gns.thegraveyardvultures-第4部分

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　　It　was　well　after　midnight　before　the　full　group　was　assembled　in　the　old　cemetery。　They　had　arrived　mostly　in　twos　or　singly；　creeping　stealthily　through　the　straggling　hedgerow　which　bordered　a　wood　at　the　rear；　talking　only　in　whispers；　then　falling　into　a　humble　respectful　silence　when　the　tall　man　in　flowing　black　robes；　his　face　concealed　by　the　dark　shadows　of　a　cowl；　had　arrived。　Now　they　stood　about　awkwardly；　teenagers　who　still　remembered　school　discipline；　shuffling　plimsolled　feet　and　discreetly　extinguishing　cigarettes　which　they　had　shielded　in　cupped　hands。
　　
　　The　tall　man　addressed　them　in　manding　tones；　a　long　arm　extended　to　single　out　a　grave　only　yards　away。　This　one　had　no　headstone；　just　a　wooden　marker。　A　recent　burial；　the　flowers　barely　starting　to　wilt。　The　aura　of　sadness　which　it　had　engendered　by　day　had　turned　to　a　sinister　atmosphere　by　night。
　　
　　Two　youths　produced　a　spade　and　a　pickaxe　which　they　had　brought　with　them。　They　received　an　approving　nod　from　the　man　whose　authority　none　disputed。　There　was　no　need　for　instructions　and　without　further　delay　they　began　to　dig。
　　
　　The　spadework　was　easy；　fresh　soil　made　soft　by　the　recent　grave　digging　so　that　the　pick　was　not　needed。　The　watchers　moved　in　closer；　eager　as　the　mound　of　soft　damp　earth　grew；　spilling　back　in　small　showers　until　finally　they　heard　stones　thudding　on　the　exposed　coffin　lid　down　below。　Necks　craned　forward；　two　well…built　youths　in　soiled　denims　stepped　out　of　the　group。　Now　the　pick　was　needed；　a　cracking　and　splintering　of　seasoned　wood。　Two。　standing　in　the　open　grave；　others　kneeling　to　assist　in　a　cumbersome　task；　dragging　the　enshrouded　corpse　up　from　its　last　resting　place。　The　tall　man　stood　back　with　folded　arms。
　　
　　The　full　moon　was　almost　at　its　zenith；　its　soft　light　showing　up　every　detail　as　trembling　hands　tore　at　the　shroud　revealing　dead　white　flesh。
　　
　　Gasps；　some　of　horror　from　those　who　had　not　experienced　necromancy　before。　The　corpse　was　naked　now　and　there　was　no　mistaking　the　beauty　of　the　young　girl。　She　could　not　have　been　more　than　eighteen；　the　mortician's　make…up　accentuating　the　darkness　of　her　long　hair；　lips　that　were　full　and　red　even　in　death；　breasts　sagging　but　perfectly　proportioned；　the　dark　'V　of　lower　hair　tantalising　the　watchers　so　that　some　became　aroused。
　　
　　'A　young；　dead　virgin　is　the　most　powerful　instrument　of　all。'　The　cowled　man's　long；　slender　fingers　were　stroking　the　cold　flesh　almost　lovingly；　dwelling　for　a　second　or　two　on　the　wide　surgeon's　scar　which　disfigured　the　flat　abdomen　even　in　the　moonlight。
　　
　　〃Ow　d'yer　know　'er's　a　virgin？'　There　was　open　insolence　in　the　tone　of　the　one　who　still　held　the　pickaxe。
　　
　　'Hold　your　tongue！'　The　cowl　had　fallen　back　exposing　a　broad；　cruel　face；　eyes　too　close　together；　the　mouth　a　thin　slit；　nostrils　dilated　with　fury。　'How　dare　you　question　my　judgement。　Sylvia　had　a　stomach　cancer　at　the　age　of　thirteen。　For　five　years　she　fought　a　battle　against　it；　mostly　in　hospital。　She　had　no　boyfriends。　Does　that　answer　your　question；　Julian？'
