You Cannot Trust Goblin Men

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Chapter One: An Introduction of Sorts

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...Lizzie most placid in her look,

Laura most like a leaping flame....

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The little apartment fairly shook beneath the wrathful pacing feet of an angry blonde. Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned, and so she strove to prove with her ranting into the phone. "The twisted, slimy, arrogant arse actually said that to me!" She waved her free hand above her head in dramatic circles. "The scumbag had the nerve--!" She fairly roared with rage and slammed her balled fist against the wall, rattling the pictures hanging upon it.

Across town, with her earpiece in as she drove through the afternoon traffic, another blonde woman who looked strikingly like the first shook her head. "You're just gifted, Laura. You always manage to find the biggest jerks for boyfriends." Her smile was dry; she calmly changed lanes and slowed to a stop along the highway yet again. "Aren't you glad to be rid of him?"

"Yes!" snarled Laura, throwing herself into a large, cushy couch. "Sooo happy. Can't you hear the joy just oozing from my pores?" She paused, then groaned. "Where are you anyway? Lizzie, I need chocolate. Lots of it. Can you get me some?"

"No. You don't need chocolate." Lizzie now smiled genuinely and added, "Maybe you need to get away for the weekend. How about a camping trip? You always love going for a good Saturday hike, smelling like wood smoke, and climbing rocks like a spider."

Another thoughtful pause followed on Laura's end before she made her hesitant answer. "I don't like to go alone, though... Can you come?"

Lizzie winced. "It's not my thing." It didn't look as if it could be, either. While the sisters, and twins at that, shared a lot of physical characteristics they had very little else in common.

They'd recently turned twenty-eight, still both single, still both each other's best friends. Both sisters were blonde, stood at five-feet, two-inches in socks, and had greenish eyes. Each had a sprinkling of freckles across their noses, and both of them abhorred the spots. High cheekbones, thin lips, and pixie-noses formed their identical faces and similar expressions. They could each squeeze in to size two jeans, but felt much more comfortable in fours.

Laura Rossetti was younger by two whole hours, as she liked to rub in on their birthday. She'd clipped her bright blonde hair to a messy, chin-length cut and would as often spike it out as leave it down. She worked at a top-notch salon and day spa, rubbing elbows (literally) with the wealthiest women in the city. Her casual attire usually consisted of ripped, trendy jeans and peasant blouses with push-up bras, with big silver hoops in each ear and little diamond studs in the cartilage. Her music went from rock, to emo, to Celtic depending on her mood. She drove a mini-cooper, in black. As trendy as she looked and acted, she loved being out in the woods and wilds. Nothing made Laura happier than hiking boots, repelling gear, and mesquite repellent.

Lizzie Rossetti, not Elizabeth she must insist, acted years older than her sister. Her long blonde hair was most often up in a tight bun, or clipped to remain out of her face. She was a middle-school English teacher and dressed the part in sophisticated button-down blouses, slacks, and sensible dress shoes. She also wore reading glasses, though it was debatable whether or not she needed them. Everything about her seemed prudish and at times mousey or bookwormish. She preferred to be curled up in a chair reading rather than out clubbing or hiking with her crazy 'baby' sister. She drove a sensible dark-blue Honda Accord and had a perfect driving record. Lizzie hated mesquites, couldn't stand heights, and would take a mattress over a sleeping bag any day.

"So?" Laura asked, plaintively. "I'm your sister and you love me. Don't you?"

Now it was Lizzie's turn to groan. "Are you really going to pull that card on me? I've got papers to grade, and I'd like a relaxing weekend for once."

"It's not like I'll require much of you. Just keep me company and call an ambulance if I get attacked by a bear. Please? If you love me...you'll come with me," Laura wheedled in her most pathetic-poor-me tone. "My love life is in shambles, so who better to get over it with than a loving sister?"

Knowing she would regret this decision, Lizzie rubbed her forehead. "Oh, all right. Get the gear packed up and we can leave as soon as I get home and change."

The girlish shriek of delight coming out of the earpiece made Lizzie yank the ear bud out and, despite herself, start to chuckle. She hung up and concentrated on making it through the traffic in one piece. 'What I do for that girl,' she thought with a roll of her eyes. 'She owes me.'

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The Goblin Men

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One had a cat's face,

One whisked a tail,

One tramped at a rat's pace,

One crawled like a snail,

One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,

One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry....

One parrot-voiced and jolly...

One whistled like a bird....

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Sitting in a darkened room with blackened marble floors was a man, with his leather boots upon a long table. There were others in this foreboding chamber with him, lolling back in their chairs and feeling intolerably bored.

One of them stood next to a great window, which stretched from the chamber floor high to the vaulted ceiling. He looked out over the landscape which had been transformed into a dull gray with the coming of large, black thunderheads. The hills rolled away beneath him until they met a vast sea. He sighed, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the glass.

"Bored, Korvis?" the one with his boots upon the table asked. "Court life not exciting enough for you? I can hear your languishing sighs." He chuckled and swept his legs down. He stood and stretched, cat-like, and walked around the table.

