Casca 2: God of Death Read Online Free Page B

deserve it, Doctor. After all, you're the one who removed it from my leg."
    Casca smiled and looked the doctor over carefully. "Yes, you are looking prosperous. The hair is a little thinner, and the extra pounds look good on you. In Nam you had that half-starved look that people who have either religious or work fetishes get – along with hot eyes and thin bodies. But, yes, now you do look well." Abruptly he took the doctor's elbow with a grip that had the feel of cold steel in it and directed Goldman's attention to the object in the case over which he had been bending when Goldman arrived. The object, the case placard said, was one of the rarest and most priceless of its kind, one of the prizes the museum was able to get the Mexican government to lend for this exhibit.
    Casca pointed at the object.
    "Beautiful, isn't it?"
    It was beautiful, this life mask of deep sea green Mexican jade, full human size, looking as though it had been worn by a living man only yesterday. The workmanship, the artistry, was superb; the mask was detailed to the last degree. The only thing out of place were the eyes. They were a peculiar gray-blue turquoise. There was something strange about the mask, and, had Goldman still been in the awed mood that had first overtaken him in the museum, he might have reacted differently. As it was, he was a little puzzled by Casca's interest. He said, impatiently, "yes, it is beautiful. But it's just a turquoise mask of some ancient king or priest from one of the Mexican empires. Perhaps Toltec. Or even Maya."
    Casca smiled, an odd, tolerant – Goldman would have sworn ironic – twist to his lips ... as though he knew a secret the doctor did not.
    "No, Doctor, that is not where the mask is from. It's from the city of Teotihuacan in the Valley of Mexico – hundreds of years before the Toltecs. There, when the shamans sacrificed special victims on the most holy of days, a mask was made in the likeness of the victim's face, and the victims would wear these masks when they were brought up to the altar on the pyramid and had their hearts cut out with flint or obsidian daggers. The mask was then taken and placed in a shrine along with all the others that were worn on similar occasions. Actually, only seven were ever made, but they were held as holy objects – something like the relics of the saints that the Europeans worshipped and thought had mystic powers." Casca's smile tightened, became even more ironic. "But, look closer at the mask, Doctor. Look closer. What do you see?"
    Goldman let his eyes run over the sea green surface of the mask, examining it millimeter by millimeter. At first he was puzzled by Casca's insistence, for he saw nothing unusual.
    And then it hit him.
    On the left side of the mask, almost invisible, was what appeared to be a thin line where the jade pieces were joined, but on closer inspection, Goldman saw that the thin line was not a break in the jade, but that it had been intentionally carved – to represent a thin hairline scar running from the eye to the corner of the mouth.
    Goldman turned back to Casca, and his mouth dropped open in shock.
    The same scar was on Casca's living face: the thin hairline scar that left Casca with a permanent smile or grin or – as some called it – leer. The correspondence leaped out at the doctor. He looked quickly back at the mask. The rest of the features fell into place.
    "It's you," he said. "That mask is a mask of your face."
    Pleased as though he had pulled a practical joke on the doctor, Casca grinned. "Yes, it's me. And how did I get my face on a Teotihuacano sacrificial mask? Look at the mask, Doctor." Casca's voice took on a commanding quality that was not to be disobeyed. Twice before Goldman had heard that tone of voice. "Look at the eyes of the mask, Doctor. The story is there."
    Goldman turned back to the mask, and the gray-blue eyes of the sacrificial mask seemed to blaze with an inner fire, forcing his attention upon them, pulling him