gns.thegraveyardvultures-第29部分

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e　light　cast　by　the　twin　candles　he　saw　the　blood　。　。　。　his　features　unrecognisable　beneath　the　sticky　scarlet　fluid；　his　dark　clothing　saturated　so　that　the　material　clung　tightly　to　the　body。　Royston　Spode　had　thwarted　him；　sacrificed　him　before　night　fell。
　　
　　And　now　that　he　was　dead；　Sabat's　astral　body　was　trapped　in　the　wilderness　of　no　return。
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　ELEVEN
　　　
　　ROYSTON　SPODE　gave　a　final　orgasmic　shudder　and　sank　his　full　weight　down　on　the　West　Indian　girl　who　lay　spread…eagled　beneath　him。　He　went　limp；　gave　way　to　the　wave　of　exhaustion　which　swept　over　him。　It　had　been　good。　Very；　very　good。　He'd　needed　it　in　order　to　prepare　himself　mentally　for　this　ing　night　and　the　terrible　risks　which　he　must　take　to　achieve　the　ultimate　in　power。
　　
　　He　lay　thus　for　about　twenty　minutes　before　finally　withdrawing　and　extricating　himself　from　his　partner's　embrace。　Alison；　the　bocor's　servant　girl　whom　he　had　snatched　away　from　her　master　in　Port　au　Prince；　was　perfect　for　his　every　purpose。　Sexually　she　was　either　submissive　or　aggressive　according　to　his　whim　at　the　time；　domestically　she　obeyed　his　every　order　without　question。　A　man　could　not　ask　for　more　than　that。
　　
　　He　knelt　there　staring　down　at　her。　Her　features　gave　nothing　away；　her　eyes　closed　because　after　copulation　it　was　forbidden　for　her　to　look　upon　the　satisfied　body　of　her　master　unless　he　manded　her　to　do　so。　Her　ultimate　desire　was　to　please　him　because　he　was　her　houngan；　the　one　who　had　the　right　to　dominate　her　mind　and　body。　If　necessary　she　would　die　for　him。　Or　so　it　should　have　been。　He　wondered　。。。　if　he　asked　for　her　love　she　would　give　it　outwardly　but　even　he　was　not　powerful　enough　to　explore　her　innermost　thoughts。　Just　one　little　thing　worried　him；　her　expression　earlier　that　morning　when　she　had　e　to　tell　him　that　Sabat　was　in　the　drawing　room。　In　her　wide　dark　eyes　he　had　read　。　。　。　something。　Something　that　he　had　not　seen　there　before　and　which　disturbed　him。　She　had　taken　the　drugged　coffee　in　as　manded；　yet　if　one　studied　her　closely；　as　Spode　was　wont　to　do；　then　there　was　a　reluctance　in　her　walk；　her　bearing；　as　though　she　would　have　preferred　not　to　have　administered　the　dope　to　their　visitor。　It　could　have　been　his　imagination；　Royston　tried　to　console　himself　as　he　donned　the　cassock　of　this　false　religion。　But；　and　it　had　always　been　a　nagging　worry　since　he　had　brought　Alison　to　England；　her　bocor　in　Haiti　had　been　a　disciple　of　Damballah；　chief　of　the　Rada　gods；　not　a　good　god　but　certainly　not　an　evil　one。　Did　not　other　religions　throughout　the　world　indoctrinate　their　subjects　from　infancy？　Was　he；　Royston　Spode；　powerful　enough　to　change　her　allegiance　from　Rada　to　Retro？
　　
　　'Get　dressed。'　His　abrupt　mand　had　her　scrambling　up；　grabbing　for　the　long　multi…coloured　dress。　It　was　ripped　in　places；　when　he　lusted　for　Alison's　brown　body　he　liked　to　take　her　that　way。　And　she　had　never　once　objected。　'It　is　later　than　I　thought；　we　have　mated　too　long　and　Evensong　is　but　an　hour　away。　Already　some　of　our　followers　will　be　there　in　the　church　in　their　eagerness　for　this　long　dark　night　to　begin。'
