There was a sensation of floating bodiless, then a dark blur roared past
like a train speeding through a station and Sarah landed hard on her left
side, smacking her head into the ground. For a moment she just lay there,
mind a complete blank, trying to comprehend what had happened. Her head
really hurt, there seemed to be a piece of luggage lying across her legs,
and her hand was gripping something tightly. The logical conclusion, she
decided, was that she had had a very strange dream and had just now fallen
out of bed and woken herself up. She raised her head and looked at what
her hand was holding so insistently.
It was, she discovered, another hand, which was attached to a body that lay twisted across her lower half. Her eyes went from the long fingers, down the velvet sleeve, across the fierce shock of hair, and came to rest on a man's saturnine face. He might as well have had the word "aristocrat" tattooed on his cheekbones, they were so beautifully articulated. Upswept eyebrows, hair like corn silk - Sarah sucked in her breath and wondered if she might still be asleep. Her head really hurt, though. He had pushed himself up on his elbow and pressed his other hand to his chest, his breath coming in short, gulping bursts. His eyes flickered to Sarah's face and he bared his teeth in a distinctly unfriendly grimace, then turned his head to scan their surroundings. Sarah felt that there had been something very odd about his glance, but he had looked away too quickly for her to identify it. She automatically moved her head to follow his gaze and her own breath died in her throat.
They were in a cage made out of something that looked like obsidian, black and shiny, and the cage was in the middle of what was obviously a battlefield, surrounded by what was clearly the victorious army. The fight must have ended fairly recently because shattered spears and armored bodies lay scattered over the churned earth, some still holding swords in their dead hands. A gray pennant, shredded nearly to pieces, flapped from a wooden pole that had been sunk into the mud. It was supported by what Sarah would have labeled a gnome, from the descriptions of her favorite authors at least. It stared at her with marvelously wide eyes, then stuck a small finger in its mouth and began to chew.
The other creatures gathered around the cage were much, much larger than the big-eyed standard bearer. Sarah gulped as she took in the talon-like toes, the metal-encased bodies, and the huge, dribbling mouths that loomed above her. She wouldn't come up as high as mid-chest on half of these things. One maw widened in a gruesome smile to show a set of extremely long, extremely pointed teeth. The biggest of the creatures, who had the design of some sort of bird of prey etched into his armor in scarlet enamel, sniggered and said something in a guttural, gloating voice and pointed the tip of his spear at Sarah. The rest of his troop gurgled and chortled, and Sarah sat up indignantly.
"Hey," she said angrily, "you keep your nasty comments to yourself!" The man next to her looked at her like she'd gone completely off her rocker. "Look here," she continued, "I think it's very rude kidnapping people from their own worlds and putting them in cages in the middle of who knows where. In fact, it's the worst manners I've ever seen, so you'd better just send us back."
Her speech was met with a cacophony of hoots, whistles, and barks of laughter. "You have no idea what this will do to, erm, interspecies relations," Sarah improvised, getting to her feet. If you can't beat 'em, confuse 'em, she thought. It was worth a shot at least. "Who's in charge here? You'd better let us see him. Or her," she added as an afterthought.
The big one, the one with the bird design, issued a string of strange words that ended on a high pitch and seemed to be a question, because he looked at her intently when he was finished.
"I have no idea what you just said," Sarah told him, "but even if I did, I'm not sure I'd tell you anything."
At this, the man next to her said a word that was pretty clearly an expletive and made a flicking motion towards her with his fingers. He had recovered enough to sit up, still holding his side, and was looking thoroughly exasperated. Sarah heard a popping noise and the goblins outside the cage laughed harder than ever. The man looked down at his fingers in disbelief, then shifted his gaze to the black bars of the cage. His eyes narrowed and he said one word: "Orieth."
"Oh dear," Sarah sighed. "Don't tell me I can't understand you either. This isn't right at all - how am I supposed to get home if I can't talk to anyone? I try to believe my six impossible things before breakfast, but this is going a little far."
