Chapter 13
Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The
transgression is in the stealer. (Much Ado About Nothing, II.i)
Once Jareth had given her the directions and had disappeared, Sarah sat down on the bench and relieved her lacerated nerves with a good cry. As she sat there, hiccupping and sniffing in the aftermath, she almost wished aloud for a box of tissues. Her sleeves were not great substitutes and her hands were covered with slightly greasy salve. She dug her hands into the pockets of her jacket and was surprised to find a clean white cotton handkerchief in the left pocket.
She looked at it suspiciously. She had never carried a handkerchief in her life, and, she suddenly remembered, her pockets had been completely empty earlier when she searched for something to wipe the blood off her face after her tangle with the thorn bush. She glared at the white square.
"If Jareth thinks that giving me a measly little handkerchief is going to make up for the shitty way he has been treating me, he can forget it," she informed it crossly. Then she wiped her eyes and blew her nose and set off for the Western Gate.
She encountered zero resistance from the Labyrinth and reached the gate in much less time than she had expected. It was almost as though it was waiting for her to arrive because it opened of its own accord when she approached. Sarah didn't pause to question it, but stepped on through and surveyed the vast plain which stretched out before her.
Follow the path, Jareth had said. She looked at the faint trail that ran through the tall grass toward the western horizon and grimaced.
"Well, feet, time to get moving."
By mid-afternoon, she was having trouble ignoring the hunger. Last time she'd been finished running the Labyrinth inside ten hours and hadn't really had time to think too much about being hungry.
This time, however, it was rather more difficult. Walking along an open plain with no company to distract her and the only thing to look at the grass and the sky-well, it wasn't very distracting. She was resting in the tiny patch of shade afforded by a lonely stunted tree, when Jareth faded into view on the path.
"Oh," she said, her displeasure evident in her voice, "It's you."
He smiled slightly. "Miss me?"
"I really haven't had the time," she replied wearily. She had begun feeling faint and rather dizzy in the last hour or so and Jareth's attempt at banter was quite underwhelming. She pushed herself up off the ground and swayed, only a little, but enough that he noticed. She felt his eyes on her but refused to look at him.
"Hungry, Sarah?"
"Not at all," she lied.
"Truly?" He asked. "So a basket of ham sandwiches, apples, and cider would be completely unwelcome?"
"Quite."
Her stomach chose that moment to growl audibly.
"At least your stomach tells the truth," Jareth laughed. The basket in question suddenly popped into existence on the ground in front of her and she nearly stumbled over it. She glared at him.
"Come now, Sarah, sit down. Eat."
"How do I know it's not drugged?"
"You had no problem eating the breakfast I left in your room yesterday morning," he commented. "What makes you think that I would start feeding you drugged sandwiches now?"
Sarah refused to answer. Their last conversation sprang to mind. How could she possibly trust him after what he had done?
Jareth sighed. "The food is neither drugged or poisoned. Here, I'll prove it to you." He pulled back the linen cloth with covered the basket and pulled out a thick ham sandwich. Sarah could smell the smoky cured ham and the butter and the fresh bread and. . . She felt her mouth watering. Jareth took a bite of the sandwich and chewed with relish. "Delicious," he pronounced. "Have some." He held the sandwich out to her.
"There's no proof in that," she protested. "After all, you could just counteract any poison with your magic."
Jareth shrugged. "Your choice." Then both he and the basket vanished.
Sarah fell to her knees and squeezed her eyes tightly shut to stop the tears of hunger and frustration from rolling down her cheeks.
An hour later, she was contemplating eating some of the grass which lined the path. It would fill her aching stomach and surely it had to have some nutritive value? After all, cows and horses managed on it. She stopped walking and stood looking at a particularly lush patch of green.
"Grass as a food source is highly over-rated."
The chuckle came out of nowhere, and Sarah jumped and screeched, "Stop doing that!"
She whirled round to find Jareth lounging on a convenient rock a few feet away. Had, she wondered suddenly as she tried get her heartbeat back under control, that rock been there before? Or had he magicked it there just so that he could casually lean on it?
"What aquiline accents!" He commented and then, to her surprise, recited Titania's lines to Bottom:
"I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee."
He had begun the speech in a teasing manner, but his voice and face had turned unusually sincere as he came to the end. Their eyes met and held and Sarah felt as though some strange energy ran between them. She felt her heart flutter in her throat. Jareth's eyes took on an arrested expression and he took a step toward her. Sarah found herself staring up into his hypnotic, mismatched eyes, and saw his glance flicker to her mouth. Her's somehow, without her volition, followed suit, and Jareth's head bent closer and-her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.
Both of them blinked and looked away.
Sarah's eye fell upon the basket. She walked over and picked it up, pulling back the cloth.
"How do I know they're not drugged?" She asked again, her mouth watering at the smell of fresh baked bread and cured ham which wafted up at her. Her stomach convulsed and growled again.
Jareth sighed and smiled wryly, "I'm afraid you are going to have to trust me, Sarah."
"Damn."
He laughed with genuine amusement at her reaction. "Just eat the food, Stubborn Sarah. How will you defeat the lecherous Goblin King if you faint from hunger before you finish his quest?" He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively and she choked back a giggle.
She wondered aloud, "Why are you helping me? Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of the whole quest?"
"Helping?" he replied, "Oh but this isn't helping. This is only being fair."
She rolled her eyes.
"Besides," he added, "I prefer that my opponents provide me with a certain amount of diversion before they lose. There's no entertainment to be had in watching you starve yourself to death."
She glared at him as she sunk down to the ground to sit cross-legged and then reached into the basket.
A few moments later, she opened her eyes to find Jareth still sitting on his convenient rock and watching her with a strange expression on his face.
"What?" She mumbled through another huge bite. "Haven't you ever seen someone eat before?"
"It's been awhile since I've seen anyone eat with such intense . . . pleasure."
She detected the note in his voice which usually heralded a salacious comment and groaned with annoyance,
"I'm very hungry, Jareth. And you are distracting me from the food. Either shut up or go away again."
When she opened her eyes after savouring the next succulent bite of ham, she found him still there, lounging on the ground now, with his back against the rock, one leg bent up in front of him, the other stretched out straight ahead.
Huh, she thought, the Goblin King listening to her? Would wonders never cease? Then she uncapped a bottle of the cider and forgot about him.
About half an hour later, replete and happy, Sarah sighed gustily. She lay back on the grass, one arm across her eyes to shield them from the sun, and drifted off to sleep.