Chapter 4
Sarah didn't leave again that night. Exhausted and downhearted, she grabbed a pillow from off the bed and slept on the floor. Pointless perhaps, but it was the principle of the thing. She would not sleep in a bed owned by Rasson, even one in the guest room.
By morning, her stomach was an aching pit. Rasson brought her breakfast again, his attitude subdued but smug. He did not try to flirt, or even touch her as he held out the tray. On it was a bowl of fresh berries and cream and a chocolate muffin as big as her hand. Sarah's mouth watered and she might have whimpered a little, but she didn't take it. Rasson rolled his eyes and set it down next to her.
"I have things to attend to today," he told her. "So you will have to entertain yourself. I assume you have no issues with this."
So God was still granting small favors after all. When she failed to respond, Rasson frowned and said, "Is this your new strategy, Sarah? Ignoring me?"
Actually, she'd just been too distracted fighting her urge to demolish the muffin—only a few tantalizing inches away!—to think of an appropriately snarky retort, but snubbing him did sound good, so she turned her head away.
"Don't you think that's a bit childish?" he asked. His words were a nostalgic punch in the gut, but she told herself not to rise to the bait. She kept up the deaf act until Rasson finally snapped, "Fine!" and left the room.
After he was gone, she took the tray and dumped it all over the side of her balcony, unable to stand the temptation a second more. She gazed down at the splattered remains of her breakfast with longing, then went to take a shower, drinking water out of the sink and praying the Fae wasn't smart enough to drug that too.
She found clean clothes in a corner bureau. Simple but finely made dresses, undergarments and slippers. She was loath to use any of it, but after last night's escape attempt, her clothes were stiff with sweat and dirt. Sarah put on a long-sleeved green dress with silver trim but kept her sneakers. There weren't any boots to be found and the slippers wouldn't last a day scuffing over rough terrain.
She'd thought about it hard last night, and decided that she would try the woods again. Rasson could be lying about the extent of their isolation, or there might be another, secret way out, if only she could find it. Which is why, when Sarah stepped outside and no one stopped her, she headed in the opposite direction she'd taken the night before.
The trees surrounded the property, but she found a little trail this time and followed it. Unfortunately, after about an hour, it faded, and she found herself surrounded on all sides by prickly brushes and sappy trees. But she kept going. Every so often she was forced to rest, and sat there fearing the appearance of Rasson or some other creature of the wood, but nothing showed.
Until evening, that is.
"Had enough for the day?"
Sarah turned to find the Fae she now considered a greater nemesis than even Jareth standing behind her. His arms were crossed and his expression was one of exasperation verging on annoyance. "I could come back in a few more hours, if you'd like to walk some more," he said mockingly.
The curse was on the tip of her tongue, but then she remembered that she was snubbing him and choked it back. She settled with giving him a nasty look instead.
"The party is going to be very boring if you continue to hold your tongue like that," Rasson said.
The question, "What party?" slipped out before Sarah could stop it. His smile was one of victory. She wanted to punch him again.
"Why, the one I'm throwing two nights hence to celebrate my newest acquisition." He gave her a slight bow. "That would be you, of course."
"You—" There were no words bad enough.
"You should feel flattered," said Rasson. "Most mortals do not get such a come out."
"I won't go."
"You will. Even if I have to give you a little push to get you there." On the word push, he reached out to do just that. Sarah raised her hands to ward him off, but when she grabbed his hand, it vanished beneath her fingers and the woods dissolved. Dizziness swept her and she was back in her room yet again.
There was another tray of food was on her vanity. Sarah held her breath so she wouldn't smell it, then took it and dumped its contents once more over the balcony, releasing her breath on an angry scream as she watched it all fall. At least with the Labyrinth, there had been a time limit. This hell she was in now had no end.
The next day, Sarah didn't wake until noon, and even then, she found her energy lagging—going days without food would do that. Instead of heading once more for the woods, she decided to explore the house for a way out. It was something else she'd learned from her time in the Labyrinth: distances could be deceiving. To get to someplace far, sometimes you had to go to someplace near.
The house was bigger than she'd thought, and Sarah worried about running across a room similar to the Escher one, but all of them stayed true to the laws of physics and were, in fact, disappointingly normal. None of the mirrors heeded her calls for her friends, and she found no room or doorway that led back to the Aboveground. Once, she closed the door on a hall closet to find Rasson standing there, looking amused, but she pretended not to see him and he didn't follow her or show up again during her search.
That night, she went out to the garden. She knew more food would be waiting for her and she didn't trust herself to be able to throw it out again.
She found a bench and dropped down onto it. The stars were much brighter here, and Sarah wondered what it meant to be "Underground" that there was a visible sky and space beyond it. If she'd been into astronomy, she might've been able to tell something from the arrangement of the stars, but she wasn't. There was one moon, three-quarters full, that looked the same as the one Aboveground, but that was hardly evidence of anything.