"What an unexpected pleasure," a voice interrupted from behind the bird- bearing soldier. It spoke English and that was a blessing, but it had an oily, sugared quality to it that stood her hair on end. The creatures, who looked too much like goblins to be anything else, lumbered respectfully aside to clear the way for a tall, thin man draped from neck to knees in a chain mail tunic. The bird of prey design was embroidered on his surcoat, picked out in gold this time instead of scarlet. Obviously in charge, Sarah thought. At least he was human. He wore a sword at his side and his long black hair fell unbound over his shoulders. His features were handsome and his face could have been appealing, but his eyes were as dark as night and twice as cold.
As he walked to the cage, he continued, "I never imagined that the Mage of Earth would be so young, nor so beautiful." Sarah began to feel fear replace her anger. She was still in shock from finding herself so entirely unexpectedly in the middle of an army of goblins, and none of it had seemed quite real until this point. That slippery voice, however, made her shiver and realize that there were a great many highly unpleasant things that might happen to her in her current situation. Her bruised side hurt too much for this to be a dream. Besides, didn't you always understand the people in your dreams? The cold eyes of her captor pierced right to her heart, as if to let her know that this was really happening, and she was in a lot of trouble.
Beside her, the stranger in the cage rose stiffly to his feet, snarling something in a rippling language that didn't adapt very well to an angry tone. Outside the cage, black eyes flickered towards him and the overly- sugared voice said, "Silence, Jareth." Sarah went cold all over as she saw her companion's mouth keep moving, but without producing a single sound. He turned very pale and his hands clenched into fists.
"Now then," the oily man continued, "with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
She didn't need the warning look from Jareth. Her gut was sending out messages loud and clear. Sarah said slowly, "I don't think I should tell you."
"Oh come now," he chuckled. "Surely there's no harm in it. I, my dear lady, am known as Malocoli Duath. I admit we expected His Majesty, but you are quite. . . a surprise." His eyes traveled over her with unmistakable intentions.
Sarah liked her body. It was serviceable, it did what she told it do, but it had nothing of the slim, hipless beauty or poised, effortless grace she so admired in her classmates. As Duath's eyes raked her, she was acutely conscious of her embarrassing curves and defiantly crossed her arms over her chest. "It's very rude to stare," she snapped.
His gaze turned steely. "I only request your name, dear maiden, so that the priests may chant it to release your soul as they slit your lovely throat. I'm told that is the proper way to do the thing. Would be willing to consider an exchange?"
Sarah nodded vigorously. Her stomach seemed to have suddenly filled itself with ice. "Absolutely. You let us go, tell me how to get back home, and I'll tell you my name 'til the sun goes down."
Duath actually looked sad for a moment. "You would be speaking for a very long time indeed, for we are beyond the reach of your sun. No, my dear, I have quite a different bargain in mind. In exchange for your name, I will let you die a maiden."
A well-aimed splotch of mud hit Duath squarely in the eye. A second handful splattered noisily on his surcoat moments later. Duath grew very still, then the mud simply vanished and Sarah turned her head to see Jareth frozen in the pose of cocking his arm for a third throw. Bizarrely, she found herself noticing that he was quite tall. The top of her head would probably sit just underneath his chin.
"You, my clever cousin, have answered for your exquisite cellmate," Duath said in a deadly voice, eyes burning with a cold, empty light. "I will return her when she has begged me for mercy and I am tired of her."
Terror froze her in place as surely as any malicious magic. A curt motion of Duath's hand sent five goblins jogging to a gate in the cage that Sarah hadn't noticed before. They unlocked five separate locks and opened it. Sarah cast a desperate glance at Jareth, locked in place beside her, and saw an apoplectic gleam in his eye - certainly nothing useful. It occurred to her that Duath probably wouldn't want an audience while he was amusing himself. He was also arrogant enough that he might make a mistake. There was just enough time for those thoughts to fly through her mind and then she was kicking, flailing and biting as the five creatures descended on her. She never had a chance, however, and they clapped shackles of the same shiny black material on her wrists and ankles and bore her bodily from the cage, leaving her petrified companion behind.
