Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in the update - I do know how frustrating it is when you're half-way through a story and the updates suddenly stop! I will say, however, that due to the demands of real life (job, thesis) the updates will be coming more slowly, but they WILL come. I promise.

Anyhow, on with the story! To recap: Jareth has been fatally injured and taken to the Amaranthine Realms by the Sisters of Lenity. Sarah has taken on the challenge of bringing him home and has passed through the first two portals.

Chapter Ten: Strangers Sad And Nervous

How long that one breath lasted, Sarah did not know. The time could have been marked in seconds or in millennia. She could not move. She could not see. She was held fast in complete darkness and either death or insanity seemed to be the only possible outcomes.

And then there was a chink of light.

Whatever it was holding her convulsed, gripping her ever tighter, but at the same time pushing her upwards. Sarah wriggled against the pressure and finally succeeded in working her arms free. She reached towards the opening, her fingers closing over rough, crumbling earth. It was so close; she could smell fresh air, she could feel it.

One hand broke through into the free space beyond her prison and the violent convulsions around her stopped. She pulled herself forward and then, with both hands now through the opening, she groped blindly for something to hold onto. Her wandering fingers found it - a hard, rough something that was solid enough for her to grasp and pull herself out with. She could swear that she could feel grass brushing against her knuckles. Sarah gritted her teeth and felt all the muscles across her shoulders and down her back creaking with the effort. Bit by bit she was moving forward. Her own predicament reminded her irresistibly of Winnie-the-Pooh, overstuffed on honey and stuck halfway out of a rabbit hole. She would have laughed, had she been able. With one final effort she pulled herself clear, crawling forward a little way and then collapsing on the grass. It was a tree root she had been hanging on to; as Sarah looked back over one shoulder she saw it move across the hole she had just crawled out of, gouging a track in the earth before settling back into place with a satisfied creaking. The tree itself was monumental in proportions, it bark rough and scored and tinged green with moss.

She stood up and sat back down again almost immediately, her legs buckling under her, and tried very hard not to be sick. Her hands were pressed hard against her mouth and she took several deep breaths until the nausea passed. Sarah unhooked her canteen, took a few sips of water and then splashed a little onto her face. She hesitated for a moment and then opened her other flask. The brandy burnt the back of her throat, making her eyes water. But she could feel its warmth spreading through her; she smiled a little, wondering how many arguments Delaine and Rajad had had by now.

The trees around her were tall and dark leafed; their canopies were so dense that only thin shafts of hazy light were able to penetrate down to the forest floor. It was dank in there; bits of ragged mist wound between the dark trunks. There were neither pathways nor tracks, nothing to tell her which was the best way to go. There was only the uncomfortable, prickling sensation between her shoulder blades, as though she were being watched. Sarah turned, but there was nothing behind her; at least, nothing that she could see. There was nothing for it but to pick a direction, which she duly did, skirting the tree that had been both her prison and her deliverance.

The cottage, when she found it, was so broken down that she would have thought it abandoned, save for the thin plume of smoke curling from the chimney. It was pungent, the bitter smell of damp wood burning. The cottage walls were bulging and lopsided, as though no longer able to support the weight of the roof. The tiny windows were frosted - whether by design or the build up of grime it was impossible to say. The door was ajar and Sarah pushed it open, wincing as the rusted hinges screamed in protest.

'Hello?'

The air was sharp with smoke and it caught in the back of her throat; she coughed, her eyes smarting. The walls were spongy, crumbling, covered in mildew and looked as though one touch would reduce them to rubble.

'Hel-' The word ended in a soft exhalation.

What she had thought was a pile of rags by the fireside had raised itself up and lumbered towards her. The old woman's eyes were milky white, rolling sightlessly toward Sarah. Her skin was the sickly colour of parchment, stretched taut; the few wisps of grey hair that still clung to her skull hung about her face.

'Where are you, girl? Let me feel you.' The searching hands were scarred and bloodied, as though she had been chewing on her own fingers.

Sarah backed away, stumbling over a low stool behind her. The old woman moved faster than Sarah could have imagined; she was seized in a hard grip. Withered lips were drawn back in a manic, delighted grin to reveal brown teeth worn down to sharp stumps.

'There is flesh on your bones. Not much, but enough.'