　　
　　The　other　nodded。
　　
　　'But　tonight；'　　the　coven　leader's　voice　became　high…pitched；　rose　almost　to　a　crescendo；　'that　virginity　will　be　lost！'
　　
　　'Jesus！'　a　tall　rangy　youth　backed　away。　'You're　not　going　to　。。。　'
　　
　　'Do　not　argue　with　me。　Our　Master　has　need　of　Sylvia　and　for　this　he　will　reward　us　richly。　Lift　her　on　to　that　tomb　over　there。　Hurry；　for　we　have　work　to　do　and　the　night　is　not　without　its　dangers。'
　　
　　Trembling　hands　lifted　the　dead　girl　and　laid　her　face　upwards　on　the　flat；　table…like　tomb　of　a　wealthy　village　family。　She　sagged；　a　leg　fell　and　swung　in　grim　lewdness　causing　several　of　the　younger　coven　members　to　jump　back　in　alarm。
　　
　　'Now；　Sheila；　get　undressed。　Everybody　get　undressed　for　the　Master　abhors　inhibitions。'
　　
　　Clothes　were　shed；　the　tall　man　beginning　a　low　incantation　as　he　followed　suit；　revealing　a　middle…aged　body　that　was　already　aroused。　A　slim；　fair…haired　girl　was　trembling　violently；　biting　her　lower　lip　as　though　trying　to　stem　a　flood　of　tears；　folded　arms　shielding　breasts　which　had　yet　to　reach　maturity。　She'd　never　thought　that　they　would　go　this　far。　Horace　（maybe　it　wasn't　even　his　real　name）　was　some　kind　of　sadist。　Up　until　now　it　had　all　been　a　kind　of　sexy　game　and　she　hadn't　minded　the　other　guys　having　her。　Horace　had　said　that　tonight　was　to　be　her　'initiation'　and　she'd　thought　that　was　just　an　excuse　for　another　orgy。　But　digging　up　a　dead　girl　who'd　spent　most　of　her　life　fighting　against　an　incurable　disease　。　。　。　ugh；　it　was　horrible！　She'd　have　no　part　in　this。
　　
　　'I。。。　I　want　to　go　home；'　her　plea　sounded　pathetic　and　she　knew　she　ought　to　have　voiced　her　disapproval　before　she'd　stripped　off。　They　had　dug　up　a　grave　on　the　last　full　moon　but　that　had　been　a　decrepit　skeleton；　a　bit　creepy　but　the　guy　had　been　dead　for　half　a　century　and　it　wasn't　doing　him　any　harm。　Anyway；　they'd　reburied　him　afterwards。
　　
　　Horace　paused；　his　intonation　dying　away。　When　he　spoke　again　his　voice　was　angry；　his　thin　lips　scarcely　seeming　to　move。　'It's　too　late　now　I'm　afraid；　my　dear。　You've　gone　too　far　to　back　out。　Now；　go　and　lie　alongside　the　lovely　Sylvia　and　remember　。　。　。　it's　the　Master　you're　giving　yourself　to。　Feel　privileged；　honoured；　to　share　the　sacrificial　altar　with　a　virgin　'
　　
　　Sheila　Dowson　felt　her　senses　reeling；　thought　for　a　moment　that　she　was　going　to　faint。　Her　instinct　was　to　turn　and　run；　maybe　if　she　hadn't　been　naked　she　would　have　done　just　that。　But　somehow　the　thought　of　running　nude　through　the　village　back　to　her　home　was　an　equally　frightening　thought。
　　
　　'You　can't　make　me　do　anything　I　don't　want　to　do！'　She　had　meant　to　sound　firm　and　defiant　but　her　voice　trembled　and　suddenly　the　pent…up　tears　of　terror　came　in　a　flood。　Then　she　began　to　scream。
　　
　　'Dear　me；　the　girl's　being　hysterical。'　Horace's　tone　was　menacing；　pitiless。　'John；　Michael；　carry　her　to　the　altar。　And　I　think　we'll　also　have　to　bind　her　and　gag　her！'
