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'So you shall before long； that I promise；' Sabat smiled。
'For there are those below like yourself who have suffered untold agonies and it is their right that they be given this monster to pass their own judgement upon！'
He stooped down； dragged the unconscious man up； some how got him across his shoulder。 Even the bined steel strength of Sabat and Pierre de Lancre was put to the test now； but somehow he made it down the stairs and across the hall to those dungeon steps。 Far below he heard them； shouts that were a mixture of euphoria and anger； demanding both freedom and revenge；
'Give us the Beast！ Give us the Beast of France？
Cheers in the shadowy light as they saw and hailed the return of Pierre de Lancre bearing his burden； their hungry mouths already watering for the flesh of Louis Nevillon。 For once they； also； would eat human meat and its rancid flavour would be sweet on their starved palates。 They recognised a sacrificial victim； strained at their iron bonds in a frenzied attempt to get at it。
Sabat dumped the unconscious Nevillon unceremoniously in the centre of the floor； turned to face his audience。
'You shall have your Beast； your tyrant；' he bowed mockingly； 'with the pliments of Pierre de Lancre！'
Then he moved swiftly down the lines of straining prisoners； unshackling them one after another； listening to their animal…like cries as they rushed and fell on their prey。 Only when skeletons and corpses remained in the manacles did Sabat turn to watch； a wry smile creasing his features as he permitted himself a few moments of sadistic delight。
The ultimate in barbarism…men and women had thrown themselves on to the inert form of Louis Nevillon； a milling mass as they clawed the flesh from the body with broken fingernails or sunk their teeth deep into any part that they could reach。 Just one scream of agonised fear came from the victim as he regained consciousness； but that was cut off as his throat was torn out and jetting crimson fluid sprayed the frenzied throng。 Now they were fighting； a tug…of…war that ended with a number of them sprawling in a heap when an arm was torn from its socket。
Somehow they had severed a leg； a group of human dogs fighting over a gigantic bone。 Raw flesh； but they were starving； a maddened mob that sent even the rats scurrying away into the shadows。。。
Sabat smiled his satisfaction and knew that upstairs Madeleine was finally at peace。 His job was done； it was time to go； for Walpurgisnacht had not yet ended and his own body lay in that remote chapel protected only by a frail pentagram。 And if that defence failed then he would remain here forever！
One last look。 A partly screened view of a bloody morass that was still being ravenously pulled apart and devoured and then he was a bat once more； winging an erratic course back across that deserted moonlit countryside in a world where time stood still for eternity。
Sabat stirred； then jerked into wakefulness as he remembered。 Fear had him sitting up； then relief came as he saw the grey light of a May morning shafting in through the broken door of the chapel。 He sighed； strangely refreshed as he always was after a trip on to the astral plane。
It was all over。 Well； almost。
He felt the need to hurry； to erase the final scars that remained now that Louis Nevillon was no more。 Working feverishly he smashed chairs； built up a pile of kindling wood to hide that pathetic charred body； dragged the corpse from the coffin and hoisted it on to the top of his proposed incineration like some macabre Guy Fawkes。
Just one match； that was all that was needed； Then he hurried out； did not look back for his work was done and he wished to see no more。
Back in the Daimler he glanced again in the mirror； breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his hair was jet black again； the lines had smoothed away from his features and the ruthlessness in his expression was his own。 Pierre de Lancre had answered his call and now the witchfinder had returned whence he had e。
Sabat eased the car on to the road； permitting himself one last look back； saw a huge column of black smoke rising above the pines； mushrooming out and hanging in the windless sky。 It was truly over now。
He accelerated； heard a voice somewhere； nasal angry tones that he recognised instantly。 Pierre de Lancre was gone but Quentin was back。 That was only to be expected； with the devilish cannibal cult wiped out he must now get back to the business of fighting his brother's soul； a battle which； like Armageddon； would never be resolved。
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