They had left him for the night while - presumably - they debated how much of his word to take at face value. Mordecai had pointed out that the truth spells made him incapable of lying in answer to their questions which was - mostly true - but neither Gabriel nor Rosalie - nor even Flavian - seemed to regard that as a compelling argument.
To be fair, they were right to be skeptical. Mordecai had been able to slip a few misleading tidbits into his responses. He didn't know the Wraith's identity for certain (although he had a bloody good idea), and any accomplice (besides the one he'd had) would have been uselessly redundant. The Wraith, like Gabriel, had hired Mordecai because he was the best in his field.
They'd had a go at tripping him up more than once, and he'd tossed them a few names half out of design and half from weariness with the game, but he'd kept his mouth shut about the most critical. At least Christopher had possessed the good sense to keep mum as Mordecai steered Chrestomanci off his track. Granted, that could have just been the shock of betrayal. There had been enough haughty disgust in the boy's expression to put Rosalie to shame.
Mordecai turned over restlessly in the bed Sally had made up. To his mixed gratitude and embarrassment, the maids had been quite sympathetic despite what Erica referred to as 'the scrape you've got yourself into this time, Mr. Roberts' when she brought in the supper tray. He'd summoned up a wink for her before she left, soaking up the kindness like a much needed rain. Supper seemed like a long time ago now.
He heard a creak from the door opening accompanied by a penetrating odor - another attempt at surprising the truth out of him, perhaps? - but no footsteps followed it. Pretending to be asleep probably wouldn't deter them from the next phase of interrogation - whatever that might be - but Mordecai was tired down to his bones, tired to the space where his soul ought to be. He didn't turn.
He felt a soft thud against the small of his back, and then a series of pricks through his nightshirt.
"All right," he grumbled, turning back toward the open door. The pricking became a painful scratching as something small and shadowed leapt into the air and landed on his chest. Exercising his Witch Sight showed him - besides the swaths of spells Gabriel had used to bind his spirit to his body and his body to this room - the silvery glow of Series Ten's brand of magic. That blasted Temple cat. What had Flavian's letters called it? "Throgmorten?" Mordecai tested out.
The cat made a sound more like the roar of a train than anything feline, but it seemed to indicate approval.
"Did Christopher send you?" Flavian had mentioned the beast attaching itself to Chrestomanci's ward. It was a faintly comforting thought, even if Throgmorten's visit could just as well be intended to remind Mordecai of the crimes he hadn't confessed to Gabriel.
Throgmorten did not appreciate the suggestion that he would follow orders. The cat turned, digging its claws into Mordecai's chest as it did so, and flicked its tail in obvious disdain.
"I stand corrected!" Mordecai muttered quietly. He remembered what those claws could do if the cat was trying. "Well, then, I suppose there's no point in telling you to leave." The twitching tail took on a distinctly smug air. Mordecai sighed aloud, but really, there was something to be said for company.
Throgmorten's presence did little to help Mordecai sleep, but the cat was hardly responsible for keeping him awake, either. That is, until the cat bolted upright, arching his back and hissing. Staring at the portal that had suddenly appeared in the room, Mordecai could hardly blame him. The amount of power required to open what was clearly a gate into the middle of Chrestomanci Castle made Mordecai's hair stand on end - although when he considered the amount of dragon's blood he'd smuggled for the Wraith, perhaps he shouldn't be surprised.
It rather begged the question of who might be waiting on the other side of that portal. Mordecai hadn't told Gabriel everything, but he'd admitted enough. The Wraith was a practical man. This might not be a rescue so much as a new - and decidedly less restrained - interrogation. Either way, Mordecai didn't receive a choice in accepting the invitation. Nor did Throgmorten - the cat yowled in protest all the way into the tunnel. Even for one accustomed to spirit travel it was an unpleasant experience. For a time, Mordecai was quite certain he'd left his stomach behind in bed.
He tumbled out of the portal onto a dusty path in what was clearly daylight and immediately looked around for landmarks. What he saw were the booted feet of a very medieval looking soldier. "I didn't give them anything-" he blurted out hastily - or tried to. "-about the Wraith but they know about Effie and the Felperins." Blasted Gabriel and his blasted truth spells. No doubt he'd find this funny.
Mordecai got to his feet, gathering what dignity he could when barefoot in torn and dusty pajamas. He sighed and peered at the sky. The sun stood just above a jagged peak, and the air was noticeably crisp. At least his shivers could be put down to the climate of - "Series Seven?" He asked, as if enough polite cheer could erase the circumstances of his entrance. "Morning?"
One of the guards shook his head. "Another one," he said. He opened his mouth, and Mordecai braced himself to be called out for the attempted lie. Instead, the soldier pointed at Throgmorten with his sword. "Is that yours?" He asked.
Every ginger hair on the cat's body stood on end and it hissed at the swordpoint.
"No," said Mordecai truthfully. "But we came together. I would lower the sword, if I were you. He's easily offended, and I wouldn't count on armor to stop him. Or spells, if you have them. Temple cats are immune to most, and those claws are sharp."
"You don't say?" Muttered the guard.
Curse him for the inflection that made it a question. "I do," said Mordecai cheerfully. "Now, do you have anywhere I can freshen up? And preferably a pair of trousers?"
One of the soldiers took pity enough to purchase Mordecai a pair of trousers from the quartermaster, but the rest had to wait until after a trek through the mountains to a magnificent fortress. Christopher would have loved this, Mordecai thought, and immediately stamped down on the thought.
The officials at Skyhold - "Rather appropriate name" - were polite considering Mordecai and others seemed to have been dropped in their laps without warning. He seriously doubted Gabriel would be so accommodating as to provide board and lodging. There was even a bowl for Throgmorten, although Mordecai imagined he'd better find something to fill it with soon or the cat would start shredding linens. Well, then. He might as well start exploring.