Goblin Knot
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Flippancy of Frogs
Bats are accomplished fliers. The smallest move faster than the eye can follow, taking moths on the wing and flying into the hair of small children to amuse themselves- a unique style of animal shadenfraude that no parent will ever admit to knowing about, no matter how patiently explained to them by their child on the other side of a locked bathroom door.
Yet no amount of frenetic flapping could out-manoeuvre the silent horror which now pursued them. It tore through the startled Underground colony as easily as tissue-paper, scattering bats in every direction so that the very air became a churning mass of confusion and desperation. In the resulting chaos, supper most obligingly flew into Jareth's open talons, where it was then dispatched with polite efficiency.
Perching on a broken stalagmite, Jareth clicked his beak with satisfaction, his head swivelling upwards to stare at the shrieking colony. He was going to shred this bat in front of its former friends and relations, and would enjoy it immensely. Given time, the Goblin King was confident he could teach Sarah to love the hunt as much as he did, to revel in the thrill of the chase and its glorious end.
Swallowing a scrap of something that may have been a wing, Jareth ruffled his feathers and fell to preening his chest. Sarah would be splendid, he knew, daintily dealing out death with a grace all of her own making. Pulling out a beakful of downy fluff, he idly dropped it, watching it fall gently before landing on the filthy cave floor.
With time, he was sure he could instruct Sarah to savour the Underground's innumerable delights, to relish them as much as he did her. All she needed was a little push in the right direction. Launching awkwardly into the air, Jareth swept out of the cave, weaving seamlessly through a dripping forest of ancient stalactites. Beneath the shrill screams of the bats, a keen ear could discern the dull roar of an underground river, buried beneath centuries of mud and guano.
It suddenly occurred to Jareth, in this feathered form, that Sarah might soon enjoy little presents of mice and bats, particularly when she began nesting. The few male owls he had encountered Aboveground were very adamant about this point of etiquette. To the lady owl, nothing is quite so romantic as a low-pitched trill outside her tree hollow, promptly followed by half a dozen dead mice raining down on her head.
Cresting a warm updraught, Jareth's telescopic eyes mapped the ground below with perfect clarity; the dead trees standing sentinel beyond the crumbling edges of the Labyrinth, the startled rabbits darting away through sprawling blackberry thickets, the naked version of his human form swimming backstroke in the Castle's fountain.
Hissing, the owl banked sharply across the garden's neatly trimmed hedges, cloak rippling in place of wings. Instead of his usual landing of elvish delicacy, Jareth met the earth violently, grass burning beneath the soles of his boots. Disgustedly, he stomped over to the fountain, witnessing a particularly impressive tumble-turn in shallow water.
"Oi!" shouted Jareth, seizing a frog from a nearby lily-pad and hurling it at the imposter's face. "Who the flying flip are you?" The frog connected with a wet squelch, before it was delicately peeled off by a hand remarkably similar to Jareth's own. It even had the scar on its wrist from the day he crushed the infamously bloody Poultry Mutiny, three hundred years ago.
Locating another frog, Jareth hurled it with equal venom. "Answer me," he commanded, rage crackling in the air.
Pulling an affronted frog from its ear, the replicae splashed into a sitting position, meeting Jareth's piercing stare with friendly animosity. It could have been Jareth's twin, had Jareth been stretched on rack, beaten with a lead pipe, then left to soak in a laundry sink for a few weeks- until his colour faded and he began to smell a little peculiar.
"...Jellyfish," said the doppelganger, in a high falsetto.
Already loaded with a fresh frog, Jareth wavered. "What?"
"Three jellyfish," expanded the replicae helpfully. Pausing, its distorted impression of Jareth's face frowned, deliberating intently. "Sitting on a rock," it ended, nodding with self-satisfaction.
Feeling the slight weight of the slippery frog in his hand, Jareth flung it over his shoulder and began searching for a heavier projectile. Like a toad.
"Acting demented won't help you escape a bogging," he said flatly. "If anything, it's a prerequisite."
"One fell off," sang the replicae, to the tune of Three Blind Mice. "Aww... Two jellyfish-"
The song suddenly stopped, not because the words had been forgotten, but because the replicae now found a cantankerous brown toad had been plastered across its mouth. The toad, resenting being pressed (quite literally) into royal service, began to ooze odorous green slime.
