‘So get on with it,’ said Nenanda, his words very nearly a snarl.
Smiling, Clip faced the Cut once more. ‘Do not speak, any of you. I must work hard at this.’
Nimander rubbed at his face. He felt numb, haunted by exhaustion. He moved off to sit on a boulder. Just up from the steep shoreline, thick moss blunted every-thing, the stumps of rotted trees, the upended roots, the tumbled black stones. The night air clung to him, cold and damp, reaching in to his bones, closing tight about his heart. He listened to the soft lap of the water, the suck and gurgle among the rocks. The smell was rich with decay, the mists sweet with brine.
He could feel the cold of the boulder seeping through, and his hands ached.
Clip spun his chain, whirled the two rings, one gold, one silver, and round and round they went. Apart from that he stood motionless, his back to them all.
Skintick settled down beside Nimander. Their eyes met and Skintick shrugged a silent question, to which Nimander replied with a faint shake of his head.
He’d thought he’d have a few more days. To decide things. The when. The how. The options if they should fail. Tactics. Fall-back plans. So much to think about, but he could speak to no one, could not even hint of what he thought must be done. Clip had stayed too close to them on this descent, as if suspicious, as if deliberately forcing Nimander to say nothing.
There was so much he needed to tell them, and so much that he needed to hear. Discussions, arguments, the weighing of risks and contingencies and coordination. All the things demanded of one who would lead; but his inability to give voice to his intentions, to deliver orders at the end of a long debate, had made him next to useless.
By his presence alone, Clip had stopped Nimander in his tracks.
In this game of move and countermove, Clip had outwitted him, and that galled. The moment the charade was shattered, there would be chaos, and in that scene Clip held the advantage. He had only himself to worry about, alter all,
No, Nimander had no choice but to act alone, to trust in the others to follow.
He knew they were watching him, his every move, studying his face for any telltale expression, for every silent message, and this meant he had to hold himself in check. He had to guard himself against revealing anything, lest one of them misunderstand and so make a fatal mistake, and all of this was wearing him down.
Something lifted noisily from the black water. A span of darkness, vertical, its upper edges dripping, fast dissolving.
‘Follow me,’Clip gasped.’Quickly!’
Nimander rose and tugged Skintick back-‘Everyone, stay behind me’-and, seeing Clip lunge forward and vanish within the Gate, he hurried forward.