Sarah was careful to watch their route closely, kicking and screaming all the while, but as it turned out she didn't need to. Duath's tent was pitched on a round hummock just over a muddy rise, barely five hundred feet from the cage. As they dumped her through the canvassed entrance onto a thick rug, her mind raced through her options, discarding one after the other as too improbably or too risky. Her biggest fear was that he would simply freeze her as he had done to Jareth, but somehow she thought that a sick guy like Duath might like a struggle.
He came striding into the tent, already unfastening his surcoat. "Get up," he commanded perfunctorily. Sarah rose slowly to her feet, pretending to be very shaky. Internally, she was surprised at how calm she felt. This was life and death here, and Sarah definitely wanted life. Duath didn't waste any time. He grabbed her, boxed her about the ears a few times, then threw her towards a military cot. As she landed on the thin mattress, Sarah flung her left hand into the frame and punched it hard. Her hand went numb, but the impact produced a very satisfactory thunk. Sarah forced herself to go limp, moaning feebly in her best approximation of someone knocked nearly unconscious.
As she had hoped, Duath never considered that she might have more presence of mind than she was pretending. He practically slavered in anticipation as he began tearing at her clothes. Sarah waited until she felt his cold hands touch her belly, then she moved like lightening.
One knee shot up directly between his thighs as she swung her right arm with all her strength, smashing the shackle on her wrist into his head. There was a sickening crunch and Duath hung suspended over her for a moment, his mouth a round "o" of surprise. Then his entire weight collapsed on her. For a thin man, he was surprisingly heavy. Sarah kicked and struggled until she pushed his limp bulk onto the floor, and by the time she had liberated herself her false calm had deserted her. Her whole body shook with sobs and tears began streaming down her cheeks. There was no time to waste, however. Promising herself a full-out bawling session when she got out of there, she forced herself to focus on escape.
The first order of business was to tie the sadistic bastard up. Sarah found a small knife in his dresser which proved to be very sharp, and she shredded the most expensive-looking coat in his trunk into strips, gagged him, and bound him to the cot. She wasn't sure how strong he was, so she made the knots as tight as her hands could pull them and hoped she cut off some circulation. A control freak like Duath probably needed keys to every lock in his camp, so she ransacked his tent and even overcame her revulsion enough to search his pockets. Sure enough, she found a heavy ring of keys strung on his belt, and the seventh one fit her shackles. For good measure, Sarah chained him to the bed.
She found a set of clothing in his trunk that looked like some sort of uniform and quickly changed into it, then stuffed her own clothes down the jacket. She had to fold the pants and sleeves nearly double, but she wasn't terribly concerned about fashion at the moment. The little knife went into a pocket, as did the keys, and Sarah gave the room a quick once- over. There was a loose sheaf of papers on a portable desk in the corner, and without thinking about it Sarah grabbed the pages and stuffed them in with her clothes. Peeking under the back of the tent, she didn't see any guards skulking about so she pulled up the canvas and slithered underneath it. All in all, she guessed that less than ten minutes had passed since she had been taken into the tent.
Once outside, she took a moment to orient herself, then set off toward the cage at a purposeful walk. There was no chance she would be taken for a soldier if anyone got within spitting distance, but they might think she was another of those little gnomes if they didn't get too close. A thousand voices were yammering inside her head, telling her that this was insane, that she had much better turn tail and run right now. Sarah firmly told them to shut up. At the same time, she had no idea how she was going to pull this off.
