Scuttle heaved an immense sigh of relief, he had just finalised the final preparations, the party was ready to commence. All was in place, new paint had been applied to the flaking walls of the chambers, tapestries swiftly positioned over the most conspicuous chasms in the brick-work and the festering damp spots on the walls. Astrum Orchids had been especially imported in their dozens and had been carefully positioned about the castle, even in the throne room, a room to which colour and variety were alien concepts, their fragrance was overpowering, stifling even, it made the world turn to a perfumed haze.
Jareth himself had sent for a wide range of staff, courtiers to feign familiarity, servants to be act as paid labour to the rich and indulged, maids to scrub and freshen, waiters to deliver endless chains of delicacies, musicians to weave enchantment about the place, dancers to divert and pleasure. Though of course all afore mentioned staff were of greatest importance to the proceedings the most vital of all paid labour was the tailor.
Jareth had an expansive wardrobe, indeed, it had the same dimensions as those of the throne room, but Jareth complained of all the fine silks, satins and cashmeres in his possession as being out of vogue and insisted on raising the taxes by a significant figure to furnish an entirely new wardrobe. No Goblins were allowed entry when Jareth was being measured for his garments, but his shouts and demands to the quaking tailor were audible to all, and included several threats of death delivered by his majesty that were swiftly returned by soothing praise from the wise and noble tailor. There was however a greater purpose for this tailor, a dress needed to be sewn, the most beautiful thing any and all would ever know. It would shine like a candle in a pitch-dark room, illuminate the darkest corner. The dress would be truly magical.
Whilst all the preparations were afoot, the kitchens were being cleaned (much to the chagrin of the Great Cook who saw the process as being totally unnecessary, indeed she stated that the fungus's from the sideboard were remarkably useful as a seasoning for her signature dish 'Brown slime') and supplied with materials that would ensure a feast beyond imagining, a feast that would mean Weech the Great Cook would be cooking something other than 'unknown brown substance' for the first time in several thousand years. To try and eloquently introduce the concept of Haute Cuisine to her vocabulary, a cook from the court of the estranged Cousin Sophia was heavily bribed into assisting with the preparations for the grand banquet, as you will discover, their relationship was - - tempestuous to stay the least.
In other areas of the castle, primarily the library, which was no longer the object of Jareth's scorn. Jareth was actually learning, much to the wonderment of his deceased elder sibling, Lasander, who followed his brother's questionable progress with great interest. Jareth, noting his beloveds apparent interest in literature and 'higher learning' (as it was referred to in her maze of thought) had enrolled his magician to moonlight as teacher, and was currently struggling with eighteenth century romantic poetry, which included vast quantities of archaic language that would indeed be extremely impressive if delivered aptly, something of which Jareth was not capable.
"So, lenient, that means strictness and severity, does it not?" Jareth stared steadfastly at his temporal tutor. Gulping, the tutor responded:
"Well, your majesty, lenient does it fact imply that - that," the unmoving severity of Jareth's gaze was turning him into a nervous wreck, a century he had been employed there now, a century he could hardly believed he had held out so long, still, there was hope, there was to be a plethora of nobility and royalty attending the meet, and it was his aim to latch onto one of them, anything to escape the hell of servitude to such a king as Jareth. He could not bear to induce Jareth's wrath and so, doing as he had done many a time before, gave into Jareth's falsity, "yes indeed your majesty, congratulations are due to your advances in learning! Shall we move on toward today's sorcerous activities?"
As the magician lazily waved his withered oak wand, summoning the opus of magical activities to be drawn to his lap, Lasander was fuming silently, a ghostly form lurking in the shadows to the activity. Lenient! How in the name of Scrabblescruff could you mis-use lenient you imbecile Jareth, and you, you useless excuse for a man of higher thinking! Lenient – merciful, generous or indulgent! Perfectly simple concepts. Are you going to sign death warrants that state 'deal with leniently' in the belief a punishment of suitable severity will be committed? Oh alas, all hope is lost! In a reflection of his frustration he sent a powerful wave of wind towards Jareth's work table, blowing all his papers in a flurry to the floor. It's better not to learn at all, than learn lies. And with that, Lasander vanished from the room, back to the soothing abyss.
