Chapter 20
Sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye,
Steal me awhile from mine own company. (A Midsummer Night's Dream, )
A knock at the door Jareth had only just closed startled him. When he opened it, he found a short, rather plump, woman who looked to be in her late fifties. Her silver-white hair was cut in a short bob, and she wore a green and brown tweed and white blouse with a green cardigan clasped with a silver broach in the shape of a toadstool. She blinked when she looked up and saw who had answered Sarah's door.
"Oh," she said, looking confused, "I was looking for Sarah? Sarah Williams?" She looked at the door number and then at the piece of paper in her hand. "Maybe I have the wrong number? Or the wrong building? How strange. I was so careful about writing it down too."
"This is Sarah's . . . abode. She is not here, however."
The woman looked disappointed. "Oh, she has a book that she wanted me to look at for her. A rare first-edition-Anonymous-if I recollect correctly. . . She wondered if I would evaluate it and see if I could discover its provenance."
He wasn't exactly sure what the protocols were for visitors to other people's dwellings. He stepped back and was going to apologize and close the door; however, the woman seemed to take his movement out of the doorway as an invitation to come in and before he knew it she was puttering about Sarah's apartment, shuffling papers on the desk and searching the crowded bookcase looking for the elusive first-edition.
Jareth tried to protest, but she brushed off his attempts with airy waves of her hands. "Oh Sarah wouldn't mind. She and I are old friends-fellow bibliophiles, in fact. We never stand on ceremony with each other."
He was about to pull rank on her and show this officious poke-nose who was Goblin King and who was not, when she turned to him and said benevolently, "Oh please, my dear, do sit down. You look about worn out. I'll make us a cup of tea. I could use some myself. I know where Sarah keeps her tea things, so don't you worry about coming to help me. You just sit right down there. Maybe even close your eyes for a tick. I won't be more than a few minutes."
He didn't know how she did it but he found himself obeying her suggestion and listening to the homely sounds of a kettle being filled and cups set out in the other room.
He sat there and wondered what could be wrong with him. He felt strangely lethargic and his usually boundless energy seemed non-existent. He found it difficult to stay focused or even to think about what he should do next. His feet hurt.
"Here," The woman's voice at his elbow startled him out of his reverie. She handed him a mug. "Drink this, it will do you good." She sat down in the chair opposite him, her own cup in hand.
He brought the mug up to his nose and sniffed its contents. The floral aroma of the tea was surprisingly delightful. He took a sip. It was not an unpleasant flavour either. He drank it slowly and found when it was gone, that he did, in fact, feel better.
He looked up to find the woman's smiling gaze upon him. "You know, " she said, "In all my bustle to try and find that book and then the tea, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Tania Feyling and I-" He interrupted. "You taught Sarah about old books and manuscripts."
The woman laughed with surprise. "Yes, but how did you know?"
Jareth swallowed the last drop of tea in his cup and tried to think of a plausible answer. He couldn't tell her he had spied on Sarah as an owl and seen them together. "She. . . told me that you inspired her to begin her career."
"Oh, how nice." The woman took a sip of tea and said archly, "But Sarah never told me about you. And I am very curious about you. I've told you my name, but I have yet to hear yours."
"I am Jareth, the-" he paused and tried to think of something to call himself other than 'Jareth, the Goblin King'. "Jareth Fenn."
"What an interesting name. I don't think I've ever heard that variant of Gareth before. I also dabble a bit in onomastics-the study of names, you know, and I'm always thrilled to encounter new variants. Did you know that your last name comes from the Old English word for a bog or marsh?" She chattered on in this way for several minutes.
Jareth sat listening, but unhearing. His mind wandered.
She spoke his name.
He started and felt his heart pounding in his throat. He tried to speak, to ask her to leave, but then he felt a wave of pure exhaustion sweep over him. He fought it, felt the next wave sweep through, and then the next, and it was all he could do not to get lost in the undertow. He looked up desperately at the woman sitting in the chair across from him. She was smiling at him in a way that caused chills to run up his spine. It seemed to him as through her outline quivered and shifted. He blinked, trying to force his recalcitrant eyes to focus, and then-then a fiercely beautiful woman sat in Sarah's dingy armchair. She looked as young and as old as Time itself. Her ebony face was framed by pale hair which seemed to be made of spiraling moonbeams and her eyes were dark as night, but their depths seemed to glitter with silver stars.
He stared.
"You?" He barely spoke the word. He felt as though all breath had been drawn out of him and he was on the verge of fainting.
"Ah, I see you know who I am," she smiled in a way that should have been comforting but wasn't. "Well, I also know you, King of the Goblins, and of your quest. You seek Sarah here, but here she is not. Ddrysfa has tricked you and has sent Sarah to the land of the Oneiroi. Go now and seek her there." As she spoken these words, she rose from the chair, towering over Jareth, who sat on the sofa, unable to move. She smiled again. "I will give you a word of advice, little brother: do not underestimate her power." With that, she reached out a hand and pulled reality about her like a cloak and vanished from his sight.
Darkness swirled around him, his eyes fell closed, and then for a time, he knew nothing.