Author's Note: I've been sitting on this chapter for a long time to try and get the pacing right for the next chapters. However, my focus is now briefly on this story. My goal is to tell a complete tale in under ten short chapters. We'll see.
Arrival
Sarah felt her feet vanish, then her thighs, torso, and finally her head. She didn't have time to register the strange sensation, the buzzing in her ears, or even laugh at the way it tickled, before her feet drizzled back into existence.
Sarah landed in the throne room. Broken glass crunched under her slippers. Slowly, she opened her eyes, newly aware of how hard she had been squeezing them closed. For a moment, her vision swam, but her eyes quickly came to rest on that well-remembered throne. The curved bone seemed far too childish for such a man, she thought, mundanely natural and unaesthetic. Even imaging what to expect, the emptiness surprised her. But what could she compare the death of the king to anyway?
She swallowed against a sticky throat and looked around. Silence hung in the air, floating over the garbage littering the floor. Wooden beer kegs and scraps of dingy goblin life covered the floor just as she remembered from her brief sprint through the room. This time the trash came up to her ankles. She didn't want to know what poured into her slippers. Sarah kicked the shattered glass off her feet. Defiled and depraved, fine china, linens, and crystal goblets lay abandoned on the floor, like relics from the most perverse kind of revelry. Once-white handkerchiefs hid amongst the king's broken finery, poking out like mundane tissues, tossed away after one use. Had his subjects cried for him? Wept bitter tears? Or had a party on his death bed? Certainly, she hadn't liked the king, but she respected his power from afar. She hoped they hadn't danced, light-footed and joyful, on his slow-cooling grave.
"You's came," a gruff voice interrupted, slicing into her diffident eulogy. Hesitantly, Hoggle crossed the junk-covered floor, picking his way around the broken bottles.
Sarah wrapped her arms around him as if they had never separated. Not a dream, she chanted to herself, not a dream. Aloud she said, "Of course I came."
Hoggle grunted and shrugged her off. "He didn't think yous would."
Her hand retreated to his shoulder. The corners of his mouth curved up slightly. Sarah paused. "I had to see if it was true. His message…he said…what happened?"
Hoggle shook his head, gesturing her to the nearby throne. "Nobody really knows."
"No one?" Tentatively, Sarah sat at the base, not daring take the raised chair. Her curiosity tickled.
"No one your Majesty." Her friend swept a low bow. Hidden in his tone, Sarah caught the traces of another royal and his old way of speaking.
She sprung to her feet, feeling a shamefully immature blush rising in her cheeks. "Don't you dare!"
"I's has to. Better to get used to it."
Slowly, Sarah sank back down, leaning against the seat. "So it is true." Above gray-green eyes, her brows knitted together. She paused, thinking of the right question. "What happened? What do you know?"
Hoggle took a deep breath and let out half a sigh. He counted on his knobby fingers. "He called for me in the last days. I's been biding my time, down in the garden ya know, afraid any minute he'd spring downs my neck for treason, but holding…holding me ground."
Despite herself, Sarah smiled. "I'm proud of you."
"I's heard the rumors before. That he was ill. His kind hardly ever sicken, but it's horrible for them when they do. But it'sa happened before without being a big deal."
"He got sick?" Her insides went numb.
"For weeks and months. Squabbling with the high king, fought a duel, at least so some gossip, and upset….they say he was upset about…about you."
Sarah's eyes fell to her hands, clasped open on her lap. Although she knew little of palmistry, she found herself staring at her rocky, chained lifeline, and the curved crease for love, constantly broken. If Hoggle the truth, then she'd be blessed and cursed with a kingdom she didn't understand, without her family, and with unknown powers. Cursed, and maybe blessed too. If hands held the answers to mysteries…well, she had never seen his hands and she never wanted to, then or now. She pursed her lips, torn between confusion and sadness. "I'm sorry, but I can't pity him."
Hoggle guffawed. The sound reverberated hollowly in the empty room. "Nobody asking ya to."
Sarah pursed her lips. "And the last days, when he called you?" she pressed.