Sarah's eyes had adjusted to the gloom enough to make out the details in the room - especially the iron bars forming a cage in one corner.

'You wouldn't deny an old woman a meal, now would you, my dear? Pretty girl... Nice, well fed girl...'

Sarah wrenched herself free and pushed the old woman as hard as she could; the crone sprawled to the floor, letting out a shriek that pierced Sarah to the core. Hard hands grabbed at her ankles but she skipped aside, leaping over the writhing form to reach the open. She paused only to slam the heavy door behind her, muffling the screeches from within, and then ran blindly into the forest.

ooOoo

Of the three pubs in the Underground, The Dog and Rat was undoubtedly the most downmarket. Hoggle had a suspicion that it had been named after the two creatures that made up the contents of most meals served there, but he kept such thoughts to himself: even though the landlord, Güs, had only one leg, he was at least three times bigger than Hoggle. The pub stood on the edge of the junkyard and its punters looked as though they had just crawled out of it - a shiftier looking bunch Hoggle was yet to see, but at least they minded their own business (mostly because they didn't want anyone else interfering in theirs) and drank their ale, which was surprisingly good. The Three Satyrs, the largest and busiest, was in the middle of the city, while The Crown and Crystal was closest to the barracks and was the preferred haunt of the officers and ambitious squaddies. It was the only pub Sir Didymus would set paw in, so it came as something of a surprise to Hoggle when the door of The Dog and Rat opened and the little knight trotted in. He was accompanied by Bedivere, a huge cream-coloured wolfhound that had been a gift from Ambrosius. Bedivere shook himself vigourously, sending out a fine spray that landed on everyone except, remarkably, Sir Didymus. His sleet-drenched hooded cloak was safely deposited on a peg and, with his bright purple cap pulled over one eye, Sir Didymus crossed the room.

'Well met, friend Hoggle! May I beg a seat at thy table?'

Hoggle rolled his eyes. 'Will you just sit down?' He was uncomfortably aware that they were being scrutinised by every wary eye in the place. Sir Didymus was apparently oblivious but Hoggle had the feeling that the knight was enjoying himself - and Hoggle's discomfort - immensely. He made a great show of dusting off the bench with his handkerchief before settling himself. Bedivere collapsed on the floor beside them in a damp, panting heap; even curled up he was almost as big as the table. They were ensconced in a booth; the broad wooden seats were as hard as stone.

Sir Didymus examined the general surroundings. 'Quite cosy, is it not?' he said brightly.

Hoggle choked on his pint. Any pub that had sawdust sprinkled on the floor could not be called cosy. The fireplace was large but the fire within it was paltry and looked as though it grudged every second of its half-hearted existence; the beams and panelling were of wood so aged it was almost black. The only concession to gentility was the chalkboard over the bar that listed the daily specials. There was only ever one special and as long as anyone could remember the board had carried the legend "Chikkin".

The rhythmic thud of wood on wood warned the Dwarf that Güs was on his way over and wondered if it was feasible to think that he might be able to hide behind his pint. The table shuddered as two large hands landed on it; Güs peered down at them. The tea-towel over one shoulder seemed an incongruous touch.

'Ah, the landlord of this establishment, I take it.'

Güs breathed heavily.

'If I may trouble you for one of your specials as noted on yonder board, a large bowl of water, and I believe I will take a pint of your finest ale - and one for my noble companion.'

The barkeeper let out a low rumbling noise, eyeing the newcomer with grave suspicion; the fox met the gaze, his bright eye unwavering. Güs stumped back to the bar.

Hoggle shook his head. 'One of these days someone's goin' to separate your bushy tail from the rest o' you and mount it as a trophy.'

Sir Didymus' whiskers quivered. 'They would have to catch me first.'

Hoggle sipped on his pint speculatively. To the uninitiated, Sir Didymus would seem to be merely an overly enthusiastic and rather woolly headed knight-errant. But Hoggle knew him. His nature was intrinsically cunning and behind his flowery speech his mind was as keen as his eye. The fox never did anything without a reason - which would include bringing himself all the way across town to the Dog. He wanted something. Information, no doubt - it was the only thing Hoggle had to give these days; although, what he could tell Sir Didymus that the knight didn't know already was beyond him. But he was prepared to bide his time, and if it was information that Didymus was after, he would have to trade for it.

