Log: Christopher Chant and Mordecai Roberts WHO: Christopher Chant and Mordecai Roberts WHAT: Old friends reunite, and Christopher catches Mordecai up on the essentials of the last ten years. WHEN: Just after Christopher’s arrival and this conversation. WHERE: Coffee Me Better WARNINGS: There's discussion of Mordecai’s soul (or lack thereof) and the possibility of it being used to control him.
Christopher sat at the small, round table, patiently sipping the milky coffee the obliging barista had placed before him. He realised now, from watching the other people coming and going from the coffee shop counter, that he should have waited there to collect his drink but the young woman serving had brought it to his table without so much as a grumble. He must remember to thank her again before he left.
Mordecai was on his way; that was what he’d told Christopher via the ingenious, little device through which they had been communicating. Christopher wasn’t surprised he hadn’t wanted to have the discussion about his soul in writing. He’d felt bad for even asking. He remembered their encounter with the Dright all too well and he didn’t blame Tacroy one little bit for being cautious when it came to the leader of Eleven. Still, that made him feel all the more justified for being worried about the effect the Dright could be having on Tacroy even now. It had been so long, at home, since Christopher had retrieved Tacroy’s soul that he wasn’t immediately sure of how to handle the situation. Still, it only took the memory of how the Dright had been able to manipulate his friend to convince Christopher that it was best to tackle the situation head on. Nothing was ever fixed by sticking one’s head in the proverbial sand.
Mordecai still had training for the day. He would probably be late, and he would pay for it, but there were priorities. On its own, Christopher’s arrival wasn't quite enough for that. He was an adult (however much that boggled Mordecai’s mind) and a more than capable one if he’d survived the intervening time between them so well. Christopher's question, however - all hell breaking loose was the only appropriate description for a state of affairs that would have led to them having any sort of discussion about the state of Mordecai’s soul - was reason enough to put all other matters to the side for the time being.
A popular coffee shop was perhaps not the ideal place to discuss such delicate matters, but it was a start. Mordecai ordered at random (best to appear to be a proper patron of the establishment) and looked around for Christopher as he waited. The passage of time was even more glaring in person than indicated by the tiny pictures that accompanied communication on the network. The barista had to call him twice for his order, and he apologized before taking his chai latte and crossing the shop. How did one greet an old friend after nearly ten years?
“Caffeine and sugar. That should do wonders for nerves,” he said aloud. “I don't know if these are a local creation or an import, but they are rather good.”
Christopher put down his coffee and stood as he saw Tacroy approaching. He looked good. Christopher hadn’t realised how much effect ten years had taken on his friend - Tacroy had the kind of face that didn’t age, simply became more worn, like a favourite pair of shoes - but seeing him now he was shocked by how young and fresh he looked. The only things which hadn’t changed were his eyes. The other man had eyes that told a thousand years worth of stories in one twinkle. Christopher presumed it was this quality, among others, no doubt, which had won Mordecai his flock of female admirers at Chrestomanci Castle.
“Good to see you, old man,” Christopher said heartily, a wide and genuine smile stretched across his face, reaching out to shake Mordecai’s hand. “I did ask for Earl Grey with lemon but they looked at me as though I were mad. I shall need to educate them on the etiquettes of hot beverage consumption, it seems.” Christopher knew that neither of them were there to discuss tea but it seemed a shame to ruin what was, altogether, a happy reunion by diving straight into the murky business of souls. Tacroy would raise that subject when he was ready; Christopher had asked his question in writing but he was quite prepared to wait for the answer if that was what Tacroy called for.
Mordecai's answering smile was strained, but genuine, as he shook the offered hand. He'd actively avoided thinking too much about the people back home since coming to Atlantis. Those bridges had been burned before he picked up the strange coin, or so he'd thought. It was easy, if a bit strange, to see the boy he'd known in this confident young man. The easy smile was the same. He remembered how baffling Flavian's complaints about his new charge had been once Mordecai had connected them with his regular traveling companion. "Likewise."
Mordecai gestured with his cup, continuing the theme. "It is possible to find proper tea in Atlantis, but it takes a search," he said. "Or just a glass of blue bubbles, although they lack something. It's not the same as a steaming cuppa. I understand there’s an Earl Grey Cocktail, but I still feel a bit odd recommending it to someone who ought to be twelve if my memory serves me." Rambling in order to avoid an unpleasant subject was something Mordecai was very good at, but there was only so much of it that would be possible. Christopher had asked a question that Mordecai had been ignoring for some months now.
“If you can give us a bit of privacy?” he asked, the smile fading slightly. As a magician, Mordecai could cast a privacy spell himself, but it would take a great deal more preparation and draw more attention in this setting than it would deflect. Besides, it wouldn't be half so effective as Christopher’s.
Settling back into his chair, Christopher smiled as he observed Mordecai. He chuckled at his friend’s reluctance to recommend alcohol to the man who, to him, should still have been a boy. “We’ve shared a fair few raucous evenings since then,” Christopher asserted, with the playful smile of hindsight stretched across his lips. “Much to Gabriel’s dismay,” he added, the smile only growing wider. It faded, however, when his friend asked for privacy, knowing that Mordecai had decided to stop stalling and settle to the business at hand.
