gns.thedruidconnection-第7章

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。　The　journalist　was　doing　all　right　for　himself　and　was　at　the　top　of　his　profession。
　　
　　There　was　a　kind　of　agelessness　about　Kent　stemming　from　the　short…cropped　fair　hair　that　rendered　any　flecks　of　grey　invisible　and　a　reddish…bronze　plexion　that　buried　any　lines　that　might　otherwise　have　shown。　If　you　got　to　know　him　well　enough　he　would　tell　you　that　he　was　born　on　the　twenty…eighth　of　July；　nineteen…thirty…eight。　That　could　have　been　a　lie；　told　just　for　the　hell　of　it。　A　square　jaw　that　bespoke　determination；　a　stockiness　that　was　unlikely　to　turn　to　fat。　At　five　feet　eight　inches　he　seemed　short　but　he　was　not　a　man　to　be　underestimated。　Sabat　recalled　that　night　they　had　gone　in　on　a　couple　of　terrorists　who　had　been　holding　a　family　hostage　for　five　days。　Sabat　had　got　one　of　the　gunmen；　Kent　the　other。　Both　criminals　had　appeared　in　the　dock　on　crutches！
　　
　　Kent　had　a　hidden　sex　appeal　which　wasn't　apparent　until　a　woman　came　to　know　him　well。　But　that　didn't　often　happen　because　the　journalist　was　a　loner；　a　good　friend　if　he　took　a　liking　to　you；　a　bastard　if　he　didn't。　Nobody；　not　even　his　closest　associates　in　Fleet　Street；　used　his　first　name　even　if　they　knew　it。　He　was　just　'Kent'。
　　
　　'No　doubt　you're　looking　for　the　scoop　of　the　decade；'　Sabat　regarded　his　visitor　whimsically；　'and　your　paper　doesn't　give　a　shit　if　you　get　sued　for　libel。'
　　
　　'That's　rather　overstating　it；'　the　other　replied。　'I　don't　deny　I'm　on　the　trail　of　a　story　but　when　I　knew　the　church　had　pulled　you　in　on　it　I　knew　it　had　to　be　something　a　bit　out　of　the　ordinary；　not　just　a　charred　body　because　a　curate　got　hit　by　a　stray　thunderbolt　and　a　vicar　went　bananas　and　started　setting　fire　to　the　churchyard。　Look；　Sabat；　suppose　we　put　our　cards　on　the　table；　we　know　each　other　well　enough。　What　the　fuck's　going　on　here？'
　　
　　'I'm　not　altogether　sure；　but　whatever　it　is　it　goes　back　to　seventeen　forty…two　when　a　certain　Bishop　Avenson　was　also　roasted　in　the　churchyard；'　Sabat　smiled。　'I've　got　one　or　two　ideas；　though。　I've　discovered　that　a　similar　churchyard　incineration　took　place　in　eighteen　eighty…four。　One　Doctor　William　Price　cremated　his　five…year…old　son　who　was　called　lesu　Grist　and　nine　years　later　this　man　himself　was　also　cremated　in　a　similar　fashion　by　colleagues　unknown。'
　　
　　'Jesus　Christ！'
　　
　　'Or　Iesu　Grist；'　Sabat　grinned。　'Cremation　isn't　such　a　recent　phenomenon　as　the　average　person　is　inclined　to　think。　As　a　means　of　disposing　of　the　dead　it　goes　back　a　long　way。　The　Romanies　always　burned　their　dead。　As　did　the　druidsV
　　
　　'The　druids！　That's　going　a　bit　far　back。'
　　
　　'I'm　just　making　a　point。　This　man　Price　was　involved　in　druidism。　A　slender　link　but　you　can't　afford　to　overlook　anything　remotely　connected　with　death　by　fire。　Now　tell　me；　Kent；　have　you　got　any　ideas？'
　　
　　'Nothing　concrete；'　the　journalist　shrugged。　'I　only　got　here　this　afternoon　but　in　the　pub　where　I'm　staying　word　has　obviously　got　round　that　the　Church　has　called　in　Sabat　and　you'd　better　be　warned；　there　isn't　exactly　a　weling　mittee　out　to　greet　you！　You　remember　that　case　you　were　on　a　short　time　back　when　that　cult　was　exhuming　bodies　and　a　guy　called　the　Reverend　Spode　disappeared　and　has　never　been　heard　of　since？'*
　　
　　'I　did　hear　the　gentleman　in　question　had　vanished　into　thin　air；'　Sabat　smiled　faintly；　'but　I　can't　for　the　life　of　me　think　where　he　could　have　gone。'
　　
