[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
'All right.'
'Then we have to decide on our next move.'
'Destroy those who corrupt, Sabat, and the bloodshed will stop. Take my word
for it.'
A dull bang out in the hall, a vibration that caused more of the broken glass
to shower into the house.
'What's that?' Sheenah was close behind Sabat as he opened the kitchen door,
saw the empty hall and the room which they had just vacated. There was no sign
of Kent.
'Now where the hell's he gone to?' Sabat opened the outer door but the drive
was empty. 'Perhaps he's just gone out to get a paper or something.* It
sounded feeble.
'We must not let him out of our sight,' Sheenah clutched at Sabat's arm.
'Whether your friend likes it or not he is in this with us, marked down for
death by the spirits of the Oke Priests. Once night comes again his life and
his soul will be in danger, wherever he goes. We must find him, Sabat!'
And Sabat's flesh was goosepimpling again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KENT HAD to get away from the house otherwise he'd go mad; maybe he already
was. Jesus Christ, what the hell had happened last night?
The silent village looked sinister in the half-light of dawn. My God, he'd had
enough of Sabat. Mark had been crazy during their SAS days together, a devil
in action, one who killed mercilessly and enjoyed it. But this was going too
far. All the same there had been something weird about the nocturnal hours;
Kent had seen it with his own eyes if he did not understand it.
It was with no small amount of relief that he arrived back at the White Horse.
The side door was unlocked; maybe it was always left that way for residents
who kept late hours.
The journalist crept up the flight of narrow winding stairs, winced every time
a board creaked. God, his head ached, a stabbing pain as if somebody was
boring into his skull with a skewer. A wave of dizziness had him swaying on
the landing, clutching the carved oak rail in case he should fall. A few
seconds and the sensation passed and with a sigh of relief he made it into his
room.
The sight of that single bed made him aware just how exhausted he was; less
than an hour's sleep in the last twenty-four and that brief rest was only due
to an uppercut by Sabat, goddamn the fellow!
Kent pushed the bolt home on the door and flung himself, still fully dressed,
on to the bed. Right now he didn't give a damn for Sabat, nor Sheenah, nor
anybody else. He wasn't budging from this bed for any of them. They could all
go to hell as far as he was concerned.
The room was dark when Kent awoke, a slow process, gathering his thoughts
gradually, trying to piece the events of the past day together. Disorientated,
glancing at the luminous dial of his wristwatch, seeing that it was nine
o'clock and trying to decide whether it was a.m. or p.m.
His headache was gone; he felt refreshed. It had to be nighttime. That meant
he had slept for about fifteen hours, a deep sleep interspersed with
nightmarish dreams. It was difficult to determine the borderline between
dreams and reality after the night before, sanity or madness.
Kent swung his feet off the bed and switched on a table lamp. Methodically he
began to plan what he was going to do. For a start, Sabat and that girl were
crazy and no way was the Fleet Street man going to get involved in any more of
that hocus-pocus. It was all some kind of trickery, he decided, both sides
trying to deceive the other by creating optical illusions, together with some
kind of sleight of hand; like conjurers did. The real story he was seeking
didn't lie there. Beneath it all lay the big scoop, corruption involving
bishops and vicars and trustees and crooked builders. That was the feature
Page 33
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
article he needed, not a lot of mumbo-jumbo that half his paper's readership
would just skim through and forget all about ten minutes later. Something
sensational that would rock the nation, scandal that would shock church coffee
mornings to the core.
To hell with Sabat; this was where their trails parted. Kent let himself out
of his room and went downstairs.
The lounge bar was packed to capacity, a hubbub of conversation all around him
as he. pushed his way to the bar. Kent leaned against an upright beam, sensed
a wave of dizziness, then steadied. Kent seemed to feel heady, experienced a
kind of unreality as though he was a spectator to his own actions. During
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plalternate.pev.pl
|
|
|
