The entrance to the Labyrinth had been hewn from gray stone in some age
long gone by, and its walls were pitted with molds and rooting plants,
streaked dark with their moisture. The soft pat-pat of their cautious
footsteps fell like pebbles tossed into a still pool, the sound reflecting
eerily from the walls. Because the hall was narrow, high, and constructed
entirely of stone, the air was very cold and still except for the warmth
from their breath and the stir of their passage. Pausing for a moment to
wrap his sore hand in an elegant handkerchief (which surely had never
dreamed it would ever be put to such vulgar use), Jareth conjured his
silver sword again and strapped it awkwardly to his right side.
"It's poor luck, but it can't be helped," he said in a low voice. The silence seemed to discourage breaking it; even those soft words rang like clashing steel. "Fortunately I've always had a decent left-handed lunge. I don't suppose you know how to use a weapon?"
"Since I've gotten here, my one big regret has been passing up Mr. Brugley's fencing class," Sarah said dryly.
He raised an eyebrow, then turned his hand and produced a crystal at his fingertips. "It's never too late to start," he told her, handing her a silver blade about two feet long. "Allow me to summarize two thousand years of fencing technique: hold the blunt end and don't cut yourself."
Sarah folded her arms across her chest. "You know, you might want to rethink this offer. Currently the odds favor my immediately swinging for your head."
Jareth threw back his head and barked a short, harsh laugh. There was little mirth in the sound, but some part of the hollow stillness in the air vanished like smoke on the breeze. Summoning a scabbard to go with the short sword, he held it out to her. "Take it, Sarah. Though your tongue is a fearsome weapon, I believe that cold iron may serve you better for the moment."
Gingerly, Sarah accepted the thing. The pommel fit her hand perfectly and he must have magicked the blade to be unusually light, but she felt extremely uncomfortable holding something created for the sole purpose of hurting someone else. "Well," she muttered, "it's likely to be someone hell-bent on murdering me, so better safe than sorry."
"You needn't bother thanking me," Jareth said haughtily.
"Okay, then I won't," she grinned. "Even though I'd love to stand in this cold, damp alley talking all day, shouldn't we get moving? It's not like they won't figure out where we've gone."
"Admirable spirit, though misinformed as usual," Jareth said mockingly. Sarah squealed and aimed a kick at his leg. Eyes dancing, he stepped easily out of the way. Sarah was ready to land a really satisfying kick on the rough stones behind him, but to her boundless surprise, her foot passed right through the wall. She overbalanced, started to topple, and shot out the hand with the sword in it and caught herself with its point between two cracked slabs.
"Oh look," she said weakly, "it's been useful already."
Jareth leapt past her, sword out, and stuck his head through what seemed to be solid rock. Ducking back, he nodded in satisfaction. "It looks clear. Well done, my dear, well done indeed! First point's to you." He held out his hand like any well-bred gentlemen would do to a lady he was escorting to a royal ball. Sarah pursed her lips and tried to decide if he was making fun of her again, then shrugged.
"Hell with it," she said, and placed her fingertips on his. If this was to be her last run, she might as well enjoy herself a little. "Shall we, my lord?" she asked loftily.
"The Labyrinth awaits," he replied, and led her regally through a barrier that wasn't really there at all. Sarah felt the shiver of magic pass over her as they stepped through the illusion, then looked around to see the true beginning of the Labyrinth.
Passages twisted and turned away from them in every direction, snaking through walls that stuck out at crazy angles all around them. Rising above the mad, helter-skelter maze, Sarah could see a smudge of darkness that might have been the tower at the center of the Labyrinth. She turned to look behind them and saw more passages just like the others. "Hey, it changed!" she cried.
Jareth tossed a cursory glance over his shoulder and dismissed it. "Nonsense. We simply entered the true Labyrinth. The first riddle is usually to find the real entrance. Most people assume that walking through a fancy gate is all that must be done, but assumptions can be very dangerous."
"Well, let's hope the soldiers won't think of kicking the wall," Sarah said.
"It wouldn't matter if they did," Jareth said as his eyes flickered between the options before them. "Our battle is against the Labyrinth now, and any who follow must run their own races. I doubt very much that they will follow us. No, they will go running to the lord of this maze - who, I suspect, is the elder Duath, unless Malocoli has usurped him and rules in his place - and will surely be waiting for us at the center."
