Settling in
She didn't want to enter his chamber, but exhaustion threatened and she needed to face the mystery of her new kingdom with a clear head. Sarah shuddered: her kingdom. For a moment, she glared at his memory and his audacity to name an ignorant girl from another land as his successor. She quickly admonished herself for thinking ill of the dead, even though she had no affection for him. She nearly felt guilty for that too. Setting her jaw firmly, she touched the brass knocker on the heavy oak door. It swung open noiselessly before she could apply pressure.
Whatever she expected of the Goblin King's chamber—she had tried to quash all her expectations—this was simply not it. Neither noir nor gothic, the room was quiet, clean, and surprisingly Spartan considering what she had seen of his tastes in clothes. The chamber seemed aesthetically austere, unlived-in, but not as alien as she'd anticipated.
Despite its vast size, the suite was smaller than she would have ever imagined based on what she knew of his ego. Gray stone covered the walls, occasionally interrupted by a tapestry for warmth. The weavings depicted mythical beasts living contentedly, some she recognized and others she did not. The doors opened to an anteroom with an unlit fireplace, full tall bookcases, green velvet settee and dark-wood desk and chair. Several neat stacks of papers sat innocently on the desk. The furnishings were certainly fine, but functional. Though the empty grate cast dark shadows, she could imagine a cheery glow illuminating this room, far gentler and kinder than its owner. Against her better judgment, she pictured him sitting and reading. She nearly giggled at the thought of him in reading glasses. The vision of the golden king melted into gray sickness. Sarah shook her head and crossed through the archway out of the anteroom.
In the next room, a white china wash basin and mahogany dresser stood across from a large curtained bed. The emerald hangings against the dark wood made the four-poster look like something out of a book, but not foreign to her. Lavish, and fitting a king certainly, but not outlandish. She forced herself to blink his image away.
She traced the swirling carving on the footboard's post. He had been alone when he died. That kind of isolation seemed like an unfitting punishment, even for someone so…but what was the word for him anyway? Sarah tried not to imagine him, alone, in pain, and passing. His message spoke, in its dry, dismissive way, of deep loneliness. Had he no one but childish goblins for company? No adviser, vizier, or friendly face appeared to help her. He seemed to have commanded the kingdom by himself. The goblins were sweet in their way, but childish and unruly. Completely inelegant; so unlike him. Although he frightened her, she could admire his intellect and his elegance from afar. Part of her wished the distance didn't encompass the cool shadow of death, especially because in that case she never would have contemplated it. He must have felt bitter seclusion throughout his reign. How long had he ruled in such dire isolation? From what little she'd seen, the high court offered no reprieve. Hoggle suggested he was battling with the high king. Alone in death and in life, she lost some of her wonder at his fierce cruelty.
She set his feather alone on the pillow, silently thanking the token for giving her strength and telling her what to say. The stark white stood out against the viridian.
Since his perfectly made bed unnerved her, Sarah hurried about preparing for sleep to distract herself. She decided return to her world, and the wrath of her college professors, on a full night's rest. She'd find a way. Hoggle promised to wake her in the morning, despite his intense fear of the chamber.
She splashed water on her face and scrubbed, amused by her reflection in the basin. He'd left a care-worn, over-tired, slightly-pimply, barely-not-teenager a kingdom. She laughed, stopping as the hollow sound echoed. Swallowing it back hurt.
Turning to the massive wardrobe, she opened the doors out of equal parts curiosity and desire to get out of her dirty aboveground pajamas. Inside, his full-sleeved white shirts still hung, neat and normal, over crisp breeches, on the right side of the wardrobe. Vests and velvet and leather jackets waited nearby. Still, she guessed he kept most of his wardrobe elsewhere; these clothes were distinctly lacking in glitter and feathers. Feathers.
She gasped. Three simple dresses, suited exactly to her tastes in every-day fairytale finery; pants and a cozy red tunic sweater; and two long, pretty pale blue night gowns in silk and lace hung in the wardrobe as if they'd always been there, pushed to the far left side. His and Hers. Hands trembling, she took down a nightgown and slipped it on. She told herself she chose the garment because she had nothing else and it was clean.
In the end, she couldn't bring herself to sleep in his bed, or even to disturb the covers. The normalcy of the whole room unnerved her. Instead, she settled on the settee for a fitful night's sleep.
x x x x
Although she woke stiff and chilly, Sarah felt grateful for the morning. She dressed quickly in her pajama pants and the long red sweater from the wardrobe.Working out the transportation spell was surprisingly easy once she'd rested. Hoggle hypothesized that the succession and the necessary magic settled on her over night. While she relished anything that might make running the kingdom easier, Sarah feared any power that might make her more like him. She didn't know if she could control magic. Hoggle pointed out that she needed to stop philosophizing and return to school.