　　'That's　as　it　may　be；'　Kent　didn't　pursue　the　question；　knowing　only　too　well　that　if　Sabat　had　made　up　his　mind　to　keep　it　to　himself　then　that　was　where　it　would　stay。　These　villagers　are　a　superstitious　lot；　as　they　mostly　are　in　remote　country　places；　and　they're　saying　that　as　you　spirited　away　this　fellow　Spode　then　like　as　not　you're　responsible　for　what　happened　to　the　curate　and　the　vicar；　in　which　case；　who's　going　up　in　smoke　next？'
　　
　　'So　I　don't　have　the　co…operation　of　the　locals；　to　say　the　least；'　Sabat　murmured。　'And　if　these　people　have　had　advance　warning　of　my　ing　then　the　glad　tidings　can　only　have　e　from　one　source　…　Bishop　Boyce！'
　　
　　There's　more　going　on　here　than　just　cremation　and　madness；'　Kent　lowered　his　voice。
　　
　　Sabat　raised　an　eyebrow；　waited　for　the　other　to　continue。
　　
　　'I　listened　in　to　all　this　gossip　in　the　White　Horse；'　the　journalist　continued。　'Now　these　folks　have　really　got　their　wind　up　because　apparently　the　land　adjoining　the　cemetery　was　willed　to　St　Monica's　Church　in　Trust；　but　by　some　means　the　Church　and　the　trustees　have　managed　to　extricate　themselves　from　the　conditions　and　purpose　of　the　Trust。　Not　only　that；　they've　sold　this　piece　of　land　for　a　housing　site！'
　　
　　'Jesus　wept；　what　a　dirty　stinking　trick。　I've　e　across　a　few　crooked　churchmen　in　my　time　but　this　one　takes　the　prize。'
　　
　　'Precisely。　Now　the　land　in　question　was　Green　Belt　anyway；　so　somewhere　along　the　line　somebody's　been　pulling　a　few　fast　ones。　According　to　what　I　heard　in　the　pub　these　villagers　are　appealing　against　the　planning　permission　but　they　don't　hold　out　much　hope。　I'd　like　to　unearth　the　facts；　I　can　tell　you。'
　　
　　'A　village　of　iniquity；'　Sabat　sighed；　and　proceeded　to　tell　Kent　what　had　happened　to　him　recently；　a　totally　uninhibited　version　of　the　facts　leading　up　to　Kent's　arrival；　that　wild　sexual　psychic　attack。
　　
　　'So　what's　the　next　move？'　Kent　drained　the　last　of　his　whisky　and　set　the　glass　down　on　the　sideboard。
　　
　　'First　I　have　to　find　out　exactly　what　kind　of　evil　spirit　is　operating　within　the　church　and　its　grounds；'　Sabat's　features　were　grim。　'And　there's　only　one　way　I'm　going　to　do　that：　by　spending　a　night　in　there。'
　　
　　'I'll　e　with　you；'　Kent　spoke　unhesitatingly。
　　
　　'No；'　Sabat　snapped。　This　is　one　place　I　must　go　alone；　for　in　this　realm　of　evil；　Kent；　only　I　can　stand　a　chance　of　survival。　I　do　not　know　their　strength　and　my　own　powers　may　not　be　enough。　But　it　is　a　chance　I　must　take。　Nevertheless　I　am　sure　there　are　other　ways　in　which　you　can　help。　In　the　meantime；　however；　we　must　pass　this　night　unharmed　and　now　that　you　are　here　I　suggest　you　stay　rather　than　return　to　your　room　at　the　pub。　I　shall　rig　up　the　necessary　defences　to　give　us　both　protection　in　the　event　of　another　psychic　attack　such　as　I　underwent　earlier。'
　　
　　'I　know　your　reputation　too　well　to　argue；'　Kent　stood　up。　'Just　tell　me　what　I　have　to　do　and　。　。　。　'
　　
　　The　piercing　noise　came　at　them　out　of　the　night。　A　wail　that　escalated；　reached　its　peak　and　hung　reverberating　in　the　still　atmosphere。　Even　before　the　echoes　had　a　chance　to　die　away；　it　began　again。
　　
　　A　scream　of　sheer　mortal　terror　that　came　from　the　direction　of　St　Monica's　churchyard！
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　FIVE
　　　
　　SABAT　AND　Kent　moved　simultaneously　towards　the　door　and　hit　the　darkness　outside　fast　and　low；　trained　mandos　precipitated　into　battle　at　a　moment's　notice；　knowing　that　every　shadow　might　conceal　an　enemy；　a　foe　more　deadly　than　any　they　had　faced　during　their　SAS　days。
　　
　　The　night　air　still　vibrated　from　the　scream。　Slowly　it　died　away。　They　paused　alongside　the　privet　hedge；　waited；　but　it　did　not　e　again。
　　
　　'We'd　better　check　the　churchyard；'　Sabat　whispered。　His　mouth　was　dry　and　he　was　not　sufficiently　prepared　to　go　forth　into　battle　at　this　stage　against　an　unknown　enemy。　But　somewhere　somebody　was　in　deadly　peril。　It　might　already　be　too　late。　Sabat　and　Kent　had　no　choice。