Fate, or luck, was with her. As she approached the cage, a gruff goblin wearing a huge leather apron barked sharply at her. Sarah froze and pulled her head down into the jacket of her uniform like a turtle, but the giant creature never looked at her face. He shoved a wooden tray carrying a hunk of bread and a mug of water in her direction. She took it, wincing at the pain in her left hand. He pointed a crooked finger at the cage and its prisoner and grunted what was unmistakably an order. Sarah grunted back in what she hoped was an obedient sort of way and trotted off, blessing each and every one of her lucky stars. No one else spared her more than half a glance.
She went straight to the gate in the cage and knocked the tray against it to get his attention. Jareth was prowling up and down the length of the cell like a giant cat, and he turned to give her a withering glare. As his eyes met hers, they widened in shock. Sarah stared back at him in astonishment. Now she realized what had been so strange about his look - one eye was as blue and chilly as the sea, but the other was full of the dark warmth of old gold . The strange moment of recognition lasted only a few seconds, and Jareth's eyes dropped to the bulge of keys in her pocket. He cast a casual glance around, then gave her a barely perceptible nod. As she brought the keys out, careful to keep them from clanking against each other, Jareth began to prowl on the other side of the cage, one eye constantly on the guards.
Sarah felt that nothing in her life up to this point had been so nerve- wracking as the silent struggle to fit five keys to five separate locks. It seemed to take forever, and she could feel her hands trembling and was terrified that she would drop the keys, whose clatter would give them away. She couldn't believe that the guards were just sitting around their little table drinking and casting dice. Surely her intentions were too obvious. The guards must be toying with them, building false hope. They would let her open all but the last lock, and then they would grab their spears and laugh as they surrounded her.
As the fifth lock clicked open in her hands, Sarah stared at it in shock, too surprised to do more than blink at it. Jareth was instantly at the gate, muttering words to her in that lilting language of his. She had no idea what he was saying, but as she reached up and threw back the crossbar she heard a yell from behind her.
Jareth shouted something and flung himself at the gate. It sprang open, bowling Sarah over, and he leapt through it like a tiger. Sarah had a confused, panicky impression of goblins running toward them from all directions and then Jareth hauled her to her feet and started running. She stumbled after him, wondering if he had just pulled her arm out of its socket, and then he whirled, gathered her in his arms, and shouted a hoarse command. There was a bang, a smell like sulfur, and everything disappeared.
It was, she discovered, another hand, which was attached to a body that lay twisted across her lower half. Her eyes went from the long fingers, down the velvet sleeve, across the fierce shock of hair, and came to rest on a man's saturnine face. He might as well have had the word "aristocrat" tattooed on his cheekbones, they were so beautifully articulated. Upswept eyebrows, hair like corn silk - Sarah sucked in her breath and wondered if she might still be asleep. Her head really hurt, though. He had pushed himself up on his elbow and pressed his other hand to his chest, his breath coming in short, gulping bursts. His eyes flickered to Sarah's face and he bared his teeth in a distinctly unfriendly grimace, then turned his head to scan their surroundings. Sarah felt that there had been something very odd about his glance, but he had looked away too quickly for her to identify it. She automatically moved her head to follow his gaze and her own breath died in her throat.
They were in a cage made out of something that looked like obsidian, black and shiny, and the cage was in the middle of what was obviously a battlefield, surrounded by what was clearly the victorious army. The fight must have ended fairly recently because shattered spears and armored bodies lay scattered over the churned earth, some still holding swords in their dead hands. A gray pennant, shredded nearly to pieces, flapped from a wooden pole that had been sunk into the mud. It was supported by what Sarah would have labeled a gnome, from the descriptions of her favorite authors at least. It stared at her with marvelously wide eyes, then stuck a small finger in its mouth and began to chew.
The other creatures gathered around the cage were much, much larger than the big-eyed standard bearer. Sarah gulped as she took in the talon-like toes, the metal-encased bodies, and the huge, dribbling mouths that loomed above her. She wouldn't come up as high as mid-chest on half of these things. One maw widened in a gruesome smile to show a set of extremely long, extremely pointed teeth. The biggest of the creatures, who had the design of some sort of bird of prey etched into his armor in scarlet enamel, sniggered and said something in a guttural, gloating voice and pointed the tip of his spear at Sarah. The rest of his troop gurgled and chortled, and Sarah sat up indignantly.
