To do something now, when no one will anticipate it, feels like a necessity. It's as a sharp point set against a delicate place. Will anyone else in that room be inclined to wait, to say nothing, to see what he does? It seems unlikely. If they act now to make arrangements for the future, they retain some modicum of control over whatever in a week looks like.
(--He thinks, and does not say, setting this alongside a growing collection like arranging pieces along the edge of a gaming board.)
There is an unsettled line in him where he's posted there at the railing, knuckles moving impatiently under his chin against the edge of his beard. But what he says is, "Let this settle then. We'll see where we are once the dust clears."
Silence stretches between them. John watches the restless grind of Flint's knuckles, watches the dissatisfaction harden in his expression. There's weariness. John looks at him for a long moment and feels a single impulse rise in him. (A name, James.) He sets it aside.
"Would you have us do something different?"
There is dissonance between them. John has the sense that he's missed something, that his counsel is simply wrong. Caution feels like the only approach. Losing Flint's seat now would be yet another setback, and John's instincts are, as ever, to preserve what power they've gained.
But he can read the urge toward action in Flint. It's a dangerous impulse. Earlier this evening he had assured Emlyn that he was not in danger, but John knows better than most that he could be. The destruction Flint carries in him can consume them both, if John cannot manage it well enough.
At this very moment? He considers the question, the street, the failing light. "No," he admits.
But in an hour? In ten? What happens if Warden von Skraedder comes back four days from now with the specifications of her contacts within Nevarra City and he's required to make some decision? What if tomorrow Rutyer appears in the Forces office again interested in bargaining with his new leverage? What if?
(And at arm's length, kept purposefully removed from this balcony, there is a second version of this story. What does John Silver say if he knows how far the damage extends? If he knew what Rutyer knows and could now use as a weapon; if he knew about Kitty Jones and the mess between them, the Provost, and his wife? What then? Do we trust these people to fight the war?, he'd asked because with all those pieces put aside he is still at liberty to. But on that other page, he isn't and the question being asked is, How can I trust you to keep this secret safe?
He can't afford that. The risk of it at the edge of his vision makes him ill.)
"Better than we act from a position we know well," he says, taking up his cup. "And I have no doubt that given the perspective of some distance, some of these problems will begin to look less critical."
The chasm that has opened between them is not unfamiliar. John recalls the shape of the distance between them, recalls grappling with it through the pain of his leg, the enormity of the role of quartermaster forcing him forward to toe the very edge of it as he tried to tempt Flint forward to close it. It had felt beyond his capability then, but compared to now, John would take that instance over this one. How does he repair this? How does he give counsel when he can sense something withheld but can't bring himself to ask and be denied?
"Alright," John says finally, cautiously. He has no appetite for the drink in his cup, but he lifts it anyway. "We're agreed."
What a bleak state of affairs. He considers Flint's shadowed face before he drinks, draining his cup.
"Will you come down to sit with the men, or will you need to go now?"
He doesn't need to go; he doesn't want to stay. The thin line of his mouth says as much, though it's smoothed away by the time Flint finishes his own portion of the wine.
"I'll make an appearance. Someone should raise the possibility of work to be had prowling the channel past Brandel's Reach."
He'll slip away in the buzz which comes after, leaving the men to their crowing and fussing and Silver both with another half bottle of wine to find some way of finishing and the persistent examination Emlyn has spent the last hour casting out in their direction from across the public house. The night has closed in fully by then, black enough that even notable men might disappear into it.
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no subject
(--He thinks, and does not say, setting this alongside a growing collection like arranging pieces along the edge of a gaming board.)
There is an unsettled line in him where he's posted there at the railing, knuckles moving impatiently under his chin against the edge of his beard. But what he says is, "Let this settle then. We'll see where we are once the dust clears."
no subject
"Would you have us do something different?"
There is dissonance between them. John has the sense that he's missed something, that his counsel is simply wrong. Caution feels like the only approach. Losing Flint's seat now would be yet another setback, and John's instincts are, as ever, to preserve what power they've gained.
But he can read the urge toward action in Flint. It's a dangerous impulse. Earlier this evening he had assured Emlyn that he was not in danger, but John knows better than most that he could be. The destruction Flint carries in him can consume them both, if John cannot manage it well enough.
no subject
But in an hour? In ten? What happens if Warden von Skraedder comes back four days from now with the specifications of her contacts within Nevarra City and he's required to make some decision? What if tomorrow Rutyer appears in the Forces office again interested in bargaining with his new leverage? What if?
(And at arm's length, kept purposefully removed from this balcony, there is a second version of this story. What does John Silver say if he knows how far the damage extends? If he knew what Rutyer knows and could now use as a weapon; if he knew about Kitty Jones and the mess between them, the Provost, and his wife? What then? Do we trust these people to fight the war?, he'd asked because with all those pieces put aside he is still at liberty to. But on that other page, he isn't and the question being asked is, How can I trust you to keep this secret safe?
He can't afford that. The risk of it at the edge of his vision makes him ill.)
"Better than we act from a position we know well," he says, taking up his cup. "And I have no doubt that given the perspective of some distance, some of these problems will begin to look less critical."
Give him time and he will make that true.
no subject
"Alright," John says finally, cautiously. He has no appetite for the drink in his cup, but he lifts it anyway. "We're agreed."
What a bleak state of affairs. He considers Flint's shadowed face before he drinks, draining his cup.
"Will you come down to sit with the men, or will you need to go now?"
no subject
"I'll make an appearance. Someone should raise the possibility of work to be had prowling the channel past Brandel's Reach."
He'll slip away in the buzz which comes after, leaving the men to their crowing and fussing and Silver both with another half bottle of wine to find some way of finishing and the persistent examination Emlyn has spent the last hour casting out in their direction from across the public house. The night has closed in fully by then, black enough that even notable men might disappear into it.