"He made me prepare his will, and the message. He didn't think ya'd come," Hoggle shuffed his feet in the garbage. It crinkled under his boots. "I didn't think ya'd come, at least, not so fast."
"When did he…, when did he die?" The word felt foreign on her tongue, that single syllable even more bizarre than sitting in the Goblin King's empty throne room conducting this conversation.
His mouth quirked. "When ya got his message. At that moment. That's what the spell said."
Not even eight hours ago, by her time. While she'd been studying for her biology exam, the great and terrible Goblin King faded. She shivered. When he passed, his last breath caressed her face. Something in Hoggle's expression unnerved her. "You mean, you don't know exactly?"
Her friend shook his head, hands spread. The old fear reflected in his eyes. "I never saw 'is Majesty. Not once. Nobody did. Just took messages. Crystals."
Sarah paused, staring up at the ceiling as she forced dizzy thoughts into words. "Wasn't anyone with him when he died?"
Hoggle shook his head negatively again.
She felt her face fall.
x x x x
Organizing the goblins lolling around the palace to clean up the throne room was a major undertaking, but Sarah couldn't think while surrounded by the junk. She didn't remember getting so neurotic, but the garbage encroached on her senses, distracting and twisting otherwise normal trains of thought. She caught sight of a shimmering silver cup, and memory whisked her back to a haunting ballroom. Crumbled cheese made her think of Karen's homemade macaroni and; she recalled the horrible nostalgia of her first weeks at college before realizing how much further away she'd suddenly become. The discarded hankies threatened her with images of a proud man, once gilded and arrogant, lying alone in silvery, all-equalizing death. Cleaning took her mind off thinking.
The goblins had mixed notions of funeral and party, she noted, but cleaning was certainly more like party, whether or not anything actually got clean. Even with Hoggle's help, she barely got the beer kegs hidden away, or the ear-splitting music stopped long enough to get a honest-minute's-mischief-free work out of any of her helpers. They wanted to laugh and dance. The trash made them happy. After all, the mess gave the goblins tangible evidence of their fun. Of course, mopping and the inherent danger of covering a slippery floor in soapy water could also become good fun. The new queen quickly found herself on her backside among numerous slick-floor booby-traps. In the past, she'd had the audacity to wonder at the inanity of "Caution: Wet Floor" signs. The goblins laughed at her, even when she screamed bloody murder at them.
They refused to listen to her, sneaking up behind her and pinching her shoulder or pulling her hair. They stole her slippers and entertained a thrilling game of keep away. Eventually, Sarah gave up, satisfied with the marginally improved chamber. At least the trash was gone. With Ludo's assistance, she snatched the slippers back, pushed the remaining goblins out of the throne room, and bared the door. He and Didymus stood guard outside. Occasionally, she heard an armored thud against the door. Heaving a sigh, Sarah slid down the polished wood frame, sinking into a pile of wet exhaustion.
"Are they always like this?" she wheezed, wiping her collegiate sleeve across her mouth. She tugged her slippers onto tired feet and wormed her toes as far into the fleece as she could.
Hoggle grunted. "Worse."
Her red eyes widened. "You're joking."
"I hope so."
Sarah smiled a little. "Thank heavens." She yawned, pushing her sleeves down her arms. "I'm exhausted. I should go back and rest…"
Hoggle shrugged, traces of fear hidden behind his eyes. "Well, can ya conjure one of those crystals?"
Though she opened her mouth, no words fell out. Her brow furrowed. She remembered the crystal and it's reflection in the mirror—her reflection entwined with his reflection. "I don't know how." A heavy weigh settled on her solar plexus. Sarah glanced at the windows and heavy barred door. She thought of her classes and her new single dorm room with the downy comforter. She thought of her friends and the chaos eight king-free hours created in a single room. "Am I stuck here?"
"You's the queen."
Pursing her lips, Sarah cupped her hand in the empty air. She focused on the feel of stale molecules resting in her palm. She willed the air to coalesce. Nothing solid came.