"Hey," she said angrily, "you keep your nasty comments to yourself!" The man next to her looked at her like she'd gone completely off her rocker. "Look here," she continued, "I think it's very rude kidnapping people from their own worlds and putting them in cages in the middle of who knows where. In fact, it's the worst manners I've ever seen, so you'd better just send us back."
Her speech was met with a cacophony of hoots, whistles, and barks of laughter. "You have no idea what this will do to, erm, interspecies relations," Sarah improvised, getting to her feet. If you can't beat 'em, confuse 'em, she thought. It was worth a shot at least. "Who's in charge here? You'd better let us see him. Or her," she added as an afterthought.
The big one, the one with the bird design, issued a string of strange words that ended on a high pitch and seemed to be a question, because he looked at her intently when he was finished.
"I have no idea what you just said," Sarah told him, "but even if I did, I'm not sure I'd tell you anything."
At this, the man next to her said a word that was pretty clearly an expletive and made a flicking motion towards her with his fingers. He had recovered enough to sit up, still holding his side, and was looking thoroughly exasperated. Sarah heard a popping noise and the goblins outside the cage laughed harder than ever. The man looked down at his fingers in disbelief, then shifted his gaze to the black bars of the cage. His eyes narrowed and he said one word: "Orieth."
"Oh dear," Sarah sighed. "Don't tell me I can't understand you either. This isn't right at all - how am I supposed to get home if I can't talk to anyone? I try to believe my six impossible things before breakfast, but this is going a little far."
"What an unexpected pleasure," a voice interrupted from behind the bird- bearing soldier. It spoke English and that was a blessing, but it had an oily, sugared quality to it that stood her hair on end. The creatures, who looked too much like goblins to be anything else, lumbered respectfully aside to clear the way for a tall, thin man draped from neck to knees in a chain mail tunic. The bird of prey design was embroidered on his surcoat, picked out in gold this time instead of scarlet. Obviously in charge, Sarah thought. At least he was human. He wore a sword at his side and his long black hair fell unbound over his shoulders. His features were handsome and his face could have been appealing, but his eyes were as dark as night and twice as cold.
As he walked to the cage, he continued, "I never imagined that the Mage of Earth would be so young, nor so beautiful." Sarah began to feel fear replace her anger. She was still in shock from finding herself so entirely unexpectedly in the middle of an army of goblins, and none of it had seemed quite real until this point. That slippery voice, however, made her shiver and realize that there were a great many highly unpleasant things that might happen to her in her current situation. Her bruised side hurt too much for this to be a dream. Besides, didn't you always understand the people in your dreams? The cold eyes of her captor pierced right to her heart, as if to let her know that this was really happening, and she was in a lot of trouble.
Beside her, the stranger in the cage rose stiffly to his feet, snarling something in a rippling language that didn't adapt very well to an angry tone. Outside the cage, black eyes flickered towards him and the overly- sugared voice said, "Silence, Jareth." Sarah went cold all over as she saw her companion's mouth keep moving, but without producing a single sound. He turned very pale and his hands clenched into fists.
"Now then," the oily man continued, "with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
She didn't need the warning look from Jareth. Her gut was sending out messages loud and clear. Sarah said slowly, "I don't think I should tell you."
"Oh come now," he chuckled. "Surely there's no harm in it. I, my dear lady, am known as Malocoli Duath. I admit we expected His Majesty, but you are quite. . . a surprise." His eyes traveled over her with unmistakable intentions.
Sarah liked her body. It was serviceable, it did what she told it do, but it had nothing of the slim, hipless beauty or poised, effortless grace she so admired in her classmates. As Duath's eyes raked her, she was acutely conscious of her embarrassing curves and defiantly crossed her arms over her chest. "It's very rude to stare," she snapped.