The sorcery the magician was referring to, was Jareth's other area of current study. As with all those of noble blood, Jareth was born with skills, minor skill in (what we know as) telepathy, and the ability to apparate and disapparate at will anywhere in the reaches of his own kingdom, a gift that never failed to induce fear and shock. Jareth was currently being taught to expand these skills, as well as add to them, namely he was studying wilful transformation and the arts of creation, mimicry, illusion and projection. He had been practising on his crystals, creating copies, his progress was admirable, perfect visual illusions could be attained, but to touch – with a touch they would disintegrate with an effect similar to that of a blow on a Dandelion clock. However Jareth's main focus was projection, projecting the illusion of one scene to the mind of another, perfectly convincing and realistic in every aspect, but for an illusion to be planted in a mind – the event needed to occur in reality, albeit without their participation, and this was just what was to occur. The ball was for Sarah – all for Sarah.
The day of the spectacle dawned bright and clear, just as the shadows of the first carriages broke onto the horizon. Jareth had invited all his living sisters, he had never been close to them but felt in the mood for generosity and reconciliation, and was determined to impress his image upon their minds. To make them proud of the brother they never truly knew. Jareth was splendidly attired in black riding breeches, silken shirt and twilight satin waistcoat, along with his treasured silver amulet hung about his neck, it's silver form enhanced by the shadowy backdrop. He knew his sisters faces from a portrait painted when he was but a small child, but with his sisters and Lasander all fully grown, as all were ageless, he trusted for familiarity to ensue. However problems were to occur, as always does as a result of lengthy alienation.
"Ah, my sister Maria! What a delight it is to set sight on your lovely features again, come let us embrace sister, we shall retire with our other relatives when all have assembled shall we not?" Jareth smiled desperately – the only people to ever remove his air of reckless confidence where his family, and little had changed, even is several thousand years.
"Olga. My name is Olga, younger inept brother. Spare the flattery and you will address me by my full title Grand Duchess Olga Wurbelovna mistress of the land of despair beyond the mountains that lie beyond the Goblin City, and don't you bloody well forget it you irresponsible pratt. If you want to make your miserable self useful, show me to the library." Lifting her legs high to jump not-so-gracefully from the carriage, and calling to her severely traumistised husband to 'wait in the cab, Gerald.' She forced her arm in Jareth's and steered him toward the direction of the library, chastising him constantly in his ineffectual ruling and the fact that he not yet managed to seek out a wife to continue the glorious heritage of the Goblin Monarchs. "And why on earth have you not yet found yourself a wife? Unless of course you repulse all those you make commerce with, is that the case?"
"No, it is not, impertinent sister. And I will remind you, you are under the rules of my kingdom and if I so wish I can -"
"Can what? Dazzle me to death with your frightful hair, you can't scare me Jareth, I remember you when mother dressed you in petticoats, and put ribbons in your hair and can you remember that time when she put lip -"
"Enough! Stop, I see your point wise sister, moving on, and returning to your first point, the problem of a wife shall soon be reconciled. If you're courtesy toward me and my kingdom improves you will be sure to receive an invitation to the wedding."
"Don't bet on seeing me in the pew then." Hastily showing her into the library, Jareth withdrew, he had never seen his sisters as being anything else other than near-clones of each other, identical in attitudes, interests and philosophy. How wrong he was soon proven.
Swiftly returning to the gates, utilising his newly enhanced appariation skills, Jareth saw the approach of another carriage. Hopefully another of his sisters - hopefully a sister who he could accurately identify.
"My beloved sister Tatyana," Jareth had two of his long elegant fingers twisted behind his back as he spoke her name.