'Any news?'

'I take it thou art referring to the Lady Sarah?'

Hoggle nodded.

Sir Didymus folded his paws across his velvet jerkin. 'Ambrosius informs us that my lady has crossed the first of her ... obstacles.'

'Hm. And how does he know that?'

A slight movement of the shoulders that was almost a shrug. Hoggle took another sip of his pint. 'And how is life at the castle these days?'

There was a rumble of thunder that shook the pub until the brittle glass rattled in the window frames. The collection of bottles on the shelves behind the bar clanked together and Bedivere whimpered, shuffling closer to his master. The hackles on the back of Sir Didymus' neck stood on end and his upper lip curled back in a snarl, baring his teeth.

The thunder passed and there was a long silence before the assembled drinkers began muttering between themselves.

'Unseasonable,' Sir Didymus commented.

'Mm.' He knew that beady eye was fixed on him, but he refused to meet it.

'All at the castle is as well as can be expected,' Sir Didymus continued smoothly some moments later. 'Lord Toby's lessons are progressing well.'

Poor kid, Hoggle thought. When he wasn't being lectured by Ambrosius or drilled in martial training by Sir Didymus, Rajad was overseeing his falling off a horse at least five times an hour. Then he would fall into bed only to be roused at an unearthly hour so that he could do it all over again. It was a concerted effort by all concerned to keep the boy occupied and not give him any time to brood. Hoggle knew nothing about raising a child, but he was not altogether convinced that not giving Toby time to cry and sulk and generally behave like a child was actually the best idea.

Sir Didymus' food arrived; the kitchen must have been under special orders, Hoggle thought - the meal actually looked edible for once. Bedivere lapped up his water noisily and then laid his large head on his master's knee, gazing soulfully up at him and accepting chunks of meat with an appreciative thump of his tail. The unfamiliar sound made some of the more nervous customers wince.

Their inconsequential chatter was punctuated by long periods of silence. Only when his plate of crunched chicken bones was cleared and he had scrupulously wiped his whiskers did Sir Didymus lean forward, both elbows on the table. 'Something has shifted in the Labyrinth.'

Hoggle snorted. 'Nothin' new in that. Somethin's always shiftin' in the Labyrinth - that's what it does.'

'Something in the energy,' Didymus persisted. 'The very rock is moving - I do not mean the stone of the walls, but the bedrock. You have lived here longer than I...'

Hoggle gripped his glass between both hands, staring at the dark foamy liquid. He had once been a counsellor, had been privy to so many secrets... He had worked hard to forget all of that: it was easier to concentrate on tending the gardens, but the relaxing properties of alcohol brought long buried memories to the fore and loosened his tongue. Which was exactly what Sir Didymus had been counting on, damn him; he had been very generous tonight...

'It will get worse, unless the crown is claimed,' he said slowly.

'The crown is claimed - the Underground has a king.'

Hoggle shook his head and drained his glass. 'No, it doesn't. Jareth is gone and Delaine is not the queen - she cannot control the Labyrinth. She'll have to take the crown.'

'Her Royal Highness,' Sir Didymus said pointedly, 'will not do that. Never.'

'She may not have a choice.'

'Explain your meaning, Master Hoggle.' Sir Didymus watched him intently.

He was not the only one: every Goblin in the place was leaning forward slightly. Even Güs had paused in mid-polish of the bar's surface. Hoggle glared at them and they immediately dropped their eyes back to their pints with badly feigned innocence. Hoggle lowered his voice.

'The Labyrinth and its ruler are bound to each other - an' right now there is no ruler.' He rubbed bleary eyes. 'All that energy that keeps this place together has no direction. It needs someone to control it and as the righ'ful heir, Delaine's the only one who can do it. But only if she becomes queen.'

'But Lady Sarah will return,' Didymus stated, 'with His Majesty.'

'Perhaps. But if Delaine waits much longer, there might not be a kingdom for Jareth to return to.'

ooOoo

The woodland have given way to something more cultivated. At least, it had been cultivated once. There had been a stone wall in such a bad state of repair that Sarah had soon found a gaping hole that allowed her through. On the other side was what had once, she guessed, been an orchard. It had been overgrown by weeds that almost reached her waist. Everywhere was overgrown by weeds. She passed through the remnants of formal gardens, their borders only barely discernible. Roses that had once climbed elegantly around archways were now hopelessly tangled but the dead brown branches were still possessed of wickedly sharp thorns. There were fountains, dried of water, their basins cracked, their ornamental mermaids and water-nymphs ravaged by bad weather and neglect.

