The River of Souls Read Online Free PDF

weapon?” 
    Muldoon scratched his beard. Possibly it was a trick of the light, but a few fleas appeared to jump out. “Reckon…I agree,” he said, as cautiously as a human could speak it. 
    “And also that ‘death’ can have various meanings?” 
    “Hold up!” A huge palm was thrust toward Matthew’s face. “This is smellin’ of trickery!” 
    Matthew thought that at least the mountainous blackbeard was not a simpleton. “If I’m going to propose a weapon that might cause my death, sir, please allow me the ability to make the definitions clear.” 
    A roar emerged from the cave of the man’s mouth that might have sent a bear running. “ Are we gonna fight, or ain’t we? ” 
    “We’re going to duel , yes,” said Matthew, with composure that even he felt was admirable. In truth, his stomach was churning and he was damp in his armpits. He glanced toward the tapestry of comedy and tragedy, not quite certain in which arena he was a player. Surely, both were rivers from the same fount, and both could easily capsize the most careful of boats. He returned his attention to Magnus Muldoon, who Matthew had realized in the last few soul-jarring minutes was the reason Sedgeworth Prisskitt had to pay an exorbitant fee for an escort for his daughter to the society balls and bring a young man from such a far distance. 
    He recalled his first visit to the fine Prisskitt estate and mansion three miles to the northwest, beyond the stone walls that made up the fortress of Charles Town. He had ridden up on a chestnut steed in the bright hot sunshine, fully expecting this day to turn dismal when he looked upon dear Pandora. And yet…when the servant had taken him to the red-carpeted parlor room, and the stately elder gentleman Sedgeworth had come to greet him and offer him a glass of spicy Sir Richard, and drinking this agreeable and quite head-spinning liquor Matthew had been guided out upon a glassed-in conservatory that overlooked meadows sloping down to the Ashley River…and yet Matthew was entranced by the hospitality and by such a beautiful vista, so much so that he forgot his trepidation and the sick little roll of his cabin in the packet boat and began to consider this task a pleasure. 
    He had not been half through his rum and only an eighth through Mr. Prisskitt’s recitation of the family’s huge fortune in timber and brickworks when spinet music began to issue from within the house. “Ah!” Prisskitt had said, with a proud and civilized smile. “That would be Pandora, playing her favorite hymn! Shall we make the introduction, Mr. Corbett?” 
    Matthew of course recognized the music as A Mighty Fortress Is Our God . He smiled also, his lips oiled by the rum, and pretended not to notice all the bad notes. It was indeed time for the introduction. No matter how homely Pandora was, Matthew was bound and determined to be the grandest escort the poor girl had ever had. Nay, he would be the King of all Escorts! He would kiss her hand and bow before her, and to blazes with Berry Grigsby and Ashton McCaggers, may they both be happy in his attic tomb of grisly curiosities. So there. 
    But yes, he would be the greatest escort ever to escort anyone. Ever. To the Sword of Damocles Ball. He wished he might have another jolt of Sir Richard, but now Prisskitt had him by the elbow and was pulling him to his doom. Or…meaning to say… room . 
    Matthew did not consider himself to be so superficial as he now found in the next moment that he was. For upon being pulled—escorted by the elbow, so to speak—into the music room and seeing the young woman who sat playing the intricately-etched Italian spinet he felt suddenly weak in the knees, not because of the assault of off-key notes but because…
    …because if this vision was indeed Pandora Prisskitt, he was just about to be introduced to the most beautiful woman in the world. 
    It was amazing, how mangled notes could be healed by the smile of a violet-eyed