"I think we are all a little...lethargic of late," another said from his own chair, idly tracing patterns on the oaken table. "Nothing happening at all. Ever. " Short. To the point. This was Geryon.

There were eight of them. All appeared young, all were dressed in finery, and all seemed far too handsome a group of men. None were mortal.

Korvis stood as one of the tallest, with jet black hair and deep gray eyes. His voice rasped, but not unpleasantly, and he wore a silver hoop in one ear. His clothing was of a blue so dark it could be black, he wore gloves, his eyes seemed to absorb light and all else. Cynical, cool, and disinterested were the words that best described him.

The one addressing him had a shocking head of orange hair, topaz-like eyes, and he wore a vest of gold. A sword hung on his hip and a diamond pendent about his throat hung loosely, shaped like an eye. This was Calais, a man whose arrogance and self-love was pronounced by every expression and smile.

Geryon, tracing patterns upon the table, had a shaved head. The black of his pupil seemed to have leaked into the rest of his eyes—there was no iris, no white, simply black orbs looking out on the world in a cold, frightful way. He wore unrelenting black: a leather jerkin, boots, breeches, gloves, and an absolute lack of emotion made him the embodiment of a black hole.

A fourth paced quietly across the room, in a loping sort of walk, with the oddity of a tail twitching behind him—a wolf-like tail. His hair was brown and looked a little wild while his eyes were topaz and calm. His expression was thoughtful, his mood indeterminate, his clothing more simplistic in style though elegant in cloth with a fur-lined neck. He was Doran.

Another idly spun a blade in his hands, his smallish eyes unpleasant until he smiled. Maur was his name. His finery was gray, his skin was pale, and there was little else of note about him.

The sixth was Ophion, and he was slightly wider than the others though none would dare call him portly. The seventh sat near him, and was his brother Oles. The eighth seemed completely removed from them all, sitting at the farthest end of the table and scribbling something on a sheet of paper. He was Aeson, the youngest among them...by several centuries. Generally he only fell in with this lot when there was nothing better for him to do.

Korvis regarded Calais without much interest. "Court is of little or no interest to me. You know that, cousin." He sighed again and looked out as lightning struck the earth. "Things have just been quiet of late."

"You sound as if you do not enjoy the peace," Calais taunted quietly, leaning against the window and looking out as well. "What say we end the monotony then? Have a little fun. Stir up a little trouble."

A few of the others perked up. "What kind of trouble?" Doran, the wolf-like one, asked quietly

"I have an idea," Calais said quietly. "The Underground is too quiet for us, as Korvis here has noted, so why not take a little foray out... Aboveground? Into the mortal realms." He smiled, cat-like, and looked to see Korvis's expression. "What say you to that, cousin?"

Korvis shot the other man an annoyed look. "Oh, very well. But what might we do there? We have our limits, you know."

"Yes, Calais," Maur said in a high-tenor. "Our limits, placed upon us by the Elder and Wiser of our noble race." He chuckled unpleasantly and narrowed his eyes. His political ties were questionable, at best. He often spoke of the council in a way none else would dare.

Calais shot a glare at Maur, as if in warning. Korvis saw this but rolled his eyes. Everyone who knew Calais knew he always had a discontented attitude towards the Elders, though he said much less about it then Maur. It was his way, it was his character. Korvis didn't much care. The political ambitions of others had little to do with him.

"Why not find ourselves a mortal to play with?" Calais asked quietly. "It is about the right time of year...early fall in the Above. This is the time they traditionally reserve for tales of Goblin and Fae Lore."

"Not many believe in that sort of thing now," Korvis pointed out, turning his attention back to the window. If this was the extent of his cousin's planned entertainment, Korvis had no interest in the matter.

"All the more reason to go Above. Give a few of them reason enough to believe again." Calais chuckled and ran a hand through his fiery orange hair. "We could bring one back here. Think of the amusement that would afford. Perhaps...perhaps we might even bargain with our immortal fruit. Bargaining with mortals is a permissible interaction decreed by the Elders." He frowned sourly at the mention of that hated council but shrugged elegantly and the expression was gone.

Aeson looked up from where he wrote and raised blonde eyebrows at the others. "Bargain for what? You must have a goal in mind."

For a moment, Calais pursed his lips in thought. The others, all but Korvis, now watched him and waited to see if this might be worth the effort after all. "Why not," he said at length, "bargain for a lock of hair, from a pretty young woman?"

To this a few blinked, surprised, and Korvis turned with a mildly annoyed grimace. Geryon, the bareheaded one, began to grin. "A lock of hair? Ah, but you know what she would receive when we possess such a personal object."

"Our hospitality for a mortal evening," Calais said quietly. "Besides, it would be a treasure, freely given. You know what power lays in those sort of...trinkets."

Korvis looked wary. "A great deal of power, if fused with something more. Calais, you won't—"

"It's only a mortal," Ophion said, pushing his portly frame away from the table. "They all go to dust eventually. Come, I for one like this idea. Have you any particular place Aboveground in mind?"

