Disclaimer: Jareth, Sarah, the Labyrinth, and assorted goblins belong to Henson & Co. The chickens absolutely refused to wear any collars, so I don't know about them, and it's probably safer to leave it that way!


Author's Note: I split this chapter off from Chapter 1 because it was just. Getting. Too. Long. Yay!


Chapter Two: Falling Stars

The crack of a single shattering thunderclap rolled across the sky above the Labyrinth. The Goblin King raised his head briefly and looked out his study window; a blazing green streak seared the heavens like a slow-falling comet as it went to ground somewhere beyond the borders of his kingdom. He watched its graceful fall for a moment and considered the implications, then caught the crystal sphere he'd been rolling idly from hand to hand and cast it aside. It clinked once, twice against the walls of the study and clattered away into some shadowed corner.

In the throne room he found the goblins uncommonly quiet, congregating in the green light that shone through the high round window. Eyes wide, they watched it with an unusual degree of focus and the expected amount of excited chatter.

"What is it?"

"A lizard!"

"It's not a lizard."

"Lizards is green…"

"You're green!"

"Hee hee, you're a lizard!"

"I'm not a lizard, I'm a goblin!"

"Anyway, lizards don't fly,"

"Chickens fly…"

"I've never seen a green chicken before."

"I have!" shouted the goblin with mismatched socks, triumphantly.

The rest of the goblins gasped collectively. "Where?"

"In the Bog."

This statement was met with general disappointment. "Everybody's green after they's been in the Bog."

"The next goblin that speaks will be taking an immediate personal trip to the Bog to test that theory," Jareth snapped. Not waiting for the chatter to die down, he pinched the bridge of his nose between a gloved thumb and forefinger, feeling at once tired and furious, and waved his other hand at the goblins without looking. "One of you, go and fetch Zanabrik."

A tiny goblin ran out of the room as quickly as its stubby legs would carry it, scattering chickens in its wake. Jareth scowled and remained beneath the window, watching until the last green light faded and left his kingdom bathed in twilight once again while speculative goblin chatter continued around him. When the sight began to tire him he whirled and punted the nearest goblin out of the way crossly, surveying with visible displeasure the disarray that had subsumed his throne room. Feathers everywhere, pixies in the rafters, and a fine layer of sandy dust that would occasionally pile itself into corners and then spread out again in strange and inscrutable patterns on the floor when nobody was looking.

The chaos irritated Jareth more than usual; wherever his eye fell he found another item to spark his ire. It didn't help that recently it seemed that certain areas of the castle would be clean only when the Labyrinth damn well wanted them to, all cajoling (magical or otherwise) be damned. This was not to say that Jareth had lowered himself to asking the Labyrinth for anything in a very long time. His own powers were not inconsiderable, but even the Labyrinth could not do everything he asked of it.

His thoughts turned unexpectedly bitter at that, for reasons that had nothing to do with the state of his throne room. The last time he had asked the Labyrinth for something it had cost him very dearly, and he had been denied.

A chicken hopped up onto the throne and eyed the Goblin King belligerently, unconscious of his darkening mood. It had a split second to realize the error of its ways before Jareth made a brief sound of rage and banished it to the Bog. "Can't you lot keep your disgusting fowl outside where they belong?" he bellowed at the nearest goblin. It was an old complaint, and the answer mostly turned out to be no, since the chickens were often shrewder than any goblin and sometimes even Jareth himself.

The goblin's stammered reply was mercifully interrupted by a disturbance at the throne room entrance, followed by spreading silence that heralded the ponderous approach of a goblin of great and impressive age. He shuffled along with the aid of a twisted cane, stooped and careful as he moved. His faded robes dragged along behind him for yards, and his face was nearly invisible under a combination of deep hood and enormous white eyebrows. The other goblins shuffled eagerly out of the way of their elder; even Jareth accorded a rare degree of respect to his subject, schooling his face to careful mildness and nodding in greeting. "Zanabrik."

"Your Majesty," Zanabrik wheezed, making as much of a bow as he was able underneath his heavy robes. "How may I be of service?"

"Tell me what you make of this." The Goblin King made a tossing motion with one hand and sent a crystal tumbling through the air. The ancient goblin caught it with surprising alacrity and studied it for a long moment, green light shining from the crystal and illuminating his wizened face.

"I cannot say for sure, but it appears to be one of the Exiles with…hmmm…" wrinkles shifted to make way for the goblin's eyebrows to rise curiously as he glanced up, "...something that belongs in the Labyrinth." The old goblin was phrasing his answer carefully. Zanabrik had not reached his advanced age by being a fool.

Jareth appreciated the tact, but not the implications. "How would an Exile acquire such a prize?" Zanabrik looked up at him in mild alarm, having no answer to the impossible question. The Goblin King sighed, waving off the goblin's helpless expression, "Never mind, Zanabrik. Continue."

Zanabrik nodded sagely and returned to studying the crystal. "The Exile has gone to ground beyond the Southern Wastes."

Jareth waved his hand and the crystal burst like a bubble. "Thank you, Zanabrik. That will be all." The elder goblin bowed again and turned to shuffle off with stiff dignity; goblin chatter returned almost instantly.

"What's a nexile?"

"I think it's a kind of lizard."

"Maybe it's a kind of chicken!"

Jareth retreated to his study, kicking out an errant squawking bird as he shut the door sharply behind him. The Exiled had been banished from the Labyrinth long before Jareth's time, and while they had always made a habit of causing him plenty of trouble he'd never seen one do anything like that.

Zanabrik had confirmed in his circumspect way that the green glow was a sign of the Labyrinth trying—and failing—to take hold of something powerful, something that belonged within its borders. That was disturbing enough without considering where an Exile might have found a way to travel Aboveground. Jareth did not like to consider where it might have gotten something out of the Labyrinth.

The Goblin King paced the room and toyed with his crescent amulet, rubbing it idly between thumb and forefinger while he reached out with the seventh sense that sometimes gave him insight into the Labyrinth's moods. This effort revealed nothing he didn't already know: the Labyrinth was still agitated, as it had been for weeks now. The feeling was like sensing an oncoming storm but not yet being able to see the gathering clouds.

He stopped pacing and once again willed the Labyrinth to show him what spot of trouble was vexing it, hoping it might reveal itself like a festering abscess he could set right. He reached with more force than he ever had before, willing the Labyrinth to obey him, and the amulet grew hot in his hand. Then, just as in the past, he suddenly found himself reaching into the deep fog of blankness that meant the Labyrinth either did not know or refused to elucidate.

Jareth resigned himself to attempting to decipher the Labyrinth the hard way, a tedious task he had only undertaken a handful of times before. He selected several battered goblin histories from one of the tall shelves and sighed, already feeling the first signs of a thundering headache coming on.


Author's Note: Who are these Exiles? What's going on with the Labyrinth, and why does it want Sarah back? DUN DUN DUNNNNN!