Sarah had wound her damp hair into a bun and tied it off with a strip torn from the bottom of her ruined shirt. She had sneaked a little of the King's makeup to touch up the bags under her eyes and pale cheeks. Howl returned with a very familiar white dress with puffed sleeves.
"I should have known," she grumbled, but couldn't keep the fond smile off her face. She shimmied into it and Howl complained about the silly fiddly buttons at her back.
"No, I refuse! Every second button will hold just fine!" he finished the chore with accompanying frustrated muttering in Welsh. He marched over to the King's wardrobe and returned with a midnight blue shawl that he folded into a triangle and draped over her shoulders.
"Here, this will cover it."
Sarah sat on the edge of the bath pulling on her sneakers.
"Very fetching," Howl remarked sardonically.
"I could go barefoot, but I might have to kick someone, so I thought, be prepared."
"You think the ambassador will be that bad?"
"You never know? Jareth certainly was!"
They both inspected the King who was now truly asleep in his bed.
"He's really ill," Sarah whispered, worried. "Look after him?"
Howl ran a hand through his hair.
"I can't believe I'm doing this, he owes me a huge favour."
"Thanks, cousin."
Sarah wandered out into the room with the fireplace and the map and found several delegations of goblins, some crowded on the table, others sitting by the fire, and yet others occupying the four chairs that had been dragged to the side of the room under the map. She glanced at it and swayed on her feet. Several areas glowed, not urgently, but distinctly making her aware there were issues to be seen to in those parts of the kingdom.
She clutched her head and groaned.
"Is Queen!" one of the goblins shouted and she was instantly mobbed. Hundreds of eager little hands reached up to touch her and jostled for place around her.
"This is most unseemly, desist this instant!"
Sarah was never so glad for Sir Didymus in her life.
"One at a time!"
"Not now," Sarah cut in sharply. A scramble to form a snake like queue around the room soon dissolved into a huddle with goblins fighting to be in the front. They paused for a second.
"If I'm Queen of the Labyrinth, could I send you all off to an oubliette?"
There were instant choruses of "yes," hastily hushed and drowned out by the more intelligent yet no less subtle, that told her "not exactly."
"Ah, then why are you all here? Jareth needs a rest day. He sent me out to deal with this elf that's arrived."
A whiny chorus of 'that elf' erupted and they soon separated into their groups once more. One lot were complaining about how the elf had turned the goblin grog into overly sweet elf wine. Another group complained he ordered them about and they were kitchen staff, not general servants. The third group produced a grubby scroll, poorly rolled, with the contract the elf wanted to negotiate on it. The fourth reported what they thought the worst misdemeanour in scandalised tones.
"He's sitting on Kingy's throne!"
"Chased all the chickens out of the throne room!"
"Threw nasty elf magic around!"
"We can't have that," Sarah declared.
She inspected the scroll. It wasn't in any language she could read. That would make things easier.
She tucked it under her arm and waved for the goblins to lead the way.
They took her a different route through the Esher room and she came out into the throne room through the back wall. The place was oddly quiet, far too clean and empty. She could see several goblins peeking out from behind pot plants that had not been there the last time she had been there. Jareth's throne was now draped with a flowing damask cloth of deep green velvet. On the throne, lounging back like a regal king, sat what had been described as an elf. Sarah stared. He was like human, but not quite, rather like the difference between a cat and a lion. They were both shaped like cats, but the lion simply held power. This elf was slender, yet exquisitely beautiful in an alien, androgynous way. He, she assigned him the gender as the goblins had been using it, wore a gold embroidered green robe reminding her of spring leaves. From the knee down it was split at the sides, with dark green trousers beneath, tucked into his black boots. He wore so many rings he could use them for knuckle-dusters. A pendant made of a series of three small crystal orbs hung around his neck. His hair was paler than Jareth's yet he had the same striking blue eyes. Where Jareth's held mischief and passion, his only were disdainful and cold. She could see the muscles corded in his bare forearms, where the loose robe sleeves fell back to his elbows, and wondered if Jareth were half-elf, his lithe form and colouring were almost the same.
"Hello," she said cheerfully as she crossed the room. "Who are you?"
"What," he replied in very accented English, "are you?"
"I'm me!" she smiled at him and swept across to the throne. "You can call me Queen if you like. Do you have a name?"
She walked up the steps to the throne and plumped herself down beside him.
He drew away as if she'd bathed in the bog. She sniffed the sleeve of her gown.
"I did wash before coming!"
"You're a mortal!" he sounded scandalised.
"Yeah! You're an elf. Pointy ears and all! So, mister elf, what's this all about then? I can't read it!"
She handed him the scroll and then settled back to clasp the orb Jareth had given her in her hands.
He held the grubby scroll away from himself yet his eyes fixed on the orb.
"So Jareth is around, send him out. I have no patience for his games."