"If you open your craw again, I will be forced to remove all of your vital organs and replace them them with salamanders. Which quite frankly is exceedingly rude on your part, when one considers we'd then have a dire amphibian shortage."
Scraping off the toad, the replicae tossed it overhead, into the fountain's upper basin. Slime continued to dribble down an exact copy of Jareth's chin.
"What are you?" said the Goblin King, folding his arms across his chest.
Looking pleased with itself, the replicae did the same.
"Stop that. I demand to know who made you."
The replicae spat slime from its mouth, but then reconsidered speaking. Instead, it gravely raised one hand in a universal signal of contempt, conveying a wish that Jareth become intimately... acquainted with himself.
"I see," said the Goblin King silkily. "Well, as you seem rather apt at this 'swimming' lark, let's see how you fare with bog mud, shall we?" Jareth smiled, making the vast, frozen ice-shelves of the Southern Ocean seem warm and inviting by comparison. "You'll start right at the very bottom, I think. In chains. Without a snorkel."
The replicae stared blankly.
"You wait here like a good chap while I pop inside and find some lovely manacles for you. With charming, rusted spikes on the inside. Doesn't that sound nice?"
The replicae looked far from convinced, but remained where it was.
"That's the ticket, old fellow," cooed Jareth. "I won't be a moment."
Pulling his cloak from his shoulders, he neatly folded it over an arm, resisting an impulse to skip merrily towards the kitchen door. This was going to be a splendid evening. First, a long overdue bogging. Secondly, a wash and change of clothes- principally to remove the smell and taste of bat clinging to his person. Then he'd saunter up silently behind Sarah, slip a wandering hand around her waist, and whisper several suggestive somethings into her ear.
Jareth wasn't stupid. He knew how storybook endings played out- the manicured prince on his pedicured horse snaffles the princess with barely a, "Hello, my name is-". The villain gets bugger all- is banished to the forest or the mountains or the bottom of the deep green sea forever and always. That's of course if he hasn't already been horribly murdered by the prince, who covers up the dirty deed by singing a romantic ballad or two.
Jareth could understand Sarah's wariness of him. For years, she must have thought him cold, unfeeling... villainous. Admittedly, he hadn't helped matters when he threw that snake at her, so long ago. But how was he to know she wouldn't like it? He was raised by goblins, and that was simply what you did when you saw A Girl You Fancied.
Shouldering open the heavy wooden door, Jareth strode into the kitchen and dropped his cloak over the back of a chair. Inside, it was was warm and dark, the fire in the oven burning low. Quiet, too. So very quiet.
Sarah must have gone to bed, Jareth decided. And look, here on the floor- a splattered trail of dripping candle wax. Replicae forgotten, tidy-up postponed, Jareth began to climb the stairs leading to the castle's main living quarters, unbuttoning his coat as he went.
Everything had changed. Sarah knew what he was- oh, he was certain she held no delusions about thatany more. Arrogant, preening, and vindictive. She saw all of that, and still wanted to make him cups of tea and call him out on his blatant untruths. He had seen her mouth curve sweetly, her sidelong glances when she thought he wasn't looking. Part of her wanted to want him, of that he was certain.
Reaching the landing of his bedchamber, Jareth paused. The wax trail did not vanish beneath the door as he was expecting, but continued steadily up the stairs, spiralling away out of sight.
Jareth's blood burned with cold, vicious fury.
Everything had changed.
Sarah had run away.
a/n: It will please you to know that no frogs were harmed during the writing of this chapter. I can't say the same for toads though- their union is rubbish at negotiating employment contracts.
Did you enjoy Chapter 26? Please share your thoughts! :D
It was a nice way to end a long, hard slog through second semester.
No more deadlines.
No more stress.
No more, "Darling, we love you- no, really, but don't you think you've had enough coffee?" (I was making into a syrup and pouring it onto cake in a fit of manic genius, but that's rather beside the point).
A world in which one can luxuriate in writing and coffee and music is a fine thing indeed.
Have a splendid weekend m'lovelies!
Cheers. :D