His gaze turned steely. "I only request your name, dear maiden, so that the priests may chant it to release your soul as they slit your lovely throat. I'm told that is the proper way to do the thing. Would be willing to consider an exchange?"
Sarah nodded vigorously. Her stomach seemed to have suddenly filled itself with ice. "Absolutely. You let us go, tell me how to get back home, and I'll tell you my name 'til the sun goes down."
Duath actually looked sad for a moment. "You would be speaking for a very long time indeed, for we are beyond the reach of your sun. No, my dear, I have quite a different bargain in mind. In exchange for your name, I will let you die a maiden."
A well-aimed splotch of mud hit Duath squarely in the eye. A second handful splattered noisily on his surcoat moments later. Duath grew very still, then the mud simply vanished and Sarah turned her head to see Jareth frozen in the pose of cocking his arm for a third throw. Bizarrely, she found herself noticing that he was quite tall. The top of her head would probably sit just underneath his chin.
"You, my clever cousin, have answered for your exquisite cellmate," Duath said in a deadly voice, eyes burning with a cold, empty light. "I will return her when she has begged me for mercy and I am tired of her."
Terror froze her in place as surely as any malicious magic. A curt motion of Duath's hand sent five goblins jogging to a gate in the cage that Sarah hadn't noticed before. They unlocked five separate locks and opened it. Sarah cast a desperate glance at Jareth, locked in place beside her, and saw an apoplectic gleam in his eye - certainly nothing useful. It occurred to her that Duath probably wouldn't want an audience while he was amusing himself. He was also arrogant enough that he might make a mistake. There was just enough time for those thoughts to fly through her mind and then she was kicking, flailing and biting as the five creatures descended on her. She never had a chance, however, and they clapped shackles of the same shiny black material on her wrists and ankles and bore her bodily from the cage, leaving her petrified companion behind.
Sarah was careful to watch their route closely, kicking and screaming all the while, but as it turned out she didn't need to. Duath's tent was pitched on a round hummock just over a muddy rise, barely five hundred feet from the cage. As they dumped her through the canvassed entrance onto a thick rug, her mind raced through her options, discarding one after the other as too improbably or too risky. Her biggest fear was that he would simply freeze her as he had done to Jareth, but somehow she thought that a sick guy like Duath might like a struggle.
He came striding into the tent, already unfastening his surcoat. "Get up," he commanded perfunctorily. Sarah rose slowly to her feet, pretending to be very shaky. Internally, she was surprised at how calm she felt. This was life and death here, and Sarah definitely wanted life. Duath didn't waste any time. He grabbed her, boxed her about the ears a few times, then threw her towards a military cot. As she landed on the thin mattress, Sarah flung her left hand into the frame and punched it hard. Her hand went numb, but the impact produced a very satisfactory thunk. Sarah forced herself to go limp, moaning feebly in her best approximation of someone knocked nearly unconscious.
As she had hoped, Duath never considered that she might have more presence of mind than she was pretending. He practically slavered in anticipation as he began tearing at her clothes. Sarah waited until she felt his cold hands touch her belly, then she moved like lightening.
One knee shot up directly between his thighs as she swung her right arm with all her strength, smashing the shackle on her wrist into his head. There was a sickening crunch and Duath hung suspended over her for a moment, his mouth a round "o" of surprise. Then his entire weight collapsed on her. For a thin man, he was surprisingly heavy. Sarah kicked and struggled until she pushed his limp bulk onto the floor, and by the time she had liberated herself her false calm had deserted her. Her whole body shook with sobs and tears began streaming down her cheeks. There was no time to waste, however. Promising herself a full-out bawling session when she got out of there, she forced herself to focus on escape.