She used to be able to find the big dipper. Sarah looked for it, glad to have something to focus on besides the hopeless situation she was in. She couldn't go on much longer like this. At the very least, she was going to have to start eating again soon, and now that Rasson knew he could drug her food, God knew what kind of horrible nightmare she'd wind up in after taking her first bite.
Something passed by overhead. The glow of the moon caught it and Sarah froze. It was an owl. It didn't see her, continuing to wing its way West, towards the never-ending trees.
Jareth.
Sarah didn't know what made her think that. There had to be plenty of other, ordinary owls in the Underground, ones that didn't turn into fickle Fae kings. But the sight of it had her pulse racing and she couldn't help but think—
Sarah leapt up and took off after it, knowing that the odds of Jareth helping her, even if he did stop, were slim to none, but determined to try nonetheless.
"Jareth!" She screamed the name into the night. The owl didn't so much as pause in its flight. Was it because he couldn't hear, or was he ignoring her? "Jareth!"
Sarah could barely see it now. Another second and she lost it in the black between the stars. Frustration burned her throat. She wished that for once something would go—
Habit had her cutting the thought short. But as she stood there, starving, exhausted, and more lost than she'd ever felt inside the Labyrinth, she wondered. Wishing was something she hadn't tried yet. She'd quelled the impulse for so long, she hadn't even thought to. Until now.
Could it be that easy?
"I… I wish…" Heart pounding, she search the skies for her fateful fowl. "I wish the Goblin King would—"
Someone grabbed her from behind. Sarah yelped as she was thrown into something that cracked against her back. Rasson stood before her, looking livid. "You would dare… You would dare to call him… in my own…"
They were in her bedroom. Sarah was sprawled against the vanity. She started to scramble off it, but Rasson grabbed her by the throat, just tight enough to make her wheeze, and shoved her back. Glass from the broken mirror cut into her back. If Sarah had thought she'd seen the Fae angry before, this was nothing to the murderous rage he was is now.
"Call for the Goblin King again, and I will kill you," he said in a deadly whisper. "Jareth may come, but he won't be fast enough to save you, and presenting him with your dead body will serve me just as well." His grip tightened and Sarah struggled as her vision began to gray. "In fact, the more I think about it, the better the idea sounds. Maybe I should just kill you. What do you think?"
Sarah opened her mouth to curse him, but with no air, all she manage were a few horrible gurgling noises she would've been embarrassed by if she wasn't so lightheaded. Her lungs burned. She could barely see Rasson through all the black spots clouding her vision.
"Come, come, Sarah," he said with mock impatience, "This silent treatment of yours has grown old." He let her go, but even as she coughed and sucked in oxygen she felt her consciousness failing.
Rasson did not catch her when she fell.
Jareth thought he might finally be losing it. After so many years of spying on Sarah through his crystals, listening as she chatted to her friends, read to her brother, conversed with her family, and even—though he could never stand to listen long—whispered to her lovers, he knew Sarah's voice in all its variations, and had daydreamed her speaking to him and saying his name an innumerable amount of times over the years, and in an innumerable amount of ways. In a tone filled with laughter, in a voice filled with want. Happily, needfully.
But to be out flying and hear her shout for him so suddenly, in such fearful desperation, and when he had been entertaining no daydreams about her at all, disturbed him greatly. If he was starting to hear Sarah even without consciously thinking about her…
He shook his feathered head. Best to ignore it. If he started humoring his delusions, who knew what that might lead to? Besides—Jareth glanced back at the giant mansion now half a mile behind him—this wasn't the Aboveground, this was Rasson's estate. Sarah couldn't possibly be here.
Rasson. The name had Jareth letting out an agitated screech. Rasson was smart and hard working to a fault, but when the Goblin King had hired him, he'd been under the mistaken impression that the Fae possessed a sense of humor. All his friends and family had said so, when he'd questioned them. But so far, Rasson seemed incapable of making—or taking—a joke. And worse, he was an annoying perfectionist. Just the other day he'd shown up at the castle insisting that the official encyclopedia on the Goblin Kingdom and its inhabitants was "woefully" out of date and needed immediate updating, as if that book had been opened even once prior to the nit-picking Fae getting his hands on it. Every creature here knew everything about themselves and their neighbors that they needed to, and if a Fae visited who didn't know, well, Jareth wasn't about to offer them a book for enlightenment. That would ruin the fun.
"Only you can rectify this, your majesty," Rasson had told him gravely. "It would take me months to go out and collect all the necessary information. But with your ability to Change and fly, it should take you a week at most."
Jareth hadn't wanted to go, and the idea of having months without the anal retentive Fae dogging his steps complaining sounded really good to him. But there was no arguing Rasson's reasoning, and after an hour of listening to the Fae lecture him about his "obligations as king," Jareth had given in and promised to head out the next day. Rasson had told him what information to collect and then departed with an excited, "I can't wait to see what you bring back, my lord!" The Fae had dematerialized mid-skip. It was the happiest Jareth had ever seen him.