Christopher glanced around them and, with a wave of his hand, cast a strong spell of silence around their table, quickly hollowing out the middle to give them room to talk. As usual, he had overdone it slightly and a little of the spell had managed to wriggle its way into his ear. He tipped his head to one side to shake it loose. “There you go,” he said, once it had gone. “We can speak freely now.”
Mordecai blinked a little as the spell settled into place. It was the familiar magic of home, without the foreign flavor of Atlantis, and the still surprising power of a nine-lived enchanter. Mordecai could admire it, even with the rough edges, even if it would only go so far. He took a long gulp of his latte, wiped his mouth with a napkin and wished devoutly that the drink were something stronger. “They can still hear,” he said with resignation. He looked up at Christopher. “You know that, don’t you? I don't know how much you know, but you know they’ve got my soul.”
Mordecai kept his pronouns vague. Speaking freely was easier said than done after a lifetime of secrecy. Even that much felt strange and perilous to say. “At least, I think they can hear. Their magic is nothing like ours, but Atlantis is different as well. It may interfere. I don't know for certain. They summon me usually, but it’s been months since they’ve required a report.” Since coming to Atlantis, in fact, Mordecai had not felt anything akin to that metaphysical tug until Christopher’s unexpected address on the network. Tacroy. The name still resonated. He took another swallow and added to the dregs of his drink. “Or given orders.” That was simultaneously relieving and unsettling. “If we’re completely out of our flow of time, as it seems we are, they may not even know I’m gone, though I shouldn't count on it.” That was too much to hope for, even if Mordecai had been doing essentially that by refusing to consider it all this while. “Atlantis would fascinate him,” he added with more than a little bitterness.
Pushing his glass away, Mordecai looked up again. “Am I a problem?” he paraphrased Christopher’s question. “Yes, always. Do I know how much of one? No.”
The question was what Christopher would do about it. “You’re Chrestomanci now.”
“I know everything,” Christopher replied quickly. He was worried what the Dright might do to Tacroy if he thought the man had betrayed his trust but, surely, if Tacroy didn’t say too much out loud, he couldn’t be persecuted for Christopher’s prior knowledge. “You don’t need to say anything incriminating,” he clarified, hoping Tacroy would grasp his meaning. “I believe we can talk entirely in assumptions and vagueities and have a highly successful conversation.”
Christopher sipped his coffee as Tacroy elaborated on the state of his affairs. He felt for the man; the uncertainty must be near crippling, to never know whether one was entirely one’s own person or not. Still, Christopher was heartened by the lack of contact Tacroy seemed to have had with Eleven since arriving here.
“If it’s at all reassuring, I can’t spirit travel here. Not at all. If Atlantis is part of a Series, I’ve found it impossible, so far, to get to any of its related worlds or, indeed, to ours. I tried, you see, when I first woke up here. Call it a professional curiosity. But that being the case, it would stand to reason that, if my lives can’t get out, others...” Christopher put a pointed emphasis on the word. “...can’t get to us either. Which I find comforting, under the circumstances.”
Christopher grinned in response to Mordecai’s observation. “I am,” he replied. “But don’t worry. I don’t intend on having you arrested again. Besides, it was me who broke you out before. I wouldn’t bother having you detained, only to stage another rescue attempt; that seems like a monumental waste of my time and yours. It took me an age to undo all of those spell knots.” Despite his protestations, Christopher couldn’t help but look back on the experience fondly. It had been Tacroy, Millie and himself against the world and it had been the first time he’d felt a true sense of camaraderie since going to live at the castle. He wished it hadn’t taken such awful circumstances to get them there - dear lord, those poor mermaids - but he wouldn’t change the experience of battling with his friends against his uncle for the world. He truly believed it had been the making of him.
“As for other people,” he carried on. “Now that I know the current situation, how about we agree to deal with those problems if and when they arise?” Christopher put down his coffee cup and crossed his long fingers over one another on top of the table. “That’s not to say we can’t come up with a bloody good plan in the meantime, however.”
”Everything,” Mordecai repeated. He laughed a little because really, what were the other options? Everything was quite a lot to know: Series Eleven, the Dright, Mordecai’s assignment… “All hell broke loose indeed.”
In fact, it was reassuring to have Christopher's assessment of the accessibility of Atlantis to those others as he’d called them, and a discussion of those practical aspects was more welcome than the first topic, however important it had been. “I haven't tried to get home,” he admitted. “They do give one the option after one’s first week, but I hadn’t particularly been looking forward to prison.” He’d been rather anxious to stay, in fact, to the point that Rose Hathaway had apparently noticed and made a point of reassuring him regarding his progress. “I didn’t realize a rescue was forthcoming, at least not - well.” There was no need to bring up the thoughts that had accompanied his time in custody. “I suppose I have - or will - but thank you.” Mordecai cleared his throat awkwardly. “How did Gabriel take that? I can’t imagine well.”