The first order of business was to tie the sadistic bastard up. Sarah found a small knife in his dresser which proved to be very sharp, and she shredded the most expensive-looking coat in his trunk into strips, gagged him, and bound him to the cot. She wasn't sure how strong he was, so she made the knots as tight as her hands could pull them and hoped she cut off some circulation. A control freak like Duath probably needed keys to every lock in his camp, so she ransacked his tent and even overcame her revulsion enough to search his pockets. Sure enough, she found a heavy ring of keys strung on his belt, and the seventh one fit her shackles. For good measure, Sarah chained him to the bed.
She found a set of clothing in his trunk that looked like some sort of uniform and quickly changed into it, then stuffed her own clothes down the jacket. She had to fold the pants and sleeves nearly double, but she wasn't terribly concerned about fashion at the moment. The little knife went into a pocket, as did the keys, and Sarah gave the room a quick once- over. There was a loose sheaf of papers on a portable desk in the corner, and without thinking about it Sarah grabbed the pages and stuffed them in with her clothes. Peeking under the back of the tent, she didn't see any guards skulking about so she pulled up the canvas and slithered underneath it. All in all, she guessed that less than ten minutes had passed since she had been taken into the tent.
Once outside, she took a moment to orient herself, then set off toward the cage at a purposeful walk. There was no chance she would be taken for a soldier if anyone got within spitting distance, but they might think she was another of those little gnomes if they didn't get too close. A thousand voices were yammering inside her head, telling her that this was insane, that she had much better turn tail and run right now. Sarah firmly told them to shut up. At the same time, she had no idea how she was going to pull this off.
Fate, or luck, was with her. As she approached the cage, a gruff goblin wearing a huge leather apron barked sharply at her. Sarah froze and pulled her head down into the jacket of her uniform like a turtle, but the giant creature never looked at her face. He shoved a wooden tray carrying a hunk of bread and a mug of water in her direction. She took it, wincing at the pain in her left hand. He pointed a crooked finger at the cage and its prisoner and grunted what was unmistakably an order. Sarah grunted back in what she hoped was an obedient sort of way and trotted off, blessing each and every one of her lucky stars. No one else spared her more than half a glance.
She went straight to the gate in the cage and knocked the tray against it to get his attention. Jareth was prowling up and down the length of the cell like a giant cat, and he turned to give her a withering glare. As his eyes met hers, they widened in shock. Sarah stared back at him in astonishment. Now she realized what had been so strange about his look - one eye was as blue and chilly as the sea, but the other was full of the dark warmth of old gold . The strange moment of recognition lasted only a few seconds, and Jareth's eyes dropped to the bulge of keys in her pocket. He cast a casual glance around, then gave her a barely perceptible nod. As she brought the keys out, careful to keep them from clanking against each other, Jareth began to prowl on the other side of the cage, one eye constantly on the guards.
Sarah felt that nothing in her life up to this point had been so nerve- wracking as the silent struggle to fit five keys to five separate locks. It seemed to take forever, and she could feel her hands trembling and was terrified that she would drop the keys, whose clatter would give them away. She couldn't believe that the guards were just sitting around their little table drinking and casting dice. Surely her intentions were too obvious. The guards must be toying with them, building false hope. They would let her open all but the last lock, and then they would grab their spears and laugh as they surrounded her.
As the fifth lock clicked open in her hands, Sarah stared at it in shock, too surprised to do more than blink at it. Jareth was instantly at the gate, muttering words to her in that lilting language of his. She had no idea what he was saying, but as she reached up and threw back the crossbar she heard a yell from behind her.
Jareth shouted something and flung himself at the gate. It sprang open, bowling Sarah over, and he leapt through it like a tiger. Sarah had a confused, panicky impression of goblins running toward them from all directions and then Jareth hauled her to her feet and started running. She stumbled after him, wondering if he had just pulled her arm out of its socket, and then he whirled, gathered her in his arms, and shouted a hoarse command. There was a bang, a smell like sulfur, and everything disappeared.