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Sabat made up his mind and moved with the speed of a swooping sparrowhawk； his free hand darting out； turning the yale catch and pulling the door inwards in one perfectly co…ordinated movement。 Face to face； two men with their features bathed in shadow； the stranger recoiling with surprise； then letting out a faint grunt of alarm when the dim light glinted on the unmistakable barrel of a revolver。
'Just don't make a move；' Sabat's voice was low and menacing； 'otherwise you'll never live to make another！'
'Sabat！' a voice that was vaguely familiar to the ex…SAS man but which counted for nothing because the dark powers could imitate any sound or form they chose with ease。 'Take it easy； Sabat。'
'Don't risk it；' Sabat breathed； 'I'm not in the mood for mercy tonight。 Anyway； who the hell are you？'
'It's me 。。。 Kent；' the other was taken aback yet he showed no fear。 'Jesus Christ Almighty； do you always greet your visitors by shoving a ？38 in their faces？'
'Usually；' Sabat drawled and laughed faintly； but still he was not going to be lulled into apathy。 His left hand found the lightswitch and flooded the hall and steps with brilliant white light。 And as he saw his caller for the first time Sabat knew that it was indeed the man who called himself Kent； or at least it was his form and features。
'e inside；' Sabat stepped back； held the door wide and Kent entered。 Then Sabat moved； his hand dipping into his pocket and ing out again； holding something out towards the other。 'Just hold this a minute； Kent。'
Kent took the object； held it in the palm of his hand and regarded it with bewilderment。 'Hey； what's going on； Sabat？ You gone religious or are you some kind of a screwball？'
'Neither；' Sabat laughed； retrieved the object which he had passed over； a small silver crucifix no more than an inch and a half long。 'Just checking that you really are Kent and not something using his form to get me。 Because if you were you'd've been burned to hell by this。'
'I don't follow。'
'No； I don't expect you do but let me tell you this； Kent。 There are some very dastardly goings…on in this village at present； beyond mortal ken； and I've just had my first encounter with one of the evil entities involved。 Anyway； I'm satisfied it is you and I'm more than grateful to see you。 You'd better e through to the lounge and we'll see if the Reverend Owen by any chance kept a drop of something in his sideboard and then we'll both find out what the other is up to。'
Sabat found a half…bottle of Claymore； poured a generous measure into two tumblers； searched in vain for a bottle of peppermint cordial； and finding none； decided to take his whisky neat。 He passed the other glass to Kent； let his gaze run over the man whom he had not seen for the past five years； indeed； not since that time they had been colleagues in an SAS nocturnal exercise。 He'd noted Kent's by…line on columns of one of the most sensational daily papers though。 The journalist was doing all right for himself and was at the top of his profession。
There was a kind of agelessness about Kent stemming from the short…cropped fair hair that rendered any flecks of grey invisible and a reddish…bronze plexion that buried any lines that might otherwise have shown。 If you got to know him well enough he would tell you that he was born on the twenty…eighth of July； nineteen…thirty…eight。 That could have been a lie； told just for the hell of it。 A square jaw that bespoke determination； a stockiness that was unlikely to turn to fat。 At five feet eight inches he seemed short but he was not a man to be underestimated。 Sabat recalled that night they had gone in on a couple of terrorists who had been holding a family hostage for five days。 Sabat had got one of the gunmen； Kent the other。 Both criminals had appeared in the dock on crutches！
Kent had a hidden sex appeal which wasn't apparent until a woman came to know him well。 But that didn't often happen because the journalist was a loner； a good friend if he took a liking to you； a bastard if he didn't。 Nobody； not even his closest associates in Fleet Street； used his first name even if they knew it。 He was just 'Kent'。
'No doubt you're looking for the scoop of the decade；' Sabat regarded his visitor whimsically； 'and your paper doesn't give a shit if you get sued for libel。'
'That's rather overstating it；' the other replied。 'I don't deny I'm on the trail of a story but when I knew the church had pulled you in on it I knew it had to be something a bit out of the ordinary； not just a charred body because a curate got hit by a stray thunderbolt and a vicar went bananas and started setting fire to the churchyard。 Look； Sabat； suppose we put our cards on the table； we know each other well enough。 What the fuck's going on here？'
'I'm not altogether sure； but whatever it is it goes back to seventeen forty…two when a certain Bishop Avenson was also roasted in the churchyard；' Sabat smiled。 'I've got one or two ideas； though。 I've discovered that a similar churchyard incineration took place in eighteen eighty…four。 One Doctor William Price cremated his five…year…old son who was called lesu Grist and nine years later this man himself was also cremated in a similar fashion by colleagues unknown。'
'Jesus Christ！'
'Or Iesu Grist；' Sabat grinned。 'Cremation isn't such a recent phenomenon as the average person is inclined to think。 As a means of disposing of the dead it goes back a long way。 The Romanies always burned their dead。 As did the druidsV
'The druids！ That's going a bit far back。'
'I'm just making a point。 This man Price was involved in druidism。 A slender link but you can't afford to overlook anything remotely connected with death by fire。 Now tell me； Kent； have you got any ideas？'
'Nothing concrete；' the journalist shrugged。 'I only got here this afternoon but in the pub where I'm staying word has obviously got round that the Church has called in Sabat and you'd better be warned； there isn't exactly a weling mittee out to greet you！ You remember that case you were on a short time back when that cult was exhuming bodies and a guy called the Reverend Spode disappeared and has never been heard of since？'*
'I did hear the gentleman in question had vanished into thin air；' Sabat smiled faintly； 'but I can't for the life of me think where he could have gone。'
'That's as it may be；' Kent didn't pursue the question； knowing only too well that if Sabat had made up his mind to keep it to himself then that was where it would stay。 These villagers are a superstitious lot； as they mostly are in remote country places； and they're saying that as you spirited away this fellow Spode then like as not you're responsible for what happened to the curate and the vicar； in which case； who's going up in smoke next？'
'So I don't have the co…operation of the locals； to say the least；' Sabat murmured。 'And if these people have had advance warning of my ing then the glad tidings can only have e from one source … Bishop Boyce！'