“Perhaps I should start from the beginning and explain the whole thing?” Christopher mused, trying to think how he could possibly explain Gabriel’s reaction without first explaining what had happened to the former Chrestomanci’s lives. He knew he would have to be careful when he got to the bit about the Dright - if he could hear the conversation, although Christopher thought it unlikely, Christopher didn’t want to tip him off as to how they would eventually foil his plans to get hold of the life of a nine-lifed enchanter or to jeopardize the retrieval of either Gabriel’s lives or Tacroy’s soul.
Settling back in his chair, Christopher took a moment to sip his coffee, thinking over how to begin. “Well, I suppose it all really started when I got back to my bedroom, after the questioning and everything, and found the Living Asheth sopping wet and sitting on my bed.” He grinned, thinking back on the evening. He hadn’t been at all impressed to find Millie and her kitten in his room, especially not when he had everything else to deal with, but afterwards he had been incredibly glad of her being there. She had been his back-up, his deputy, and together they’d shown the rest of the castle staff who was boss.
Christopher went on to explain what had happened with Uncle Ralph and Gabriel’s lives, how he and Millie had broken Tacroy out of the magical clink they had him held under and how the castle staff had, begrudgingly, asked Christopher to stand in for the Chrestomanci until an older, more experienced enchanter could take over the job. He told Mordecai about his plans for the giant Uncle Ralph birdcage, how Throgmorten had played his part, guarding the point at the centre of the Pentagram, and how he, Tacroy and Millie had set up the magical gates through which they could watch Tacroy searching for Gabriel’s lives throughout the Related Worlds.
“That was when we realised all of the lives were grouping together and coming our way,” he explained. “They stopped, of course, before they got to us. You can guess where. Flavian thought that’s where one of the lives was all along anyway.” Christopher smiled. “And that’s when you came clean, when we realised we’d have to go there to have any chance of getting Gabriel back.”
“...I should have had the cocktail,” said Mordecai after a moment of silence. It was a great deal to take in. In the midst of all their travels, Christopher had managed to adopt the incarnation of a goddess. The Wraith had emerged from the shadows in which they’d operated. They’d gone to Eleven, and somehow, apparently (it was difficult to believe even with Christopher’s presence there to attest to it) come back.
Argent’s attack was easier to focus on. “I assumed your uncle would take action sooner or later,” he said. “Out both of his best couriers, he was bound to come for one or the other of us, if only to ensure I couldn’t-” He winced and corrected himself, even if Christopher was old enough not to be spared the likely conclusion (or had ever been allowed to be so innocent when he was younger). “-didn’t say too much.” It spoke volumes that discussing the possibility of his own silencing was less horrifying than the idea of returning to his birthplace - even if they amounted to the same thing in the end. “I do wish I could have seen that cat - Throgmorten? - going after him. I can still feel those claws. No one deserves it more.”
Mordecai supposed he would see it all eventually, should he return. “Though I didn’t realize I’d left quite so much of a mess behind me when I agreed to stay. I rather thought my part in matters was over.” He paused and asked, choosing his words as carefully as Christopher had, “Gabriel - recovered, then?” Enough to be ‘dismayed’ by future escapades. Mordecai wished he could ask how any of them had survived an encounter with the Dright, but he was still compromised. That knowledge was no doubt too dangerous for him to possess. “And the rest, everyone at the castle?”
Christopher chuckled, nodding. He wondered whether he should have gone for the cocktail as well. Of course, he wasn’t dealing with shock, as he imagined Tacroy probably was, but it was a strange conversation to be having nonetheless.
“He came for me,” Christopher confirmed. “He assumed you’d give me up, because that’s what he would have done.” Christopher paused and smiled at his friend. “He underestimated you. And Throgmorten, apparently,” he added, not wanting to end on too sentimental a note. Mordecai may well have been his oldest and certainly one of his most trusted friends, but they had never been exactly sappy towards each other. They were two people who shared a mutual respect, esteem and love of cricket and that was perfectly fine for them both.
Christopher nodded slowly, not sure how much it was safe to tell Tacroy. “Put it this way, you, me and Millie went to Eleven with four lives and two souls and we, plus Gabriel, after a fair amount of negotiation and a few little… challenges, came back with ten lives and four souls.” He paused. “That sounds like one of those problems you get in a child’s mathematics textbook, doesn’t it? If I have half a cake and you have two thirds, how much cake can we eat without vomiting?” He grinned.
A stylized painting of a cup of coffee hung on the far wall. Mordecai studied the whirls of steam and shrugged at this assessment of his character. “A single scruple is a high bar when one has none,” he said. “And it’s not as if admitting I’d gotten you killed three times would have lessened the charges.”
He flashed a smile, welcoming the lighter topic. “I get the impression everyone underestimates Throgmorten.”
The problem was more than Mordecai had expected and set him back a moment. He shouldn’t, daren’t follow the mental arithmetic too far in his thoughts (who knew might overhear), but it was difficult not to do so. There were too many questions he couldn’t ask. They’d released him. How many lives? “I can eat quite a bit of cake,” he said, at last, pushing the poor joke for all that it could take. “And this seems like a moment for it. They’ve some excellent desserts here. Celebrating the new world, and all.” As for what else there might be to celebrate, that did not need to be spoken.