Outside, she heard Didymus' startled battle cry and retreating footsteps. With an indelicate sniff, she suddenly understood the true meaning of Catch 22. She couldn't just leave them, her friends and the many goblin denizens, to dissolve into chaos. But she didn't know how to provide for them either. She knew nothing of the political climate or the Labyrinth's place in its system. She needed time she didn't have, and still doubted ticking hours could solve the problem. The reunion with her friends hurt enough. Her heart still felt like splitting, torn between joy at seeing them and incredible inherent distrust in the sudden change in scenery. The dazzling fantasy of queen-hood danced before her eyes, but she knew enough of her own world to predict a different, stark reality, even if she had no idea what it might be.
"Is ya trying Sarah?" Hoggle's voice broke her reverie, his grey eyebrows knitted together.
She shook her head, shuffling her thoughts and filing them away. She needed to figure out how to travel, at least to make some excuse to her professors, before she could really focus on problems here. And there. What excuse would they buy? The molecules itched in her palm. The air took on a faint silvery glow. Sarah grinned, blocking distractions from of her mind.
The door to the throne room burst from its hinges.
Naturally, the crystal faded before she jumped out of her chair.
Sarah expected a horde of angry, or worse, mischievous goblins. Instead, a smoky haze permeated the room. Wide eyed, she watched it float into the chamber and coalesce into a figure mere feet away. Hoggle ran for cover. The smoke took the form of a man, and yet, certainly not a man, not even as the Goblin King had been. His features melted and melded, making his shadowed face indistinguishable.
Acid churned in her stomach, delicately invading the back of her throat. She swallowed forcefully, ignored her dusty college sweat shirt, PJ-pants, and slippers, and set her smile as positively as possible. She bowed lightly, straight-backed from the waist, out of courtesy, just in case. "Hello and welcome. My name is Sarah Williams," she began, not knowing where to start. Although she wanted to say where she was from, as she had in nearly every college interview, or give some kind of title, she didn't know what information to give. Sarah took a clandestine deep breath instead.
For a moment, only baritone rumblings flowed from the murky man's amorphous mouth. Slowly, his speech resolved into English words even though his features remained fluid and malleable. The discordant resolution unnerved her. "I shall be called Aziren then," he said. "You, in your crude language, can pronounce that."
"Greetings." Anxiously, she noticed that he did not bow.
"We have received word at the High King's palace that the King of the Goblins is dead." The way his shifting eyes bored into hers made Sarah feel dizzy. "Is this true?"
"I believe so," she ventured, clasping her hands behind her back. She pressed her thumb nail into her palm. "But please forgive my ignorance Aziren; who are you?"
"I am the High King's fifteenth vizier and favored emissary." The shadowy figure seemed taken aback, and very basely offended. Silently, Sarah cursed. Aziren drew himself together, growing taller without congealing or thinning the swirling mist. "Do I now address the new Queen of the Goblins, Sarah Williams, or are you just another silly, ingrate runner from Above?" He scoffed. "Or a scullery maid? Granted, I suppose I am unlikely to see much of a difference anyway."
The emissary's commentary stung, but the king had told her she was the only one who succeeded in running the Labyrinth. She pushed thoughts of her own silly ingratitude, and her diminished self-esteem, away. "Well…" she breathed, pursing her lips. His dulcimer voice whispered comfort through her mind, like his breath was once again on her cheek.
"Do tell me you know who you are," Aziren sneered. "I told you well, dirty girl-child from wherever…"
"I'm Sarah Williams. You don't need to speak to me like that. It doesn't matter who..."
"I need to know who has inherited the Labyrinthine throne!" he fumed.
Sarah squared her shoulders and caught the cowering Hoggle's bright eye.
"I am Sarah Williams…," she repeated quietly, cutting off his slanderous insults. The delicate silk of a feather stroked her wrist, circling her pulse. Her heart acclerated. The old king's words filled her mind; his tongue influenced hers. The sensation sent goose bumps slithering up her spine. "And I am the Goblin Queen."
x x x x
With the matter of succession resolved in both of their minds, she dismissed the haughty vizier as quickly as she could, unable to withstand his pompous arrogance and refusing to turn her back until he bowed and retreated. The foggy figure looked slightly more solid as he slipped from the room. When Sarah finally let out her breath and beckoned to Hoggle, she found she clutched a single, off-white feather in her hand.