"Art thou Russian?" Matthew wondered politely. No matter what people thought, nationality did not have a scent or sound. People were people, and in a melting pot like this, they changed daily. Matthew turned away from the window entirely. Now he had a hip a half-inch into the shot, facing James over the gun but still at a slight wrong angle. The shot was there, but if Matthew breathed too hard, he'd ruin it, perhaps after the trigger was pulled and the bullet on its way.
"Not revenge," Matthew repeated. "Not justice. Debts? Thy speech was of usury, the loan of a coin. Thy helped aid them in this..." he cleared his throat, "recruitment?" He pondered a little bit, fingers flexing slowly one by one on the top of the cool metal of his self-appointed cane. He made deliberate efforts with his speech, and it was, as a result, somewhat slower. "Do you want to stop them, or... your... self?"
He gave up quickly. "Thy preoccupation with these old debts concern'st me greatly, James, it does." He blinked slowly into the open air above his head. "God canst forgive, if you do yourself."