gns.thegraveyardvultures-第9章
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izes but on April 30th a jury found him not guilty of heresy and Judge Wilkinson acquitted him； and in addition reprimanded the Church for wasting the court's time on an outdated although still viable charge。 Mr Gardiner returned to live in the village in spite of the feeling against him。
Sabat was tense。 The acquittal dated April 30th 。 。 。 Walpurgisnacht； the time when the evil forces were most powerful。 It was too much of a coincidence！ Had the powers to which Gardiner paid homage in the dark hours e to the rescue of their own kind in a court of law？
Sabat's pipe was dead and he chewed hard on the stem as he flicked over more pages of the Domesday Book。 Church meetings 。。。 the acquisition of a tract of land joining the existing cemetery had been consecrated 。 。 。 Oh； Christ； there had to be something else。 There was！
This time it was a yellowed square cut from the local newspaper and dated November 7th 1880。 It was headed Deaths。 His eye followed down the list of names in alphabetical order。 'Gardiner； William。 Died October 31st aged 50； suddenly after a stroke。 The funeral was held at St Adrian's Church； November 4th。' Nothing else。
Sabat closed the Domesday Book with a loud snap。 His eyes were bright and there was a half smile on his face。 This was it； the missing link in the recent necromancy in St Adrian's churchyard！ William Gardiner had practised black magic and had been freed by a jury on Walpurgisnacht。 He had died on Hallowe'en night。 Evil bones had been buried and now； after over a century； they had been dug up。 Why and by whom？ The answer to the first question was only too obvious： Gardiner's remains were powerful magic and were being used to mune with the dark forces。 But until Sabat found the answer to the second question there was no way of knowing what evil would be unleashed on this village。
He stood up； crossed the room to where his small suitcase stood and opening it took out a length of string； some chalk and a silver chalice。 The pentagram was vital for his own safety for tonight his astral body must go forth and scour the countryside if these modern necromancers were to be found。 And during every second that he was away from his earthly body； Mark Sabat would be in dire peril。
The early evening sunlight glinted on the sluggish waters of the winding； narrow river。 The banks were sheer but the protruding roots of overhanging trees offered a precarious hold for anyone foolish enough to climb down to the water。 Likewise； these same roots extended below the surface and often impeded the progress of debris floating downstream； items of cast…off clothing； a treadless tyre 。 。 。 or a drowned corpse！
Detective Inspector Plowden stood on the bank below a spreading willow tree and hoped that he wasn't going to have to clamber down there； he'd always had a secret fear of deep muddy rivers even though he was a paratively good swimmer。 A childhood terror he'd never shrugged off； a lurking thought at the back of his mind that the murky current might hold something slimy and dangerous。 Like an alligator that had escaped from a reptile house。 Logically there was almost five million to one against such a happening； but he didn't like these sort of rivers any the more for that reasoning。 And when he set eyes on the dead body which the frogman had dragged up from the depths he decided that the alligator odds had been considerably reduced。
Plowden chewed on his lower lip； reached for a cigarette but thought that the taste of tobacco might make him throw up。 His stomach churned and he tasted something sharp and acid in the back of his throat。
'It's a girl；' the matter…of…fact dapper Sergeant Hurst at his elbow felt that somebody had to say something and thought； at least I think it bloody well is。
A group of plainclothes detectives helped to lift the body up the bank； a white limp thing covered with algae and other water weed like some hideous evil mermaid。 They laid it down on the grass and the head lolled to one side exposing an open gash where the throat had been； a cavity that teemed with some species of feeding beetles。
'Christ！' the frogman removed his mask； grimaced； 'I've found a few in my time but nowt to beat that。 The fuckin' rats must've thought Christmas'd e early！'
'Shut up！' Plowden's tension crackled as he forced himself to kneel beside the corpse。 God； to think he had to get close to a thing like this； touch it I He almost snatched his fingers away； it was like the feel of a dead reptile。 The hair was matted into a mud ball； some of it torn out by the roots like an angry gardener who had gone berserk with a patch of squitch； you couldn't even tell the colour of the strands。 Open eyes； Plowden resisted the urge to close them； they seemed to be staring at him。 The frogman was right； rats had been feeding on the flesh； gnawing it right down to the bones in places and that hole in the stomach was where they had gone after the entrails。 Raw tripe； Plowden nearly spewed at the thought。
It wasn't his job really。 No sir！ He was conducting an enquiry into black magic worship and the desecration of graves。 This was a straight forward case of drowning that the boys in blue could look after； consult the missing persons file； just a matter of elimination and then identification。 There shouldn't be any problems。 The CID were looking for a missing skeleton； not a fresh corpse； they couldn't waste valuable time on this。
He leaned back on his haunches； decided he could manage a cigarette after all。 He'd have to hang on here for a while until somebody came to relieve him； then he'd get back to the task of finding that skeleton。 No need even to look at that revolting corpse anymore。
'What're those marks？' The frogman was kneeling down stabbing a finger at the dead girl's forehead。
'Rats； I expect。 。 。 ' Detective Inspector Plowden's voice died away。 He hadn't meant to look again but his policeman's training had directed his gaze automatically back to the corpse； picked out a couple of deep indentations that had gouged the flesh and penetrated the skull in an ugly twin fracture。 Death…blows； all right。 Nobody could have lived after those； a crude bludgeoning。 Jesus； his eyes narrowed； this could just be murder I
Then his stomach was lurching again； and his late sandwich lunch almost came back。 It wasn't the sight of death； nor the brutality of the blows that had him retching。 Instead there was a familiarity about those marks； the feeling one gets halfway through a second…rate TV film that you've seen it at the cinema years ago； a gradual dawning on the memory that you recognise it because you thought how bloody awful it was at the time but it still scared hell out of you。
'It don't look like rats to me。' The frogman was persistent； determined that his own observations should not be credited to somebody else。 'Looks like a fuckin' sheep's walked over 'er。'
'No；' Plowden straightened up； swayed； and supported himself against the willow trunk while a wave of dizziness passed； 'not a sheep。 I'd say it was the goat those bastards mated that other corpse with that was responsible for this！'
And suddenly the evening wasn't so balmy after all。 Three hardened police officers felt the perspiration starting to chill on their bodies。
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS eleven o'clock when Sabat climbed naked into his bed within the pentagram。 He was tense and uneasy but that would pass once he willed his mind and body to relax。 Thankfully this time he experienced no erotic thoughts； no arousement。
Down below the customers were filing out of the pub； their conversation noisy。 Car doors slammed on the carpark and engines were revved noisily； loud farewells acpanied by coarse laughter。 Somebody was singing noisily； being told to 'shaddup'。
But within half…an…hour all was quiet except for the clinking of glasses being washed in the bar。 Sabat took a deep breath； expelled it slowly and began to relax。 Now he had the difficult task of attempting to project his astral body to a particular destination； a so