Juggling her time between new, harder classes and goblin mischief left Sarah beyond exhausted whether she stumbled into bed in her dorm room or on the king's settee. She stayed in the Labyrinth on aboveground weekends, trying to force all her major tasks into that time and still finish her homework, determined to keep her GPA high. Three hundred level classes assigned fierce papers. She just tried to keep the castle in on piece, clean, orderly, and free of booby traps while learning what she could about the political scene underground. Adjusting to the time differences created several close shaves too. She began telling her professors a tale of a sick aunt, grateful that she kept a car on campus, which kept the excuse plausible—not that she had time to go anywhere.
Her social life dissolved. Regretfully, Sarah decided not to audition for the theater department; she wouldn't be cast in a show for the first time in her college career. She told the worried professors the same sick aunt story, and claimed that her classes kept her up too late. They didn't seem to swallow it; neither did her theater friends. Most of her casual acquaintances forgot her name. Her new college girl friends grew frustrated with her constant inability to play, since she was studying or visiting that aunt. They didn't hold her situation against her, but they stopped calling. She almost felt grateful for her silent phone and empty answering machine. The lack of calls made ignoring her loneliness a little easier, but at the same time, she suddenly noted the fickleness of the girl friends who swore they'd stick together forever. As much as she loved Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus, their company lacked the intellectual stimulation of her college compatriots', and they were usually helping her deal with disasters anyway. She had no time for amusement.
If drunken goblin riots weren't enough, the castle kept testing her. The hallways shifted and changed. Staircases leapt away from her feet. Doors spontaneously locked, or unlocked, just to vex her; goblins got into wine stores whether she wanted them too or not. Bathrooms disappeared at critical moments. Sarah found that her college vocabulary came in handy for venting her emotions, but stopped swearing at the walls when the goblins picked up the habit. She tried to keep as firm a hand with the castle as she did with its denizens, but found disciplining stone much more difficult. She didn't dare even enter the Labyrinth. Occasionally, she heard drumming and shouts through the thick gates.
Nearly a month into her reign as queen, Sarah noticed that the paper piles on Jareth's desk were growing.
Exhausted after a chemistry test, goblin small-claims court, and two hours spent fighting the castle on the way back to her room, Sarah wanted nothing more than to curl up on the settee with a novel for a Friday evening of rare peace. Instead, a great crash made her look at the unused desk. Papers cascaded onto the floor. She jumped up. The papers kept flooding down. Sarah bit her lip and gathered the pile.
The top missive bore that days date:
Her Goblin Highness:
We insist upon your urgent response, as your reply is already days overdue. We simply cannot throw a party in honor of your coronation without you. Please you're your answer immediately.
called Demetra, high court stewardess
Puzzled, Sarah shuffled through the stack. She soon located five other notices of her late response. The actual invitation was dated within the week she took the throne. And those invites made up only a tiny fraction of the papers on the desk. Sarah thought she could cry all over again with each new sheet. Lazily elegant script casually informed her of overdue taxes, both from her citizens and owed to the High King. Supply lists indicated the potential for food shortage in the coming winter, despite a surplus of goat cheese. Some of the papers were receipts for personal palace expenses, including a wardrobe she never ordered. Her worries and stresses piled ever higher.
True, she should have known that such paperwork would exist, it simply had to. She groaned, since could've, would've, and should've were now so worthless. Sarah barely had time to keep the castle running; she didn't even know what was going on outside the city gates, much less at the high court. As much as she wanted to study the political scene, supplies for winter would have to take higher priority at least for the short term.
She waved a hand over the pile of papers, simultaneously sensing their magical origin and sending them back into neat stacks. The king had created all these lists and documents, enough for a hundred cabinet ministers through his magic alone. His spells lingered on the parchment after his death. Sarah had to admit her gratitude to the strength of his power. With a ten page paper to write, a second session of goblin court tomorrow, and her new score of troubles, Sarah cast a mournful look at the novel and settee before setting down to the task at hand.
First, she tracked down and answered the invitation. The party celebrated her claim of the Goblin throne. Her formal coronation would follow nearly half a year later. She would attend the high court's party in her honor, a fortenight hence. She apologized profusely for her tardiness. Then she started studying the other papers, trying hard to ignore the sinking pit in her stomach.
She knew nothing of balls and court parties. She knew less of the court and its members. If she told herself she tended to the Goblin City's problems first because she knew more about taxation and food rationing, she knew she was lying.
Late in the night, as she worked by flickering candle light, a solitary white feather floated down out of the ether. It landed on her shoulder, as light as gossamer and shimmering as brightly. Somehow, the feather gave her hope and confidence—a lingering gift of his spell, she supposed. Sarah set her teeth and started to think like a ruler against her better judgment.