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transmit blazing hatred. Instead they pleaded, became misty with tears of
sorrow. Promises replaced curses and threats. 'Spare me, Sabat, and I will be
yours forever. I am not evil, only accursed, a victim of Louis Nevillon who
controls me in life and in death so that I shall always be reborn to be his, I
cannot die except by your hand, you who are Quentin, a friend of Louis
Nevillon and as powerful as he. But I do not want to die because I shall be
parted from your
'What are you waiting for Sabat? Shoot her, or else give me the pisto!!'
Sabat's finger tightened on the trigger and in the same instant he moved the
barrel an inch to the left, sighted against one of the blazing wooden frames,
squeezed. Again that thunderous roar and leaping flame, everything obscured by
the villainous black powdersmoke, a curtain that was slow to shift in the
windless atmosphere.
It seemed to take an indeterminable time to disperse and when it was gone
there was nothing to see except a gaping blazing hole in the upper storey
where that window had been. Of Marie Gaufridi there was no sign.
'Well done, my friend,' Pierre de Lancre clasped a hand on Sabat's shoulder.
'You got her and not just the people of Labourd but the whole of France, nay
the world, is well rid of her. Let us stand here and listen to the screams of
the dying, witches burned in a mass demonstration of justice such as is the
law of this land according to our beloved king,'
Sabat stood and watched as commanded, seeming to be detached from himself just
as he had on that fevered night when pneumonia and Quentin had claimed him.
There was no way out, no escape for anybody trapped in that inferno. Screams
of agony were proof that some still lived, the unfortunate ones. The smoke was
eddying, a stench of burning wood and thatch and ... roasting human flesh!
Sabat turned away, threw up, but Pierre de Lancre did not appear to notice. He
was too engrossed in watching the finale of this latest hunt. Tomorrow he
would embark upon another.
Now there was only the sound of crackling flames and crashing timbers, the
night sky lit up by this huge funeral pyre, the execution chamber of the
damned.
'They are all dead,' de Lancre wiped the barrels of his pistols on his cloak,
pushed them into his belt 'That is another job well done, Sabat. A
satisfactory conclusion and all due to you for leading me here to them. My
friend, I am in your debt. If you ever have need of me do not hesitate to call
upon me. Do that and Pierre de Lancre will come, that I promise.'
And then the witchfinder was gone, a fleeting shadow that merged into other
shadows and left Sabat standing there alone; bemused, wondering about
Madeleine and if she still lived. His one consolation was that he had heeded
her plea and put his bullet wide. If she still lived and kept her promise then
she was his.
It was an exciting thought; one that caused him to awake with an erection and
do things to himself as he looked at the still slumbering form of Madeleine
Gaufridi beside him in the cold grey early morning light.
'You must destroy them all, Sabat' Madeleine followed him to the door after
they had both breakfasted on the cold meat from the previous night's 'roast'.
'It will not be easy but the future of you and I and Louis depend upon it.
Take the Renault. It is stolen so take care in case the police spot it. When
your work is done return here and you will be well rewarded, that I promise
you.'
Sabat walked across the clearing to the parked Renault, got the feeling that
it was a kind of repeat performance, a re-run of the time he'd been sent to
get Daunay. Misgivings clouded his brain, bringing on a depression that had
not really left him since that dream about the witch of Labourd.
Pierre de Lancre's words hammered until his temples throbbed. 'If you ever
have need of me do not hesitate to call me. Do that and Pierre de Lancre will
come, that I promise*
And Sabat knew that he needed help; for once in his life he could not go it
alone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SABAT HAD left the Renault on the outskirts of Lucerne. He dared not risk the
possibility of being stopped by police on the lookout for the stolen car. He
boarded a bus, then walked the rest of the way to the commune, not hurrying
because there was plenty of time.
From across the road it was barely visible through the trees and bushes, just
a glimpse of a roof and a chimney that had a faint wisp of smoke curling up
from it. The cannibal cult were at home. He walked on, found a recreation
park, and spent an hour or two relaxing on a bench by the side of a pond.
Already it was evening, houses on the opposite side of the street beginning to
cast their shadows. There was not much time left and he still had not
formulated a definite plan. The weight of the " 38 back in its holster was
comforting. Maybe that was the only way, to go in there shooting, take as many
of them with him as possible before the sheer weight of numbers bore him down.
No, it had to be more subtle than that.
His dream of the previous night had never really left him. He thought of
Pierre de Lancre. At a time such as this there was no better man to have on
one's side. But it had only been a dream and there was no chance of the
witchfinder coming. Had Sabat met him on the astral plane then there would
have been a faint prospect of help.
A similar situation: that place in his dreams, the coven trapped inside by
fire. But it would not work here. This was a thriving city... an army of
fire-engines would be screaming to the scene before the first smoke pall had a
chance to settle, the flames doused within minutes.
And then he knew, a solution that came to him with shattering suddenness. A
blinding inspiration and so damnably simple. The rope triangle oft used by the
powers of evil to imprison their victims in a particular place, a device that
was more secure than any lock or key! The accursed could not break it, only an
exorcist could gain entrance unharmed and free those trapped inside.
Euphoria that dispelled his mounting depression instantly, so that he had to
fight to control his emotions. He had not thought of it because he was (had
been!) Mark Sabat, exorcist. He had remembered it because he was Quentin [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
