‘What in God’s name is that?’ she demanded,
pointing.
The photographer and pilot turned to look.
‘Bizarre, that’s for sure,’ Denis said. They all got up for a
closer inspection, Elsa wondering how she could have
missed such a monstrosity earlier.
The thing proved to be a face. Or rather, the image
of a face grossly distorted as if crafted by a gargoyle-maker
with a particularly perverted streak. The eyes bulged,
tongue protruded from a contorted mouth opened in a
perpetual silent scream, and agony appeared to convulse
every sinew. Denis reached to touch the object.
‘It seems to be stone,’ he said, fingers tracing the
lines of frozen torment.
Elsa jumped violently at a voice from behind. ‘Ah,
I see you’re admiring my death mask,’ it said.
‘Jesus — I wish you’d stop creeping up on people,’
Elsa said.
Conrad smiled apologetically. ‘I do beg your
pardon. I only came to assure you that your meal is in
hand.’
‘What’s that about a death mask?’ Roland Sadler
asked.
‘I can’t tell you much about its history but the
legend is that it’s the death mask of some unfortunate
49