　in　the　cemetery　and　later　when　he　had　put　Maurice　Storton's　body　beyond　the　reach　of　the　Lord　of　the　Cemetery。
　　
　　'You　risk　your　soul；　Sabat；'　Damballah　warned。　'It　is　only　the　foolish　and　the　brave　who　dare　to　tread　this　blood…soaked　battlefield　from　which　there　is　no　escape　except　by　the　benevolence　of　the　ruling　god　on　that　day。'
　　
　　'I　came　because　it　is　Wednesday；'　Sabat　kept　his　eyes　on　the　ground；　saw　a　scorpion　scuttle　beneath　a　dead　body；　'otherwise　I　would　not　have　done　so。　I　e　to　ask　your　help。'
　　
　　'Even　Damballah　is　wary　of　your　treachery　now。'
　　
　　'My　treachery　concerns　only　Baron　Cimeterre。　Surely　you　do　not　despise　me　for　what　I　did　to　your　sworn　enemy；　a　Petro　god。'
　　
　　'No；　but　I　cannot　trust　a　mercenary　in　this　eternal　war　between　good　and　evil。　Yours　is　a　selfish