　　
　　She　nodded。　He　watched　her　carefully　as　she　dressed；　saw　how　her　smooth　flesh　trembled　and　her　fingers　shook　as　she　tied　the　sash　around　her　waist。　Again　he　might　be　seeing　problems　that　did　not　exist；　for　any　woman　who　had　orgasmed　four　times　was　entitled　to　tremble　a　little　afterwards。
　　
　　As　he　left　the　room　he　was　reminded　of　Miranda　and　her　treachery。　But　on　the　most　important　eve　of　his　creation　he　had　other　things　to　occupy　his　mind；　and　by　the　time　he　embarked　upon　the　short　walk　from　the　vicarage　to　the　church　he　had　dispelled　his　doubts。　Alison　was　his　mistress；　his　slave；　and　it　would　never　be　any　different。　He　could　trust　her　implicitly。
　　
　　Andy　Drew's　fears　had　been　mounting　throughout　the　day；　and　when　he　learned　at　lunchtime　that　his　friend　Jon　Borth　had　been　found　dead　on　the　road　some　miles　beyond　the　village；　he'd　reported　sick　to　the　foreman　at　the　small　clothing　factory　where　he　worked　and　gone　home。　Jon's　horrific　accident　was　surely　an　omen。　Some　of　those　fucking　ghouls　on　the　shopfloor　were　discussing　the　details。　Andy　had　rushed　into　the　toilet；　spewed　until　his　guts　couldn't　throw　up　anymore。　The　foreman　had　taken　one　look　at　him　and　told　him　to　piss　off　home　before　he　spread　whatever　bug　he'd　got　among　the　workforce。
　　
　　At　twenty…two；　Andy's　problems　seemed　to　be　closing　in　on　him；　he　found　members　of　his　own　sex　far　more　attractive　than　those　of　the　opposite　one　and　it　must　have　shown　because　some　of　those　crude　bastards　he　worked　with　had　taken　to　referring　to　him　as　'Pouf。　And　that　wasn't　because　he　was　physically　frail　and　got　out　of　breath　easily。
　　
　　He'd　started　going　to　church；　much　to　his　conventional　parent's　joy　and　amazement；　but　that　had　only　led　to　worse　things。　That　vicar　wasn't　a　vicar　at　all；　Andy　had　found　that　out　after　Spode　had　asked　him　to　remain　behind　one　Sunday　after　Matins　and　all　sorts　of　shameful　and　pleasurable　things　had　happened　in　the　vestry。　It　had　all　been　a　fix　by　Spode　to　trap　him；　to　get　a　hold　on　him　so　he　couldn't　desert　the　coven。　And　once　he'd　got　his　talons　into　him　Spode　didn't　make　life　enjoyable　anymore；　and　neither　did　he　do　those　things　he'd　done　in　the　beginning。
　　
　　Last　night　had　been　a　living　nightmare。　Playing　about　with　some　old　skeleton　was　revolting　enough；　but　Jesus；　Andy　had　never　thought　they'd　do　things　such　as　they　did　to　that　girl！　But　there　was　no　turning　back　and　now　he　was　ordered　to　attend　a　special　'evensong　munion'　prior　to　。　。　。　Royston　Spode　promised　them　that　tonight　would　be　the　climax　to　their　devotion　and　that　in　return；　each　and　every　one　of　them　would　receive　power　beyond　their　wildest　dreams。　Crap！　It　was　scary；　they　were　all　accessories　to　murder；　but　there　wasn't　such　a　thing　as　magic；　just　an　excuse　to　perform　revolting　rites。　Yet　inexplicable　happenings　had　occurred。　It　was　all　clever　trickery　of　some　kind　but　nevertheless　Andy　was　trapped。　He'd　have　to　go　to　the　church　at　7。30　and　to　the　crypt　afterwards。