"That's very cheerful," Sarah said sourly.
Jareth closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he raised his hands in front of him. Fingers waving slightly, he began moving his arms in little sigmoid curves in front of him. He looked a little like the conductor of an invisible symphony, Sarah thought, or like a mad dowser feeling for water. Still with his eyes closed, Jareth said, "Of course, Malocoli is likely a good two days' travel away at least. If we move quickly, we may beat him yet. We have certain advantages."
"Like what you're doing now?" Sarah asked.
Jareth smiled like a cat that had gotten into the cream and opened his eyes. "Exactly," he purred. "Come, Sarah! The clock is ticking." He strode off down one of the passages.
Trotting to catch up, Sarah pressed, "How exactly do you know which way to go?"
His face was almost jubilant as he replied, "I have a passing familiarity with such things. Power flows through the Labyrinth toward its center, like rivers to the sea. We have but to find the main current, float ourselves along it like so much driftwood, and we are almost certain to find our way to the center."
Sarah caught the qualification. "Almost?" she inquired.
"Nothing is ever certain in the Labyrinth," he said curtly.
That didn't make her feel much better. "So why are we relying on 'almost' when your magic can take us to the center in a heartbeat?" Sarah demanded.
Jareth never broke stride. "Clever, but still ignorant," he chided her.
Sarah flushed. "If you spent half as much time explaining things to me as you do enjoying your superiority, I'd know more than you by now!" she retorted.
"Your vociferous point is well taken," he said, flashing her a wry glance. "Allow me to enlighten you. Entering the Labyrinth is tantamount to entering into a contract of sorts. As long as we abide by certain behavior, the Labyrinth is bound by certain rules. As challengers, we must physically traverse the thing, and you truly can't understand how annoying that is to me. If I tried magically to move us to a point closer to the center, the Labyrinth would be free to intercept us and send us to the nastiest location of its devising. I doubt very much that either of us would enjoy such an outcome."
"You say that like it's alive," Sarah observed.
"That's because it is," Jareth replied.
They didn't talk for the next half hour or so, but Sarah spent the time noticing how right he was, and wondering how she could have missed the fact that the Labyrinth was clearly a living entity. Its corridors thrummed with energy, almost like a heartbeat, and she got the distinct feeling that the walls were growing and changing every moment. Sometimes she even turned her head to see, out of the corner of her eye, a wall growing out to block the way they had come. "Magic is its blood, and the center its heart," she murmured.
"A decent analogy, except for the fact that the magic flows," Jareth said, interrupting her thoughts.
Sarah blinked. "Clearly that's why the analogy is so good," she said.
Jareth laughed. "Are you mad? Blood doesn't flow!"
Sarah was so stunned she almost tripped over her own feet. "What d'you mean, blood doesn't flow? Of course it does! Unless - " She stopped suddenly. "Wait a minute. You look like me on the outside, but that doesn't mean we're the same on the inside. Maybe your blood really doesn't flow!" She thought about that for a minute, then added, "You have a heart, though." She had heard it beating as he held her, weeping, in his arms.
This new mystery intrigued both of them. Jareth ransacked his memory of the old legends of the Underground and after swapping their limited knowledge of anatomy, they concluded that they were most probably quite similar on the inside as well. Sarah discovered, however, that Jareth was completely ignorant of the function of any of his internal parts. He told her in complete earnestness that it had been proved centuries ago that the heart was the seat of intelligence, containing water on the right side and air on the left and thus providing a balance of two of the most important elements for life. The heartbeat, he said, was the element of fire. A suspicion began to grow in Sarah's mind.
"You must have astronomers in the Underground," she said. "They must have ideas about the stars, right?"
"Of course," Jareth said. "The world is the center of the universe, and the sun, moon, and stars occupy various celestial spheres moving in fiendishly complex patterns." As Sarah listened with growing conviction that her theory was right, Jareth gave her a near-textbook explanation of Ptolemaic astronomy. She asked him about math and chemistry and although her own knowledge of those subjects was fairly abysmal, she obviously outpaced Jareth by a hundred miles. The Underground was brim-full of magic, and science had paid the price.