He bloody well be appreciative when I give it to him tomorrow, the Goblin King thought. Having to survive on rodents for a week just so he could confirm things such as that the Knockers were still partial to mines and not swamps, was not something that put him in a good mood. Plus, he'd missed the first few days of filming for Sarah's movie.
He was curious to see if she'd dropped out yet.
When he made it back to the castle, most of the goblins were there, waiting for him. They cheered as he Changed back into his Fae form as if he'd pulled off some miraculous feat, though they'd seen him do it thousands of times before. They grabbed at him, sitting on his feet for a ride and clutching at his hands and arms so he would swing them. No wonder mortals thought they were transmuted children. They acted like two year olds on a sugar high.
"So how much trouble did all of you get into during my absence?" he asked, kicking off the ones who'd jumped onto his boots as he might knock soil off his heel.
"None! We's swear it!" one cried, and the rest cackled with laughter.
"Uh-huh." Jareth entered his throne room. There was a chicken nesting on his throne. He booted the chicken—to the squeals of the goblins—tossed the two eggs that were there for someone to catch—or not—and cleaned away the feathers, straw, and bird droppings with a burst of power. Then he knocked away the rest of the goblins from his person and dropped down into his seat with a thankful groan. Sometimes, at the end of the day, a comfy throne was all a Fae needed.
Though having a woman to share it with would be even nicer…
Jareth slammed his mind shut on the thought before the inevitable vision of just who he'd like to share such a seat with could form. He pulled out a crystal, and telling himself it was just because he was bored, and not because he particularly cared, called up Sarah.
The crystal stayed clear.
For a moment, Jareth could only stare at it. That had never, in all his years of ruling the Underground, happened before.
He shook it. Aloud he said, "Show me Sarah."
It was an amateur way to work with magic. The Goblin King hadn't had to cast a spell aloud in centuries. And still, nothing happened.
Around him, the Goblins bounced and laughed and sang, unaware of his fast-growing inner turmoil. Jareth thought about that strange auditory hallucination he'd had earlier. Sarah, calling his name. She'd sounded panicked. Could something have happened to her in the Aboveground? He couldn't imagine what would block his Crystals though, or why she would call to him. Her voice shouldn't have reached him. She hadn't called for him properly, after all. Had that been part of… But no, it wasn't that.
"Get me Hoggle," he commanded his goblins. It worked best if he just commanded them all. That way, at least one or two were bound to hear and obey.
Several hurried off. Jareth continued to try and reach Sarah through the crystal, but it remained empty.
Sarah, Sarah, what trouble have you gotten yourself into now? he thought, gripping the small orb tightly in his gloved fist.
"You wanted to see me?" a gravely voice muttered. "Your majesty," it added as a bitter afterthought.
Jareth looked up, surprised. It was odd for the dwarf to come so quickly. Normally he took great pains—and delight—in dragging his feet when answering a summons.
"When was the last time you talk to Sarah?" Jareth demanded.
"What's it to you?" Hoggle grumbled, but his nervous shifting from foot to foot and the way he refused to meet The Goblin King's gaze ruined his tough talk.
"Do I need to threaten you with the Bog?" Jareth asked, both of them knowing that the question itself was a threat.
Hoggle silently waffled a bit, but finally said, "Can't says I know the exact last time she called. Two weeks I s'pose."
"And is that usual?"
More waffling. Hoggle scowled. "I've got better things to do than keep track… doesn't matter to me none if she doesn't—"
"You should appreciate that Sarah deigns to talk to you at all," Jareth sneered over Hoggle's defensive bluster. He knew damn well that the dwarf lived for the moments he could speak to his mortal friend, and so did everyone else. Why he continued to keep up such prideful indifference… Then again, Jareth knew firsthand what kind of pain you opened yourself up to when you didn't.
"I'll have your guess then," Jareth said. "How late is Sarah in contacting you?"
Hoggle squinched his eyes as if pretending to think. Finally he said, "Few days."
Jareth thought. If something happened to Sarah that kept her from talking to Hoggle days ago, then why would he hear her call, or whatever it had been, less than an hour ago?
"Hey! Where you going?" Hoggle said as Jareth stood and strode past him.
"The Aboveground."
"Above—why? Is something wrong with Sarah?"
Jareth looked down at the little dwarf, taking in the way Hoggle twisted his hands so hard that dirt was flaking off onto the floor.
"You know how Sarah is," Jareth heard himself say. "She gets herself out of trouble as easily as she gets herself into it."
Hoggle bobbed his head. It was only too true, after all. Jareth Changed back into an owl and flew off. Hoggle watched him go. He'd half-hoped, when the goblins had told him Jareth wanted to see him, that the Goblin King had news about Sarah, but apparently Jareth knew little more than he did.
That even the royal Fae was in the dark was not comforting.