"No. He's busy. He thought he'd send me to get a summary of the high points and an estimate of all the twisty little tricks you're trying to lug our Kingdom with and then to tell you to take a hike."
The elf's jaw dropped. He had pointier teeth than Jareth.
"Our kingdom?"
"Well, not yours, mine and Jareth's?"
"He married a mortal?" the elf croaked in utter horror.
"Do I look satisfied? Nope plenty of unresolved sexual frustration. Haven't slept with him once! So, not married. I'm just the Queen around here." She tossed the crystal. His eyes followed it.
"Are those anything like this?" She reached over to his chest and he slipped off the throne to gracefully stand. He clasped a hand over his pendant.
"Not in the slightest," he ground out.
"What a pity, Jareth can think of all sorts of uses for his! He's very creative. What can you do? I heard elves can sing illusions?"
His jaw worked a few times and he looked down at the scroll.
"Give this to Jareth!"
"Nah, the goblins checked it out, too long for us to bother passing it along. Then again, I'm not sure if they can read it either. Make it shorter, more honest and we may even read it next time. What language is that, we'd have to learn it."
"No mortal eye has seen the language of the high elves."
"Little circular sort of cursive squiggles? Like that right there. One mortal, looking right at it."
He snatched the scroll back and glowered at her.
She pulled up the drape of damask velvet and stroked it.
"Your cloak is beautiful," she murmured and he snatched it out of her hands and haughtily draped it across his body with swift sharp actions.
Sarah leaned back on the throne and eyed him. She kicked her sneaker covered feet.
"Good. Now get out. If I ever see you on this throne again I will find a particularly deep and dank oubliette and fill it with twisted rose vines. It will be your residence while you abide in this kingdom."
"Have you any idea who I am mortal?"
"A very rude elf who did not introduce himself, sat on the ruling monarch's throne and generally insulted all the kingdom's citizens. Do I need any more to know your character?"
He drew himself up.
"I have the ear of the High King; I negotiate directly with his outlying territories."
"Oh, one of those? Just 'cause you wish to raise your status by sheer arrogance doesn't mean you need to lie. This is a sovereign kingdom. We serve no High King. Tell him, the next time you see him, actually, here, let me write something for him."
Sarah concentrated and silently wished for the legal pad and pen on her desk. It appeared in her hands and she propped it on one side of the throne.
"Dear High King.
We had the delight of meeting your elvish trade negotiator today. He needs to be taught how to deal with mortals. He didn't even give me his name, or at very least a title to so address him. So I return this with the unread contract, seriously, Your Majesty, it's too long. The goblins even got bored with it. You know we're not really interested, and now that this whole pretence is done, and you've inspected our kingdom, be honest about your piss poor spies. Oh, and remind this trade negotiator of yours that we aren't under your over watch.
Hope you and your wife are in good health.
OXOX, Queen of the Labyrinth."
She folded it and handed it to him.
"See he gets that!"
The elf took it and skimmed over the lines, his face going pale.
"You cannot send this to the High King!"
"Feel free not to deliver it, I'll ask one of the Demon Mages to drop off a letter with the same sentiments in a few days if you don't."
"Demon mages?" he hissed, his eyes narrowing. "You've allied this kingdom with the sky demons?"
"Huh? No. He's just my cousin. No alliance needed. Blood thicker than water and all."
The elf nervously stared around the throne room and made as if to depart. Sarah grabbed the edge of his robe.
"Not so fast! Where are the chickens? Why is this place so clean? Also, please return the goblin grog!"
"I improved this place, do you like living in a hovel?" he sneered.
"No, we like living in comfort. Hurry up with the twinkly elf magic and you may go once it's done."
"Twinkly–" he spluttered.
"I could try do it myself, but you probably would hate the results." Sarah mused, then focussed and called up her favourite Arthur Rackham illustrations from a Midsummer Night's Dream and melded them in her mind until she could see the glades of the woods outside Athens. She silently mouthed the words and smiled as she felt the throne room was suddenly growing and changing. The walls grew stone trees with tinkling silver and gold leaves. The pot plants morphed into ripe blackberry bushes, the fruit protected by thorns and dark leaves. The ground was covered in short cropped grass and all around the throne rose vines sprang up. After a jarring ringing tinkling, there was silence as the leaves hung still. She smiled at the elf who had his mouth open.
"So? The chickens?" she prompted.
The elf dazedly walked over to a tree and stroked it. A moment later, several chickens and not a few goblins emerged.
"What of the grog?"
"It's such swill!"
"Don't be a snob, drink your sweet wine, but leave those who prefer grog to their own."
"A snob!" the elf huffed, but couldn't work up much irritation while examining the tree. He waved his hand and the cask at the edge of the hall became a barrel with a tap.
"Thank you, now off you go and don't go anywhere near the kitchen. They don't like how you ordered them around. They're not your servants, you know."
The elf looked very reluctant to leave, but after shaking himself, did so.