And then there was the maze.

The hedges had become so wild that the pathways they had once defined were now impenetrable thickets. Sarah skirted it; she could hear the occasional chirrup of a bird and the sound lifted her spirits - there was some life, at least, in this place.

She had been walking around the outer boundary of the maze before she saw the castle rising above the trees ahead. Even from this distance it seemed, like everything else, to be in a state of decay - once elegant spires standing in relief against a powder-blue sky. However, as it was the only landmark of note around she continued her path towards it. She ran into yet another wall. This one was relatively well maintained: the mortar held the stones fast; it extended in either direction as far as she could see. The clinging ivy was taking on the russet hue of autumn. She wandered alongside it, raking the surface for any break or entrance; in the end she had to reconcile herself to the fact that there was nothing - she could either keep walking in the hope of finding a way through or she could climb. Sarah grabbed a handful of ivy, found a purchase with her toes and started to pull herself up. By the time she reached the top she had added a few more grazes to her knuckles and all of her nails were hopelessly broken. The ground on the other side of the wall was higher; Sarah cautiously lowered herself and hung for a few seconds, her hands unwilling to release their hold on the top of the wall. It was more the fact that her shoulders felt in danger of coming out of their sockets that made her let go. It was a relatively short drop and a mass of weeds cushioned her landing.

The courtyard was large and held a few broken-down greenhouses; the flagstones were almost wholly covered by rampant greenery and what had once been vegetable patches had been taken over by specimens that looked decidedly inedible. Lavender bushes had run wild and as Sarah brushed against the fat purple heads, their sweet scent was released. It was very still, very quiet, but in the silence she could hear soft singing coming from the direction of the huge door that led into the castle.

The backdoor, Sarah decided; she was standing in what had probably once been the kitchen garden.

It was a woman's voice; her song was not especially tuneful and she seemed to be making it up as she went along.

Sarah moved warily, keeping to the shelter of the greenhouse, until she could get a clear view of the singer.

An area near the door had been cleared of weeds and the small tended patch now boasted uneven lines of crops. Its redeemer was bent over it, slender fingers pulling out any unwelcome intruders from the dark earth. Hers was a slight figure and her dark hair, falling across her face, hid her features. Sarah stepped out, loose stone crunching under her feet. The song ended abruptly and the woman stood.

She looked little more than a child, Sarah thought with some surprise. Her dress was coarse and threadbare and the apron tied around her waist was frayed at the hem. She had never seen anyone so pale - not just the fair skin of someone averse to sun exposure, but a waxen pallor almost like a death mask. In stark contrast her lips were deep red, like a smear of blood across her mouth.

'Hello. What's your name?' Her voice was high and lilting.

'I'm Sarah.'

'Sarah. That's a pretty name. I like it.' Her eyes moved slowly over Sarah, taking in her appearance. 'You're dressed like a boy.'

'Uh...' Sarah looked down at her trousers. 'Well... Not where I come from.'

'Really?' Her eyes widened: they were green, flecked with gold and rather beautiful. 'Did you come through the wood? Did-did you see her?'

There was no need to clarify the identity of the person in question. 'Yes,' Sarah replied grimly.

'Oh. I thought she might have died by now.'

No such luck, Sarah thought; and yet she felt a slight shock at the girl's coldly matter-of-fact words.

'Would you like to come in?' She turned before Sarah could reply, starting towards the doorway; Sarah followed her and it was only then that she noticed the heavy iron cuff around the girl's ankle. It was attached to a length of sleek, well-oiled chain that allowed her a few feet into the open from the doorway, but no further.

'Who did that to you?'

The girl followed Sarah's stare. 'It's only while I'm out of doors - so I won't run away. See?' She stepped over the threshold and the cuff undid itself, falling to the ground with a sickening thud.

'Who did it?'

Standing in the doorway, her pale face was like a spectral vision against the dark interior; she turned silently and walked further inside. Sarah hovered outside uncertainly and then followed her.