Although Jareth clearly thought that the Uplands was full of madmen, he listened in fascination to her stumbling explanation of the circulatory system. Sarah had hit a wall trying to explain the idea of the heart as a pump ("What's a pump?" he had asked, baffled. "It's for, well, pumping things," she had replied) and was looking at the ground for something to demonstrate the concept when she felt his hand clamp down on her arm in a steel grip. One look at his face made her blood run cold, and she turned stiffly to see what could possibly have given him such a definite pallor.
In front of them, lounging across the path, was a huge woman as big as a house. She filled the passage from wall to wall, and was naked from the waist up, her tangled black hair falling in giant elflocks to cover her breasts and stomach. As Sarah watched, the woman shifted herself to a more comfortable position and revealed the body of an enormous lion where the woman's giant legs should have been. A pair of wings sprouted from the lion's shoulders, the vivid red and blue of the feathers making a startling contrast with the tawny gold of its hide. All told, the creature had eight limbs. One hand lifted lazily to the woman's face as she casually inspected a curved claw. She raised her emerald cats' eyes to regard them momentarily, then returned to her examination of her talon.
"You can go no further, little creatures, unless I permit it," she said in a rich, deep voice.
"Ah," Jareth said. "I wondered when we would meet the inhabitants." Pitching his voice louder, he cried, "I greet you most cordially, your Grace! We seek the center of the Labyrinth. May we have your permission to pass?" Sarah was amazed that he could speak at all. The sight of the giant creature had quite taken her breath away.
The woman flicked her lion's tail in a gesture both leisurely and powerful. "Do you know what I am, little creatures?" she asked.
Jareth gave her a dazzling smile and said, "Of course, my lady! Who has not heard of the might and wisdom of the Sphinx? But the tales do no justice to your great beauty, I see. Perhaps mere words are not enough to capture such splendor!"
He was talking perfect nonsense, but Sarah couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit put out. She had been his sole companion for four days and she'd never seen so much as a hint of the charm that was currently oozing out of him. She told herself firmly to get a grip. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a house-sized Sphinx. Obviously his gallantry only emerged when it saved him from being someone's lunch.
The Sphinx preened herself languidly and laughed a deep, throaty chuckle. "I like you, little man. I'll make you a bargain. Give me that ugly girl and I'll make you my pet."
Sarah shot an enraged glare at Jareth. He turned considerably paler and hastened to say, "Much as I hate to decline your generous offer, I must escort this girl to the center. A matter of honor, you understand."
"Oh yes," the Sphinx said. "You Men care so much for your honor. Then I am sure you will do the honorable thing and pay me a fair price for your passage."
"And what might that be?" Jareth asked cautiously.
"Merely a trifle," the Sphinx sniffed. "My price is the answer to my riddle." Rolling casually onto her haunches, the Sphinx stretched luxuriously and began to speak in a sonorous voice. "What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?" she intoned.
"That's easy!" Sarah cried, relieved to get off so lightly. "It's a per-"
"Stop!" Jareth shouted.
"-son," Sarah finished.
"Done!" the Sphinx howled. Unsheathing all her claws, she pounced.
Jareth crashed into Sarah and knocked her flying. Dazedly climbing to her knees, Sarah saw him dash towards the Sphinx, silver sword blazing. The Sphinx was roaring like a creature possessed, slashing at Jareth with her huge paws and scoring deep grooves in the stone with every blow. He danced nimbly between her legs, stabbing downwards, and the Sphinx shrieked in pain. As his sword flicked into view again, Sarah saw that it dripped scarlet.
Enraged, the beast retaliated. Her wings began beating furiously, generating a wind that threatened to knock Jareth off his feet. Dust flew into his eyes and mouth despite the warding arm he flung in front of his face. A claw came whistling down and Sarah heard a very human cry.
The sound spurred her to action. Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed the first piece of loose masonry that came to her hand. "Fly hard, you," she ordered it, and flung it at the Sphinx's head with all her strength. Sarah didn't wait to see if she had hit her target, although given the size of that head it would have been hard to miss. As soon as the rock left her hand, she felt for another and loosed that one after its brother. Yelling and stamping, she aimed for the Sphinx's eyes and was gratified to see the monster flinch, then turn her ponderous head in Sarah's direction. The cats' eyes narrowed and a hiss escaped the twisted mouth.