　　
　　Sabat　sensed　the　coldness　again；　the　cloying　presence　of　evil　as　though　frozen　fingers　were　trying　to　grab　him　and　pull　him　back。　He　tried　to　ignore　it；　determined　not　to　be　overwhelmed　by　another　psychic　attack。　It　was　Kent　he　worried　about　most；　though。　A　cold　ruthless　fighter　but　the　journalist　was　not　familiar　with　the　forces　of　darkness。　It　was　him　they　would　try　to　pull　down　first。
　　
　　'Kent；'　Sabat　whispered　hoarsely。　'Keep　close　to　me；　don't　let　me　out　of　your　sight。　And　。　。　。　and　take　this。'
　　
　　Kent　stared　at　the　small　silver　object　which　was　thrust　into　his　hand。　That　tiny　crucifix　again；　the　one　Sabat　had　tried　to　test　him　with　earlier。　Oh　Christ；　was　Mark　Sabat　being　some　sort　of　religious　nut？
　　
　　'Don't　be　stupid；'　the　Fleet　Street　man's　tones　were　harsh　with　contempt　and　annoyance。　'There's　maybe　somebody　out　there　just　got　murdered。　We're　not　going　to　start　preaching　to　the　killer　or　anything　like　that　are　we；　Sabat？'
　　
　　'Be　warned；'　Sabat　thrust　his　face　close　to　his　panion's。　'We　are　not　up　against　mortal　enemies　tonight。　Whoever　our　adversaries　are　they　will　first　try　to　destroy　our　minds；　render　us　babbling　imbeciles　just　as　they　did　Vicar　Cleehopes　who　was　a　very　powerful　exorcist　himself。　We　must　fight　them　with　such　weapons　as　this；　have　faith　in　ourselves。'
　　
　　'Now　you　are　fucking　preaching；'　Kent　sneered；　tossing　the　crucifix　up　and　down　in　his　hand。　'Still；　I　suppose　it's　only　to　be　expected　from　one　who's　worn　a　bleeding　dog…collar　himself。　Okay；　if　you　want　it　that　way；　Sabat；　then　that's　okay　by　me　but　don't　get　any　ideas　about　converting　me。　You　know　damned　well　I'm　an　atheist。'
　　
　　Sabat　stiffened。　Had　the　dark　powers　already　begun　to　work　on　Kent；　alienating　him　against　Sabat？
　　
　　'I　know；'　Sabat　smiled。　'You're　an　atheist；　Kent。　You　don't　believe　in　God　so　therefore　how　can　you　believe　in　them。'
　　
　　The　journalist　checked　an　angry　retort　and　an　expression　of　bewilderment　flooded　his　rugged　features　in　the　faint　moonlight。　'You're　right；　Sabat；'　he　said；　as　though　he　had　to　force　the　words　out。　'I　don't　believe　in　them。　They're　a　load　of　crap；　superstition　put　about　by　these　ignorant　villagers　to　scare　the　life　out　of　everybody。'

　　
　　Sabat　stretched　out　his　hand；　took　the　crucifix　back　and　dropped　it　into　his　pocket。　The　wind　appeared　to　strengthen　suddenly　from　a　gentle　breeze　to　a　tearing　gale；　buffeted　them；　then　died　down　as　quickly　as　it　had　begun。　A　show　of　anger　by　the　evil　around　them；　a　temporary　setback　for　the　lurking　powers　because　Sabat　had　produced　an　unexpected　ace　out　of　his　occult　pack。　It　had　worked　this　time　but　it　might　not　again。
　　
　　'Let's　move；'　Sabat　took　the　lead；　knew　that　the　other　followed　him。　He　tried　not　to　think　what　they　might　e　up　against　beyond　the　lychgate　which　stood　silhouetted　against　the　night　sky　some　twenty　yards　ahead　of　them。　The　awful　possibilities　were　innumerable。
　　
　　'I　can　smell　smoke；'　Kent　breathed。　'Christ；　what　a　bloody　awful　stink！'
　　
　　Sabat　wrinkled　his　nostrils。　There　was　certainly　a　pungent　aroma　being　wafted　on　the　night　breeze；　like　a　smouldering　garden　bonfire；　only　more　cloying。　He　sniffed　the　air　in　the　manner　of　a　hunting　beast　but　failed　to　recognise　the　smell　other　than　that　of　burning。　His　thoughts　flipped　briefly　to　the　incinerated　body　of　the　Reverend　Philip　Owen　and　further　back　in　time　to　one　Dr　William　Price。　They　were　not　pleasant　thoughts。
　　
　　The　churchyard　was　in　total　silence　as　they　eased　through　the　lychgate。　Even　that　gentle　breeze　seemed　to　have　dropped　and　a　patch　of　cloud　scudded　across　the　face　of　the　moon　as　though　the　heavens　feared　to　look　down　upon　th