"Tatyana? You must be joking befuddled brother, I'm Anastasia, the comical one, do you not remember the time I threw Lasander's treasured compendium of epic poetry into the wastes? Oh happy days! I don't look like that old fudge Tatya do I? Gimme a hand down will you?" Jareth warily proffered his hand which received a not to subtle electric shock from an apparatus hidden in her gloves – Jareth was thoroughly confused. Anastasia was indeed supremely different to Olga and indeed Tatayana, as he would later discover. Whereas Olga had been gowned in an elaborate Scarlet gown, exquisitely embroidered and cut with streamlined efficiency, Anastasia was exhibiting very male attire, breeches and a waistcoat not dissimilar to her brothers, despite her appearance, she possessed a husband, having been married at what would comparatively be around thirteen years of age to a count from a distant province, some Elvin court, judging by the angular nature of his features. After chatting gaily to her brother for a time she retired to her rooms.
Tatyana and Maria followed, with Jareth some how managing to mistake both their names, for Tatyana, it was referring to her as Titania, an endearment that resulted in a strike over the ears and a cry of 'insolent boy!' Tatyana had a nature similar to that of a school mistress – strict and severe, and ingrained with a bitter contempt for Jareth, his actions, policy etc. etc. Maria proved to be of an entirely opposing nature – sweet and kindly, and possessing her mother's robust health and fullness of face. After informing her of her sister Marina's inability to attend ('she's pregnant, again! How many would that make it, fifteen?') she had kissed him and been gracious – thanking him for the invitation and bringing tokens of appreciation, namely a new pendant and several slaves for which he was deeply appreciative – one was always in need of more slaves – especially when events in the kitchen could be likened to the battle of Waterloo.
Down in the bowels of the castle, chaos reigned supreme in the kitchens. The imported equestrian chef, who had passed the greater portion of the day in befuddled wonderment, was cowering behind a side unit, as Weech prowled every corner, meat cleaver held aloft, blade glinting in the flickering lamp light, eagerly searching for the potential ingredient that was sure to add an exotic flavour to her main course.
After having tried to introduce the concept of 'seasoning' to her perceptions, relations had turned sour, an argument carried in at least 4 different language and 34 different dialects had commenced, with screaming and cursing that could be heard it was said, in the outer reaches of the kingdom.
Blissfully unaware of the murderous state of affairs in the bowels of the castle, Jareth's guests were arriving in their dozens. Stable Goblins ran frantically to tame bucking, foaming mouthed horses, half wild with exhaustion. Ushers and porters were present to handle luggage and pleasantries as Jareth had not the time to deal with others now. Sarah called, her frustration and resentment toward the infant was building, the words were now pressed in her memory. Jareth could manipulate dreams, but he could only manipulate and distort existing dreams – and dreams were something Sarah had in great quantity. In her dreams Sarah was without exception the princess in the fairytale – and Jareth would spend hours close to her thoughts, with her in her fairy tales, murmuring the words into her ear, ordering her to speak them.
The time was drawing near.
Wow, if you've got here, well done! That was the longest chapter I've ever written for anything. It seemed to go on and on, it was originally going to be longer than this, untill I realised that would be unworkable and decided to give the ball a chapter of it's own. Oh yes, and the use of lenient as a plot point is because up untill recently, I thought lenient meant strict, it was rather funny when I found out it meant the opposite!
Oh yes, I've come up with title's for the sequels and other projects I have on, 'Thursday's Child' will be the name of the main 'sequel' (it will not be a direct sequel) 'Slipping though my Fingers' (about Linda (Sarah's mother) and Sarah) and 'How it feels to fail' (set immediately after the end of this.) If any of you have any opinions on any of these titles, I'd love to hear them!
Anyway, onto reviewers:
notwritten - Glad you like it. Keep with it, not that many chapters before the finish now! I hope you like this chapter!
Irresistable Malaria - Phew, it's nice to see one of my old reviewers back again! I'm glad you found that funny, the name just came to me out of the blue when I's writing charecter descriptions, and I thought I'd use it in the story. Hope you enjoy this chapter!
Anyway, please, please review, they really help!
EXTRA DISCLAIMER: Weech the great cook does not belong to me, that charecter is lifted directly from Goblins of the Labyrinth and belongs to Brian Froud and Terry Jones, she's so funny though, had to include her somewhere!