It was a large kitchen, and though the furniture and assorted implements were rough, everything was scrupulously clean. There was the aroma of freshly baked bread that gave the place an unexpectedly homely feel. Sarah was directed to a chair by her diminutive hostess. 'What's your name?' The girl blinked. 'I told you mine - don't you want to tell me yours?'

'I had a name... My mother gave me a name, but I don't remember what it was. Ella calls me Bianca, because my skin is so fair. You may call me Bianca.'

'Who is Ella?'

'She lives here. She helps me with some of the household work. She usually sweeps out the fireplaces. We have lots of fireplaces.'

'You do all the work in the castle?'

'No, I just told you - Ella helps me. Silly.'

'How old are you?'

Bianca pondered the question. 'I have sixteen years,' she replied finally. It came as a surprise - Sarah would have guessed she was thirteen at the most. Her figure had barely developed beyond the flat planes of childhood. Hard work and lack of proper food, Sarah thought, remembering with a hot spear of anger the chain around the girl's ankle. 'Bianca, who is it who keeps you here? Who makes you do all this work?'

'He does.'

'Who is he?'

She was very still, her eyes widening in her delicate face. 'Him. The Wolf.'

'A wolf?'

Bianca shook her head. 'No. The Wolf. He keeps all of us here. There used to be another, but she went away. The woodsman took her away and we never saw her again. He tried to make the Wolf go away, but he couldn't. Not forever.' She frowned slightly. 'But you must know. Isn't that why you're here? Didn't he make you come?'

'No-one made me do anything. I came here of my own free will.'

A strange smile played around Bianca's mouth. 'No,' she said softly, 'no-one does that. He will call. He will call you and then you'll see.'

She didn't look like a child then - she looked someone who has seen far more than anyone ever should. There was a silence.

'Who are the others?'

'There are only three of us now. Ella and I and there is Aurora. But she is very boring to live with; all she does is sleep. Would you like to see her?'

'Uh...'

Bianca plucked at Sarah's arm. 'Come on. She won't mind - she doesn't know what's happening anyway.'

Sarah followed Bianca through winding corridors. Wooden doors were slowly being eaten away by woodworm and as shafts of sunlight pierced broken shutters dust motes performed lazy waltzes around each other in the heavy air. Innumerable passageways opened onto innumerable chambers, most of which contained massive pieces of furniture covered by dust sheets. Sarah had a suspicion that colonies of mice had probably made themselves very much at home under them.

They turned into a corridor - wood-panelled and gloomy, the light from the passages behind barely penetrated to the arched door that marked the end of the corridor; she waited while Bianca fished a key out of the pocket in her apron. It turned in the lock with only a little effort. The stairs, deep and narrow, spiralled around a tower; the only light came from the slits in the wall and in the near dark Sarah had to use her hands to guide herself up the staircase. Bianca scrambled nimbly ahead of her and Sarah felt very large and very old.

No-one had gone to the tower room in some time. The landing floor was coated in a layer of dust and cobwebs had to be cleared from around the lock of the door before Bianca was able to open it. She pushed it open and Sarah ducked her head to avoid the low frame. The air was musty and held the smell of dry decay - it was something that would cling to her hair and skin for hours afterwards. Heavy curtains were drawn part way across the windows, but they allowed in enough light for Sarah to make out the figure lying in the huge canopied bed. Her hair appeared grey at first, until Sarah realised it was the dirt and cobwebs mingling with the blonde locks that gave them that ashen look. Her face was sunken and wasted. Twined around her limbs and spreading across the faded damask counterpane were dried brown stems; they were so tangled that the sleeper appeared to be lying in a nest.

'Can't you clear those off her?' Sarah demanded stepping forward; Bianca caught hold of her arm. The nest seethed in a hissing mass and a flat brown head, its small obsidian eyes fixed on her maliciously, reared up. They were snakes surrounding the girl, not the dead roses that Sarah had supposed.

She fell back.

'That's Aurora,' Bianca chirruped helpfully.

'I'd like to back downstairs now.'

She would have run down the stairs, except that such an attempt would have resulted in a broken neck or worse. So she crept down them and tried to ignore the flashes of the breathing cadaver lying in her bed of serpents.

They reached the ground floor and Bianca locked the door.

To be continued...