　　
　　'You　look　ill。'　There　was　concern　on　his　mother's　face　as　she　met　him　in　the　hall　of　their　two…up；　two…down　cottage。　'You'd　better　go　to　bed　and　stop　there　for　the　rest　of　the　day。'
　　
　　'I'm　not　ill；'　the　last　thing　Andy　wanted　was　to　find　himself　a　prisoner　in　his　bedroom；　he　dared　not　disobey　Spode's　orders。　'I've　been　made　redundant　and　it　came　as　a　bit　of　a　shock。'　Now　that　was　a　stupid　lie；　blurted　out　on　the　spur　of　the　moment。　How　was　he　going　to　explain　why　he　had　to　go　to　work　in　the　morning？　Let's　get　tonight　over　first。
　　
　　'Well；　you'd　better　go　and　lie　down　for　a　while　just　the　same；'　she　said。　'Your　father　and　I　are　going　on　the　WI　coach　trip　to　Stratford　this　evening　so　you'll　have　to　look　after　yourself　while　we're　away。'
　　
　　That　was　a　relief；　a　clear　coast　and　nobody　to　ask　questions。　He　went　up　to　his　room；　stretched　out　on　his　bed。　He　was　trembling；　scared　to　hell。　Christ；　if　only　he　could　think　of　something。　In　about　thirty　minutes　he　did　just　that；　an　idea　that　made　his　mouth　dry　up　and　flooded　his　armpits　with　sweat。
　　
　　Everybody　hated　Spode　even　though　they　pretended　to　worship　him　with　reverence　down　in　that　damp；　dark；　smelly　hole　of　a　Satanic　temple。　But　nobody　had　the　guts　to　do　anything　about　it。　Sure；　they　revelled　in　the　orgies　but　once　they'd　satisfied　themselves　they　were　terrified　of　the　rest　of　the　night's　proceedings。　It　was　like　a　sumptuous　first　course　with　a　revolting　sweet　to　follow。　And　it　all　happened　because　of　a　nutcase　of　a　vicar　who　had　convinced　everybody　that　he　had　supernatural　powers。　Without　Royston　Spode　it　would　all　e　to　an　end。
　　
　　Andy　Drew　thought　some　more；　sweated　profusely；　and　told　himself　it　could　be　done。　And　he　would　have　to　do　it　because　nobody　else　would。　In　a　way　it　was　like　avenging　Jon　Borth　…　a　life　for　a　life！
　　
　　He　slid　off　the　bed；　found　his　old　sheath　knife　in　the　dressing　table　drawer；　the　one　he'd　had　when　he　was　a　scout。　He　tested　the　blade　with　his　thumb；　it　was　sharp　enough　to　do　the　trick。
　　
　　He'd　have　to　kill　Spode　in　the　church！　Christ；　it'd　be　like　Thomas　Beckett；　he'd　even　played　a　minor　part　in　the　play　of　the　Canterbury　murder　they'd　put　on　at　school；　but　this　time　it　would　all　be　for　real。　When　he　knelt　to　receive　。　。　。　human　flesh　and　blood　I　God；　it　was　cannibalism；　chewing　on　a　square　of　。。。　that　wretch's　flesh；　tasting　her　thick；　soup…like　blood。　Andy　wouldn't　let　it　get　that　far。　He'd　have　the　knife　hidden　up　his　sleeve　ready　to　drop　down；　hilt　first　into　the　palm　of　his　hand；　and　as　Spode　bent　to　serve　him　he'd　plunge　it　deep　into　that　fat　belly。　The　others　would　be　with　him　once　Royston　Spode　was　down；　between　them　they'd　drag　the　body　through　the　graveyard；　throw　it　into　the　old　crypt　and　fill　the　entrance　with　rubble。　And　nobody　would　ever　find　it。　Simple。
　　
　　Andy　Drew　knew　that　he　could　go　through　with　it；　it　was　either　that　or　take　his　own　life　and　he　lacked　the　courage　to　do　the　latter。　He　grinned　to　himself；　suddenly　aware　that　planning　Spode's　death　had　given　him　an　erection。