A/N: Sorry for the delay. I was really not pleased with the original chapter that was here, and took it upon myself to improve upon it until I could stand to look at it again. As a result, Chapter Nine got a facelift, as well. If you haven't checked it out, please do. All the improvements on it are superficial, so you really aren't missing anything if you decide not to backtrack, but it's there all the same.
I hope you enjoy this chapter much more than the old one. I know I do. Thank you for your patience!
Fable
It is a rare thing in a goblin's life to become intimately acquainted with a Challenger. Challengers, after all, are foreign, smell like old cheese, and most likely carriers of dreadful diseases that are passed on in the most embarrassing fashion (I mean, really. Ever been bit by a Challenger before? It's not something you would want to go out bragging about. And then there's that particularly nasty one that is brought about by -gulp- washing one's hands...) Sure, non-goblin residents of the Labyrinth's many halls may come across the odd human trying to get to the castle and find themselves dragged kicking and screaming along for the ride, but for an actual goblin to become involved... unheard of!
Stories were passed along through their grimy generations about the horrors and shame that accompanying a Challenger brings, and, as a result, goblins thoroughly opposed helping Challengers of any kind. In fact, when news of a Challenger reached the shanty town of the Goblin City, many would spring into action to stop the Challenger (usually by finding a nice little hidey-hole to bunk down in until the worst was passed.) So for a ragtag group of non-goblins to have news of a Challenger who not only treated them as equals, but actually finished the Labyrinth within the allotted time AND THEN had invited them all back to her place for a lively party that may or may not include a healthy amount of finger foods and confetti... well, it sounded far too good to be true. And to some (namely, the ones who lost at Scrabble that night) it was, but to others, it was a turning point in Goblin History.
The human Sarah Williams was A-O-K.
Goblin Legend then elbowed Goblin History in the kidneys, and dragged it to the farthest corner of the Labyrinth while it was doubled over in pain, and welcomed Sarah Williams into it's wide (if not slightly smudged) arms while History wasn't looking.
It became an honor to aid the Challengers – and ultimately the downfall of the children that were being held as prizes. The incidents of goblins leading Challengers to oubliettes or even the Bog became more and more numerous, often ending with the goblin in question peering down the dark shaft and wondering exactly when the party was going to be.
The more courageous (read, younger and stupider) goblins would make the treacherous journey to the Aboveground to spy upon the curiosity of the original Winner. They would return with the tales of their victories over the strange creature of the bright, cold stomach, and the surprisingly tasty feet of things that would feed upon humans (but must not digest very quickly, because the humans kept getting out again.) At any rate, these stories soon petered out after the human Sarah Williams began scolding them for raiding the "ri-freeg-a-ray-tore" and letting the air out of the "tie-rers" of her alpha male human's "caw." A select few set up camp in her room, determined to keep it safe until she returned from whatever foreign place she was conquering at the moment. Unfortunately, the shaggy, grey and white beast would find them and chase them around the house, making a godforsaken racket that resulted in the giants of the house nearly finding them.
But the human Sarah Williams never got mad when they stuffed the sinks with the discarded socks of the alpha male giant or drew crude pictures on the walls with the alpha female giant's tubes of colored grease. In fact, her reaction was far beyond their tiny minds to comprehend. After all, their King would hardly put up with half the mischief that they so loved to indulge in. No, this Sarah Williams would react in a way that was not normal.
She would laugh.
Laugh.
Laugh and laugh and laugh until the tears ran down her cheeks and she could barely breath to the point that they would consider panicking for all of ten seconds before a shiny object would sparkle and she would be left to fend for herself. She would bring them little treats until she soon hosted a treasure trove of the goodies under her bed. Animal crackers, pretty beads, bits of colored string, feathers – these were far too precious to risk bringing to the Goblin City! Plus, she would tell them stories. She would tell them about the girl in the red cape who outwitted a wolf, and the prince who was a frog, and even the one about Many Furs.
And in exchange for her generosity, they would grant her small favors – like tying the shoelaces of the boy who made her cry together under the lunch table, or by filling the lockers of the girls who would ostracize her with bits of rotten fruit and garbage. It would only serve them right, after all, for underestimating the power of the Girl who Remembers.
The Golden Time had to pass, as all things do, and she left them to travel to a far away place. But she came back, much, much sooner than she had said she would. Which was good, because something bad was going on. They could smell it.
There was more magic in the air than normal. A strange magic at that. The kind of magic that could twist their noses and curl their toes. Some of the littler goblins even began to go missing. Of course, His Majesty wasn't too happy when he found out about that. So when he called for an assembly of goblins to become her personal bodyguards, Alger Ot was more than happy to accept the great privilege of watching over the famous Sarah Williams, hoping that he too could share in the magical stories she would tell and even taste one of those round and rubbery feet he had heard so much about.
What he had not planned on, was the troll.
Now he found himself scurrying through the trees, running for his meager, excuse for a life. (It might have not been much, but at least it was his!) The troll was a greatly unwanted sight – he had bolted as soon as he had realized exactly it was that had been previously living under that godforsaken bridge, and hopefully the others had managed to get away, too. Keep an eye on the girl, sure, but he wasn't about to risk his own skin! They didn't give him enough grit cake for that!
He slashed at some leaves that were in his way and vaulted over a fallen tree. Now if only he could find a nice hidey-hole that he could bunk down into until the worst was over! Or even better yet, find his way back to the Underground! It was far too green here, anyway. Plants were overrated.
"Did you see that?"
"See what?"
Alger dove under a bush, peering up at the skinny legs that stomped through the tiny wilderness. Where in the name of the Bog had they come from?! They were giants! Even if they were only little giants, his well-being was in more danger than bargained for. He held his breath.
