Free The River of Souls by Robert McCammon Page A

Vital, even.” 
    “I’m sure,” said Matthew. He decided to change the subject, for talking about the slaves had spoiled her smile. “I’m on my way to see Magnus Muldoon. I understand he’s a glass-blower?” 
    “Oh yes! He made this!” She held up the purple bottle. “He has a workshop where he makes the most beautiful things.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is Magnus in any trouble?” 
    “No. I simply wish to speak with him.” 
    “I was wondering, because…pardon me for saying this, but…you seem a serious sort. Older than you look, I think. And you seem…” She searched for the right word. “ Official ,” she said. “Like…the law.” 
    “Well…not really,” said Matthew, “but…in a roundabout way, perhaps I do represent the law. That’s not my business with Mr. Muldoon, though. It’s a friendly visit.” 
    “I didn’t know he had any friends. He keeps so to himself.” 
    “As of last night,” Matthew answered, “he has at least one friend.” If he’ll allow it and not break my neck before I’ve had a chance to speak, was Matthew’s next thought. “I should be getting on. By the way, your father has asked me to stop by for a visit when I leave Muldoon’s. Would that be suitable with you?” 
    “Please,” she replied, “and say hello to Magnus for me.” 
    “I’ll do so.” Matthew tipped his tricorn toward her again and then turned Dolly back to the road. In another moment he was heading northward once more, but he looked over his shoulder and to reward him for this Sarah Kincannon gave him another wave. He returned it, and then focused his attention on the way ahead. 
    Such attention was well-needed, for the road further along was nearly overgrown by the forest’s weeds and thistles. Matthew had to beware lest Dolly step into a hole burrowed by some hidden animal. To his right through the trees and thick vegetation he caught occasional view of the Solstice River, twisting and turning, gray-green as a snake. And then rounding a bend he came upon a single house put together with white-washed boards and surrounded by willows. The place looked hardly large enough to house its builder. Off to the left stood a barn and a corral that held two horses, one black and one dappled gray. There was a pigsty with a few hogs wallowing in it, and beyond that a chicken coop. Next to the chicken coop was a shed about half the size of the house, also white-washed, that Matthew thought might hold the furnace where Muldoon did his glass-blowing. He was certainly no expert on the art, though he knew glass was heated to a molten state, blown into a bubble through usually an iron blowtube, and then fashioned into various shapes from that humble form. It was a complicated procedure and needed a steady hand and a strong lung, which it appeared Magnus Muldoon possessed. 
    As Matthew’s Dolly approached the house, one of the horses in the corral nickered and snorted, and a few seconds after that the front door crashed open with a noise like the coming of Judgment Day and the mountain Muldoon himself appeared, wearing black trousers and a dirty white shirt with the sleeves torn off. His hair was wild, his black beard frenzied, and his iron-gray eyes flashed fire. He lifted the short-barrelled musket he held in his arms, aimed it squarely at Matthew’s head and shouted, “Stop right there, dandy pants! Ain’t you heard that a man with no head don’t need a comb?” 
    Matthew reined Dolly in, perhaps a bit too hard, for the horse wanted to rear up and he had to fight her for a few seconds until she settled. 
    “Back away!” Muldoon said. “This is my land! Get off it!” 
    “Calm yourself, sir. I’ve come to—” 
    “Don’t care! Not listenin’! You got yourself Pandora Prisskitt and I hope you choke on her! She can comb your damned hair every night, far as I’m concerned! Now get on away!” 
    Matthew kept his face expressionless. He said: “Sarah Kincannon.” 
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