congregation, along with a few approving murmurs.
D'Agosta stared in disbelief and horror. It was a man — or, at least, it had been a man. And there was no doubt in his mind — no doubt at all — this was what had chased him, attacked him, outside the Ville precisely seven days before. Yet it didn't seem to be Fearing, and it certainly wasn't Smithback. Was it alive… or the reanimated dead? His skin crawled as he stared at the leering face; the pasty, withered skin; the painted curlicues and tendrils and crosses that showed through the grimy rags that passed as clothing. And yet, looking more closely, D'Agosta realized the man — thing wasn't wearing rags, after all, but the remnants of silk, or satin, or some other ancient finery, now tattered with age and stiff with dirt, blood, and grime.
The crowd murmured with something close to reverence as the man — thing skulked about hesitantly, looking up at the high priest as if for instruction, a thread of saliva dangling from thick gray lips, breath coming out like air squeezed from a wet bag. Its one good eye seemed dead — utterly.
Charriere reached into the folds of his robe, withdrew a small brass chalice. Dipping his fingers into it, he sprinkled what looked like oil over the head and shoulders of the form that stood swaying before him. Then, to D'Agosta's infinite surprise, the high priest sank to his knees before the creature, bowing low. The rest did likewise. D'Agosta felt a tug on his robe as Pendergast directed him to do the same. He went down on his knees, stretching forth his hands in the direction of the zombii — if that's indeed what it was — as he saw the others doing.
'We bow to the protector!' the high priest intoned. 'Our sword, our rock, all hail!'
The rest chanted along.
Charriere continued in a foreign language, the others following suit.
D'Agosta glanced around. Bossong was no longer to be seen.
'As the gods above strengthen us,' the high priest said, switching back into English, 'may we now strengthen you!'
As if on cue, D'Agosta heard a crying sound. Turning, he spied, in the darkness, a small chestnut colt — no more than a week old — being led to the wooden post by a halter, its long wobbly legs stamping the floor as it moved back and forth, whinnying piteously, its large brown eyes round and frightened. The congregant tied it to the post and stepped back.
The priest rose. Moving in a sort of half — dancing, half — swaying motion, he raised a gleaming knife in the air, similar to the ones they had seized in the raid.
The others stood, turning toward the high priest. The ceremony was clearly coming to a climax. Charriere worked himself into a frenzy, dancing now toward the colt; the congregation was swaying in rhythm; the glittering knife raised yet higher. The little colt stamped and whinnied in increasing terror, shaking its head, trying to get free.
The priest closed in.
D'Agosta turned away. He heard the shrill whinny, heard the sudden expelled breath of the crowd — and then a shriek of equine agony.
The crowd broke into a fast chant and D'Agosta turned back. The priest hoisted up the dying colt in his arms, its legs still twitching. He advanced down the nave, the crowd parting before him, as he once again approached the hideous man — thing. With a cry, the priest heaved the colt's body to the stone floor while the congregation abruptly knelt, all at once, D'Agosta and Pendergast hastening to keep up.
The zombii fell upon the dead colt with a hideous sound, tearing at it with his teeth, pulling out entrails with a bestial sound of gratification and stuffing them into his mouth.
The susurrus rose in volume:
D'Agosta stared in horror at the crouching man. As he did so, a stab of atavistic fear plucked deep at his vitals. He glanced at Pendergast. A flick of the silver eyes from beneath the cowl directed D'Agosta's attention at a side door in the church — partially open, leading into a dark, empty corridor. A route of escape.
The figure ate with furious speed. And then he was sated. He rose, face expressionless, as if awaiting orders. The crowd rose, too, as one.
With a gesture from the priest, the crowd parted, forming a human passageway. At the far end of the church came the creak and squeal of iron, and a congregant opened the door to the outside. A faint breath of twilight air entered, and over the top of the perimeter wall a single dull star could be seen shining in the darkness. Charriere placed one hand on the zombii's shoulder, raised the other, and pointed a long, bony finger at the open door.
'
Slowly, the figure began to shuffle toward the door. In a moment it had passed through and was gone. The door closed with a hollow boom.
At this, the crowd seemed to exhale, to relax, to shuffle and move about. The priest began loading the remains of the colt into a coffin — like box. The dreadful 'service' was drawing to a conclusion.
Immediately, Pendergast began to drift toward the passageway, D'Agosta trailing, doing his best to convey a calm and purposeless manner. In a minute Pendergast had reached the open door and placed his hand on the knob.
'Just a moment!' One of the nearest congregants had turned from the appalling scene and taken notice of them. 'No one can leave until the ceremony is complete — you know that!'
Pendergast gestured toward D'Agosta while keeping his head averted. 'My friend is sick.' 'No excuses are permitted.' The man came forward and ducked to look at Pendergast's face under his cowl. 'Who are you, friend?'
Pendergast bowed his head but the man had already glimpsed his face. 'Outsiders!' he cried, yanking Pendergast's cowl away.
A sudden silence fell.
'
Quickly Charriere threw open the outer door to the church. 'Outsiders!' he cried into the darkness. '
'Get him! Quickly!'
Suddenly, D'Agosta saw the man — thing framed in the doorway. For a minute, it stood there, swaying slightly. Then it began to move with a strange purpose — toward
'
D'Agosta acted first, knocking their accuser to the ground; Pendergast leapt over his supine form, flung open the side door; D'Agosta charged through and Pendergast followed, slamming and locking it behind them.
Chapter 64
They paused,finding themselves in a dim hallway, another door at the far end. A sudden pounding on the door they had just locked pushed them into action. They ran down the hall, but the door at the end was locked. D'Agosta backed up to kick it.
'Wait.' A swift manipulation of Pendergast's lockpick and the lock gave way. Again they passed through and Pendergast relocked the door behind them.
They were at the top of a landing, with a wooden staircase leading down into a noisome darkness. Pendergast switched on a penlight, angling it down into the murk.
'That… that man…' D'Agosta panted. 'What the
'Perhaps this is not the ideal time for speculation,' Pendergast replied.
'I can tell you one thing: that's what attacked me outside the Ville.' He could hear pounding on the door at the far end of the hall, the sound of breaking wood.
'After you,' said Pendergast, indicating the stairs.
D'Agosta wrinkled his noise. 'What other choice do we have?'
'Alas, none.' They descended the ancient staircase, the treads groaning loudly under their feet. The