"I thought there was something here..."
"You've been listening to Ms. Williams too much, Em."
"But I saw it!"
The sneakers continued on, leaving Alger to contemplate whether or not moving was a good idea. The first few days of shadowing the human Sarah Williams had been as boring as watching mud dry, but he was beginning to miss it. Now he had to be the bearer of bad news when he finally made it back to the Labyrinth, and everyone knows what they do to messengers. In the King's case, it was a quick dip in the Bog and a long stay on the outskirts of the 'Rinth.
But it was quiet. The giants had moved on. He peered out from under the broad leaves, bulbous eyes darting back and forth.
Looked safe enough.
He crept out of his hiding space, carefully examining his surroundings carefully and confirming that niggling little thought that banged around under his leather headpiece. There were no handy landmarks poking up above the walls. The sun was the wrong color, and there wasn't nearly enough dust in the air. Which lead to a simple conclusion.
He was lost.
"Look! There it is!"
"It's a goblin! Catch it!"
Crashing footsteps erupted from behind him, and he shrieked, tearing off through the shrubbery. He zigged and zagged and even corkscrewed a few times, but he couldn't shake them. Ducking behind a tree trunk, he tried to stop the rising swell of panic. Unfortunately, a twig snapped to his left, and he looked up just in time to see a black hole descending upon him.
Everything went dark.
ooOOoo
All was not well in the land of the Goblin King. Sarah was being spirited away back to the Aboveground, accompanied by the stoic figure of Ivory. This left Jareth to pace his study irritably as Hoggle looked on.
"She can't possibly appear out of nowhere! Where in God's name did she come from?!"
"I'm tellin' ya! I don't know!"
"If you are lying to me Higgle..."
Hoggle panicked in the only way he knew how. Pathetically and with an abundance of run-on sentences. It was at this point that Jareth tuned out. If he had a silver piece for every time that the dwarf had fallen into a twitching sack of goo at his feet...
"Oh, do be quiet," The floor of the study was crossed easily with a few steps and he stared out the window uneasily. It was all getting to be far too... coincidental. First, Finvarra's obvious meddling with the lives of the Williams household. How he hadn't noticed that until now was beyond him. But then, he was dealing with the Fairy King – nothing that creature could do would ever be called typical. It could only have been Ava that dragged Sarah here through the pathways to the Labyrinth – which meant that something happened to put her in danger. Which pointed straight to the Fairy King.
But it had been made perfectly clear that the King was willing to win the girl over, be it by treachery or not. But... why? She had never been of any use to him before, whatever magic her imagination could conjure, he already held – so why the sudden fascination?
Far to the right side of the labyrinth, walls were rearranging themselves. His eyes narrowed. Someone was walking the path to the orchards. The orchards were restricted. Everyone knew that.
Why, oh WHY, was everyone challenging his authority today?
Someone was going to pay.
Hoggle's tirade slowed and quieted as Jareth stormed to the door, grabbing his cloak along the way and slamming the door behind him. The dwarf blinked once, then twice.
"Well, that went better than planned."
"Huh? Where'd you come from?"
The mouse-like goblin popped his head out of the treasure pouch and scanned the room, "Help me find a pencil. I want to record this while it's still fresh."
"What?"
Dashe carefully extracted himself from the tangle of necklaces that choked the drawstring-opening, then dove to the soft carpet, scampering to the desk and scaling the legs of the intricately carved chair. He tugged at a drawer uselessly, "Help me find a pencil! How am I supposed to draw without one? Flek chewed my last to bits – A-HA!" The drawer finally gave half an inch and he squirmed inside, tail flicking back and forth.
Hoggle approached the desk warily as an abundance of shifting and clicking emanated from within its drawers. He had heard about this one – and not all of it good. Dashe was known for being quick with a picture, and they weren't all that flattering. His series on "The Irritation of His Majesty" was an underground sensation in the Goblin City, as well as an instant death sentence for any creature found possessing a copy of the comically exaggerated portraits. They were often passed around in the pub after a few pints. Some of the more daring goblins had them tattooed across their chests. Some of the dumber goblins had them tattooed across their backsides.
There was even a rumor that His Majesty had imprisoned Dashe in a mug for a month because of one of the drawings the tiny creature made. What the picture was of, however, was a mystery. Skid and Skad, the troublemakers, had attempted breaking into his private chambers once the curiosity of it all became too much for them, but all they got for their trouble was a sentence of cleaning out all the lavatories in the castle for the next hundred thousand years.
"Er... are ya sure you should be diggin' around in his stuff like that?"
"No worries," The tiny voice was muffled by the thick wood, "I've done this a hundred times," A veritable storm of paper flew out of the cracks in the desk, and Hoggle held up an arm to protect himself, "Do me a favor and catch this stuff, will you? It'll get us both out of here faster."
Good point. His Majesty had a short memory when it came to anyone in his quarters.
Hoggle scooped up the sheets as the tiny goblin began to wriggle out of the desk drawer, hind end first. His short, stubby tail waggled from side to side as he worked the length of the, surprisingly modern, pencil from the depths of its resting place. With a few final tugs, the pencil was freed, sending Dashe and the pencil itself tumbling arse over teakettle to the floor. Dashe squeaked with the impact, but was back on his feet before Hoggle could ask if he was alright.
He dragged the unwieldy length of the writing utensil to a sheet of paper that had landed nearby and pulled it upright, steadying himself on his haunches. Sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth, he began to throw down a quick sketch.
The pencil flew in front of Hoggle's eyes and soon he found himself looking at a fairly accurate portrayal of the confrontation between Sarah and His Majesty that had happened not five minutes ago.
"Put this on the desk, and let's get outta here!"
Hoggle couldn't find it in him to protest.