　　
　　Sheila's　struggles　were　futile　in　the　grip　of　the　two　young　men　who　hastened　to　obey　their　leader's　orders。　She　was　seized；　gagged　with　her　own　underwear；　her　wrists　bound　fast　with　a　pair　of　tights。　Wide…eyed　she　edged　as　far　as　she　could　from　the　cold；　stiff　girl　who　lay　beside　her；　those　dead　eyes　having　been　prised　open　so　that　Sylvia　stared　sightlessly　up　at　the　moon　directly　above。
　　
　　'Now　we　can　begin。'　Horace　held　his　arms　aloft；　noting　with　no　small　degree　of　satisfaction　the　way　in　which　his　followers　flung　themselves　prostrate。　His　naked　body　glowed　with　a　fiery　warmth　in　spite　of　the　fact　that　the　temperature　seemed　to　have　dropped　considerably　during　the　last　few　minutes。　The　moon　was　darkening；　a　fleeting　bank　of　cloud　possibly。　His　gaze　rested　on　the　beautiful　corpse；　now　a　pale　silhouette；　her　details　obscured　and　flicked　on　to　Sheila　who　had　ceased　to　struggle。　His　arousement　was　almost　painful　but　he　knew　he　must　wait　until　the　Master　had　claimed　this　sensual　human　offering　before　he　took　his　own　pleasure。
　　
　　Dark　now；　so　dark　that　it　was　impossible　even　to　make　out　the　outlines　of　those　around　him。　Still　muttering；　incoherently　because　at　times　like　these　everybody　was　afraid。　Closing　his　eyes　because　he　did　not　want　to　see；　feeling　the　atmosphere　cold　and　alive　with　a　sensation　akin　to　that　of　an　electric　storm。　Hearing　the　fearful　babblings　of　his　followers。　Sheila　struggling　with　her　bonds；　shuddering　and　gasping　as　though　she　was　orgasming。。。
　　
　　Then　the　smell；　a　putrid　stench　that　had　the　bile　rising　up　into　Horace's　throat；　an　odour　that　was　familiar　and　all　the　more　frightening　because　he　recognised　it。
　　
　　Like　the　stench　of　a　foul　stable　that　had　not　been　cleaned　out　for　centuries；　rancid　with　urine；　excreta　and　animal　sweat。　Horace　clasped　his　hands　to　his　ears　in　an　attempt　to　shut　out　the　pounding　of　hooves　and　the　terrified　human　screams。
　　
　　Sabat　had　not　liked　Bishop　Wentnor　even　in　the　days　of　his　own　priesthood　when　the　bishop　had　been　a　mere　canon。　Overweight；　florid…faced　（there　were　rumours　that　he　drank　heavily）；　all　bining　to　give　a　supercilious　attitude；　a　man　who　did　not　tolerate　any　disagreement　with　his　own　opinions。　A　rebel　in　his　own　way；　Wentnor　had　gambled　on　some　unconventional　political　views；　hoping　that　if　the　right　party　won　the　next　election　he　would　receive　the　favours　due　to　him　for　his　loyalty。　The　gamble　had　paid　off　and　he　had　bee　a　bishop。　In　his　own　way　he　was　as　ruthless　as　Sabat　was。
　　
　　And　Wentnor　made　no　secret　of　his　dislike　for　Sabat。　One　who　has　shown　disloyalty　to　the　Church　should　have　been　defrocked。　Unfortunately　it　was　a　case　of　once　a　priest　always　a　priest。　The　Dean　and　Chapter　remembered　Sabat's　powers　of　exorcism　and　had　advocated　calling　him　in　once　the　police　had　hinted　that　there　was　more　to　the　desecration'　of　these　graves　in　St　Adrian's　churchyard　and　the　exhumation　of　corpses　than　just　plain　vandalism。　Wentnor　had　refused　adamantly　but　within　a　week　he　had　received　a　directive　from　the　Archbishop　th