Calais grinned when no one offered further objections and went to the table to begin laying out his 'amusing' little plan. They all listened, and having nothing better to do agreed upon it. Korvis, still slightly wary, agreed to go as well but only because the others did. He was not the oldest in their number but held a rank and age enough that they might respect his judgment should something go awry. With Calais, one could never be sure what to expect.

This time would be no different and no less dangerous than times past.

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Jareth

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"...You should not peep at goblin men."

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Sitting on his ornate black throne, upon a raised dais, idly twirling a crystal was a king among goblins. He wore black boots, gray breeches, white shirt with lace at his throat, and black gloves. His hair was white-blonde and long, coming away from him in wind-blown wisps. His eyebrows were high, his eyes mismatched with one blue and the other green, and his very manner proud and overbearing.

This was Jareth of the Labrynthian Lands, a member of the Fae gentry, a Goblin Elder. For millennia he ruled his ever-changing, complex, dangerous lands with magic so powerful and a will so fierce that none dared oppose him. Feared and admired, this king was left often alone by those of his class and dreaded by his inferiors.

As an Elder of the Races, there were few who could be called his peers. Oberon of the Woods, Triton of the Seas, Morgul of the Mountains, Jupiter of the Skies, Gia of the Earth's Gardens, Medusa of the Far-Off Islands of Night, Rien the Dragon Queen. These were the only ones who he respected, though there were others of technically equal rank. His own kind, the Goblin and Fae breeds, hardly interested him enough to be considered. They were many in number, living within his lands and without them.

There was a reason his castle laid within the supposed weakest part of his kingdom, where the lowliest species of goblin-kind lived. The stupid, rank, and weak minions here kept others from wishing often to visit him. He did have a nicer estate a few leagues away, beside the sea. He was rarely there, except when he must convene a Council. At the moment, a few of the gentry were using the place as a winter getaway. After receiving leave from him to do so. Since he wasn't there, he didn't much care what they did so long as they left the sea palace in one piece.

He only wished they would leave him in peace. Petty squabbles and the constant social-climbing of the courts only irritated him. He would much rather sit in solitude and contemplation, and he had that when he wished it here.

"My Lord! Your 'ighness! Dreadful, awful, 'orrible news!"

Well, most of the time.

Sighing, Jareth raised his eyes to look down the few steps where a bat-winged and mustached goblin (with a little 'g,' noting an inferior being to the higher Goblins, of which Jareth was one). "What is it now?" He couldn't remember this creature's name...there were too many to try to remember.

"We was in the woods Above, me an me party of five. We always watch the woods this time of year for missing children to take." He blinked rapidly, then sighed. "Weren't none today."

Jareth put a gloved hand to his face and gritted his teeth. "Spare me the details and tell me what news you bring, imbecile," he growled. In less than two minutes of conversation he could already feel his head ache.

"Oh, aye!" The goblin suddenly remembered himself and his wings nervously twitched. "There's your 'ighness's kind in the forests Above, 'ighness! A whole lot of them. Big Goblins." It was how the goblins referred to Goblins. They had no sense of how to capitalize the "G" in speech without titling as well.

While this was of some dim interest, Jareth only shook his head and came to his feet. "And why is this so horrible?" He walked down the dais and towards the door leading to a balcony. The winds were picking up; perhaps there was a storm to the east.

"Well...er...they aren't supposed to be there, are they?" The little goblin bit his lip with his fang-like teeth and shook his head. "They've never been there before. An' so many of them!"

"How many?" Jareth asked, wondering if it was too much to hope this goblin could count. A lot of them couldn't.

"Eight...nine...or seven. Somethin' like that." The goblin scratched his head and screwed up his face as he thought. "They was dressed like Abovegrounders. I think they wanted trouble, 'ighness."

A crystal materialized in Jareth's hand and he decided, carelessly, to take a glimpse into the Aboveground and see why this minion became so startled by Goblins in the mortal realms. It was odd, but not unheard of. Probably just a youthful trip by lower-ranking gentry.

As the vision appeared in the crystal before him, he let the orb go and crossed his arms, watching the floating sphere expand until it showed him the full scene—life size.

It was night in the Aboveground where these Goblins were. He counted eight, sitting around a fire and laughing amongst themselves. They wore the unflattering clothing of the mortals and looked to be doing nothing more than enjoying time away from the Underground.

Shaking his head, Jareth waved a gloved hand and the crystal popped like a giant soap bubble...soaking the goblin standing beneath it in sticky purple goo. "Nothing to be concerned with." He turned to go back inside, but something made him pause. It was just a passing idea, but he spoke anyway. "Keep someone watching them so long as they tarry Above. Do not be discovered. When they depart, I want a report."

The bat-winged goblin nodded and saluted, even as purple suds ran down his now-drooping mustache. "Yes, 'ighness! At once!" He then 'blinked' out of existence, no-doubt going straight back Aboveground to carry out the task himself.

Dryly amused, Jareth resettled himself in his throne and put his focus back on the empty, gray void where it had been before. In this complete emptiness of thought, Jareth felt more relaxed than he did at any other time. Emptiness was his paradise, away from the never-ending immortal existence he lived. He didn't much care what went on around him, as long as he was left undisturbed.