 |
The right thing |  |
“You followin' a scent or somethin'?”
We're riding through the streets of Bastion on horseback. Everyone gets out of our way, recognizing us for what we are, knowing that we're not to be crossed. This is going to take some getting used to.
“Yes and no,” I say, keeping my eyes on the street, hoping that I remember the way. “The scent tells me that he's afraid. My familiarity with him tells me that he's going to seek a friendly face so he can regroup before he takes off. I know his only other friend, so that's where we're going.”
I can feel his stare, and I can smell his disapproval, despite all the background interference. “This gonna be a problem for you, kid?”
I look over at him momentarily, then back at the twisting roads and rusted signposts. “I want what's best for Japhed, but I don't think that conflicts with my job. Right now, as I see it, what's best for him is for him to be brought in, before he does anything really stupid. He may go to prison again, but I'll speak on his behalf.”
Whitehorse makes a guttural snorting noise in his throat, obviously not impressed. “'Scuse me for sayin', but you've got yer head up yer ass. If this guy's runnin', means he don't care too much what happens to anyone else, long as he gets off. In my experience, cases like this end in killin'. Just a matter of when, and how much. You prepared for that?”
I don't know how to answer. Whitehorse is far more experienced than I am, and he probably knows what he's talking about. But I have a hard time believing that Japhed is capable of cold-blooded murder, let alone killing me. He's killed, to be sure, but in both cases events were spiraling out of control, and he simply made the wrong decision in the heat of the moment. If he were faced with a choice, a deliberate choice, between killing me and turning himself in, I have to believe that he'd do the right thing.
