Goblin Knot
Chapter Two: In Which Jareth Encounters Problems.
Espionage requires cunning and tact. Very few goblins ever learn the arts of treading quietly and keen observation. They have as much subtlety as a brick being thrown through a window. But with a regime of constant repetition and monosyllabic words, some of the brighter ones could be taught. It took several hundred years, but Jareth succeeded in training the baby-snatchers to keep their traps shut when stealing human children.
Previously, their inane chattering would wake nurses, parents, and large guard-dogs with sharp teeth. Not surprisingly, they all objected rather forcefully to having their progeny pinched.
Now a smattering of goblins could move about Aboveground as the dead do- in unnoticed silence. They did this on the understanding that their glorious monarch would slowly remove their tongues with iron pliers in the event of non-compliance. Jareth collected several of the best snatchers in his throne room when he eventually emerged from his chamber later that day. Pillaging chickens had attempted to abscond with his wash-cloth and a bar of soap.
This obliged the Goblin King to spend most of his morning catching and flinging unrepentant fowl from the windows. Beating feathers from his embroidered jacket, he eyed his nervous subjects.
Typically, they weren't called before the King unless there was a problem with a child. Like a human infant with a new toy, Jareth loved and coddled them for a few hours until he grew bored and sent them away. Or much sooner when they threw-up from too much bouncing upon his knee. The goblins shuffling in front of the cold granite throne were surprised they couldn't see or smell any traces of child filth on the King. But they kept their mouths shut. Centuries of training in action.
"I need you to go Above and find a child," Jareth said. The goblins shared a sense of relief. Over their heads were thousands, millions of children to be found and taken. The littlest ones came conveniently gift-wrapped, decked in bows and ribbons while sleeping peacefully in their bassinettes. This would be easy.
"Not just any child," Jareth continued, watching the cogs turn in their peanut sized brains. "A girl, the one who escaped the Labyrinth." He would not use any repulsive words like won, bested, or champion while in the company of lessers. It rudely implied he was not entirely all-powerful. "I need you to find her," Jareth repeated, "not snatch her."
Were they not conditioned to fear the pliers, this last instruction would have sent a murmur rippling through the small group.
"The normal scrying methods are not working. When you find her, remove anything that may be hindering Sight. Iron, St. John's wort, the obvious. Yes, it will hurt. No, I don't care a jot. Questions?" Jareth ended brightly, knowing full-well the goblins could just as easily have had their mouths sewn shut. "Good. Leave now. If you hurry, you should be able to make the crossing by sunset. Do not be seen or heard," he emphasized darkly. "Displeasure is something I have an abundance of today. I can share." Bowing low, the goblin troop scraped backwards from the throne.
Crossing the fractures separating realms was difficult. It required a great deal of magick preparation to minimise physical damage. Human stories made it seem easy- a mountain would simply crack open, and vast goblin hordes rushed forth like runny egg-yolk. As always, reality is never that simple. Neglected rites were the leading cause of death by disintegration amongst crossers. Goblins do not leave behind beautiful corpses, so Jareth was somewhat understanding that the truth had been slightly warped.
Let the mortals keep their notion that all other-worldly beings are powerful and pretty. Gross assumption as it was, free publicity never hurt anyone- particularly when you were a fine example of self-righteous magnificence, as Jareth knew himself to be. He fingered the delicate stem of a wineglass perched on one of the throne's wide stone armrests. A fae lordling incapable of finding a mulish girl. If the Court found out, he'd banish himself from the shame.
Time curled in a spiral Underground. If a month or so passed Above, Jareth had spent decades trying to See Sarah. A glimpse would have sufficed- the smallest of shimmers. Just one he could hoard away and look at when his mind grew quiet. But she was tricksome, wily. She had known about the crystal baubles from the start and found a way to deflect them. Jareth's persistence wore thin as a steady stream of crystals retuned empty to the Underground.
She's doing this from spite, Jareth thought. Very well, a pox! Let her wallow in slimy misery. Curses! Retribution! Plagues of frogs! Realizing he could not illicit amphibians to rain from the sky, the Goblin King settled in to sulk for a few thousand years. He could not go Aboveground unless she implicitly asked for him. He could not watch her in the crystals. Now years later, when he finally had demeaned himself by using common scrying, he found Seeing impossible. Were Jareth not particularly vain about his hair, he would have pulled great hanks of it out in a fit of rage. Somehow she'd learnt about scrying too.
An unaware person could be spied upon using any reflective surface in their daily lives. These included, but were by no means limited to: mirrors, polished glass, smooth stone, and the occasional clean goldfish bowl. Making his head appear suddenly in a foul-watered aquarium with bad tempered fish was a mistake Jareth was unlikely to make again. But she knew he would try to See and had blinded him. By sending the quietest, swiftest of goblins to remove any obstructions, he would be able to look at her. Drink her image in slow, savored draughts.
Thirteen hours had been too cruel. Never mind the time limit had been a term of the Labyrinth- his rule. He had offered endless days to someone who then had difficulty seeing a future beyond the next hour. The wineglass stood full at Jareth's side. He would find her naturally, but after that his certainty wavered. He hadn't the faintest idea of what he'd do afterwards. Send flowers or platinum-plated manacles? With petulant fingertips, he slid the glass to the edge of the throne's armrest.
He felt her presence Above too keenly. She made him dance about the Kingdom as a puppet possessed. When he found Sarah, could he make her cut the strings that bound him? More importantly, would he want her to?
The glass teetered on the edge of destruction. With an index finger, Jareth slowly and deliberately pushed it over, relishing the musical crash of breaking glass. Dark red wine fanned out in little rivulets before being swallowed up by cracks in the floor's flagstones.
a/n: Presenting Chapter Two! Featuring dialogue! Whatever is the world coming to? My thanks to the lovelies who reviewed the first chapter and added G.K. to their alerts. It's encouraging so many people seem to find literary eccentricity normal. :D I hope you and others enjoy this chapter. I tried to address some of the mysteries that were pointed out in the last one (like relative time and pitiful attempts at metaphor). Let me know what you think! Cheers.
Edit (28/01/10): Arallion, I've fixed hoard/horde. Thanks for pointing it out! :3