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two strong men making a mutual pledge, a loyalty that was unquestioned. Then,
without speaking, they set off back in the direction of the churchyard.
CHAPTER, SIX
THEY RE-ENTERED the churchyard by that gap in the hedge and stood listening.
Sabat wiped the ashes from his crucifix, almost felt its latent power.
Silence. Another trick?
Then they heard the noise again, a low intermittent groaning that came from
somewhere close at hand.
'Over there,' Kent whispered, 'behind that huge headstone.'
They approached stealthily, Sabat in the lead. He caught a glimpse of the name
on the huge tombstone - SIR HENRY GRAYNE. And as he lowered his gaze he saw a
pair of bare feet protruding from behind the marble, twitching feebly.
'It's a young girl/ Kent knew he was stating the obvious but somebody had to
say something.
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They stared, saw the young girl lying there on the gravel which had been
spread and raked across the grave. She was clad in a sackcloth-type shift
which was pulled up to reveal that she was naked underneath. Her slim fingers
clutched the material, crumpling it with such ferocity that her knuckles were
white. A slim figure, no more than twenty at the most, dark haired with
perfectly proportioned features that were screwed up into a mask of sheer
terror. Her dark eyes widened with fear when she saw them, tried to edge away
but her strength failed her and she flopped back down again, moaning.
Sabat dropped to his knees, reached for her hand and caught it as it was
snatched away. She tensed, her whole body trembled and she managed a scream, a
weak effort, a faint echo of the cry they had heard earlier. Sabat dropped the
crucifix back into his pocket. He could have used it to devastate her but
there was no point. She was at his mercy anyway, a nymph of the graveyard run
to earth by the hunters.
'I do not mean you any harm,' he spoke softly, smiled.
'I am ... finished,' she whispered, closed her eyes, a resignation to death,
maybe even worse.
'What is your name?'
A pause, then 'Sheenah'.
'You're safe now. She's dead, whoever she was.'
'Alena . . . has been dead for a very longtime.'
'I know, but she is finished now. Destroyed by the cross.'
Sheenah shuddered, continued to tremble. Then . . . why don't you finish me,
Sabat?'
'You know my name?'
'Everybody in this village knows your name. A devil in human form sent to make
a pact with the Oke Priests.'
'My, my,' Sabat glanced briefly at Kent, then turned back to the shivering
girl. 'Look, Sheenah, if you stop here much longer you're likely to catch
pneumonia, like we shall as well. Let us take you back to our place where we
can talk in comfort.'
Terrible things would happen to me if I was seen talking to you, Sabat.'
'From the villagers ... or the Oke Priests?'
'I . . . I do not . . . know.'
'Come on,' Sabat stood up, pulled her to her feet, let her dress fall back
into place. 'It's a question of Hobson's Choice, my girl. It appears that
whatever you do somebody is likely to have unpleasant things in mind for you,
in which case I think you'd be a lot better off with Kent and myself.'
It was on the way back to their headquarters, as they moved slowly, keeping to
the shadows, that Sabat experienced that faint but pleasant sensation
beginning again in the lower regions of his body. With a supreme effort he
managed to transfer his thoughts to other matters, even succeeded in shutting
out Quentin's whispered mocking laughter.
Sabat was strong again now. The ungodly would know they had been in a fight
whatever the eventual outcome.
'I'm a witch, you know. A white witch, of course.'
Sabat was taken aback by the frank confession, admired the way Sheenah had
recovered her composure as she reclined in the armchair with a glass of
Bacardi in her hand, almost arrogant now.
'I rather gathered you were,' Sabat took a sip of his whisky, smiled
disarmingly. 'It was just a question of which side you were on out there in
the dark tonight. We couldn't take chances.'
'Of course. I understand. I'm grateful to you, Sabat, because without you and
your friend I would surely have died on the sacrificial altar. Alena, mistress
of Alda, is terrible when her anger is aroused. The old ones are not wholly
evil, though, but at the present time they crave revenge against those who
seek to destroy an ancient place of worship.'
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