"You, ugly girl, will do just as well," the Sphinx growled.
Sarah drew her little blade and shouted, "Come and get me!" The Sphinx turned her hunting gaze on Sarah and prepared to spring. Sarah looked for Jareth in the dust cloud at the Sphinx's feet and whispered, "Please don't be dead, please don't be dead."
Jareth was not, in fact, dead. As soon as the Sphinx shifted her attention to Sarah, he moved as silently and swiftly as lightening, and the Sphinx's huge cry as his blade sank to the hilt in her chest was like thunder. Before Sarah was able to do more than gasp "You're alive!" he raced up to her, threw her over his shoulder, and sprinted for the far passage.
Before Sarah could blink, they were out of the Sphinx's little courtyard and flying down a long hall. She started to yell at Jareth to put her down, had to stop to cough up a lungful of dust, and decided to pound on his back instead. He paid no attention to her, sprinting around corner after corner until the howls of the Sphinx were long gone. They burst out into a wide, grassy area that looked like it might have been somebody's orchard once. He looked around, seemed to decide it was safe, and dumped her unceremoniously to the ground.
"Fool . . . idiot . . . girl," he wheezed, chest heaving. He turned away from her to pace, too furious for words. Sarah got slowly to her feet. She had to admit that he was right. She had acted stupidly, assuming that all the Sphinx wanted was a verbal answer to the riddle. Instead, by answering she had agreed to the Sphinx's price: a person. She opened her mouth awkwardly to apologize but the words seemed to stick in her throat. Her pride was just about the only thing that had protected her from this man thus far, and she was too afraid to abandon it. Jareth came to an abrupt stop in front of her. Sarah forced herself to meet his furious gaze. She started to gather her will to tell him the truth, but suddenly he seized her by both arms, pulled her to him, and engulfed her in a fierce embrace.
His arms encircled her like a vise, his body shaking from head to toe, his breath coming from him in hoarse sobs. Sarah was squashed against his chest, face pressed against the prickly brocade of his collar, and she found she didn't mind at all. He had trapped her arms along with the rest of her, so instead of wrapping them around him she settled for leaning her body against his. She closed her eyes and thought of wildflowers, then banished the image as not perfect enough.
As suddenly as he had pulled her in, he pushed her roughly back. Shaking her so that her teeth rattled, he yelled, "You fool creature! What the devil possessed you to throw rocks at that beast? You would - you could have been - curse all women for interfering busybodies!"
Part of her thought that she should probably be annoyed with him, but the rest of her couldn't care less. He wouldn't be Jareth if he didn't think he could take on the world all by himself. "She scratched you," Sarah said, raising her hand to touch the line of blood at his neck.
"Barely nicked me," he scoffed. "She was as slow as molasses. Quick enough to take me by surprise when she turned about, though. I would never have given you that sword if I'd known it would make you so confounded foolhardy!"
"Jareth," Sarah said firmly, "shut up." Surprised, he closed his mouth. She continued, "I'm sorry I got us into that mess in the first place. You were right - assumptions are dangerous, and I took it for granted that all I had to do was answer the riddle. I'm sorry."
He stared at her for a long moment, his blue eye frigid and his gold eye flaming. Her own deep brown eyes stared back, daring him to stay angry with her. He was the first to break eye contact, storming off to kick one of the trees that shaded the grassy lawn. Sarah could hear him muttering oaths, and she found herself smiling at his inventive vocabulary. Her eyes were drawn to the branches above his head, and she noticed that the trees had small fruit hanging heavily from its branches. "What kind of trees are these?" she asked.
Jareth raised his head and growled, "Of all the trivial nonsense!" He cast a glance into the branches above his head and cocked his head in surprise. "Peach trees," he told her.
"It's been a long four days since I've had fresh fruit," Sarah said.
Jareth peered suspiciously up at the tree, then gingerly reached out and plucked two peaches. He stood there, hand outstretched, as if waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he sniffed the fruit, turned it over in his hand, and brought it to her. "I don't feel a spell on it," he said in a conciliatory tone.
Sarah smiled and said, "Good. I'm starved." She would let the peach be a peace offering between them.
Jareth took out a small dagger and cut one of the peaches in half, sniffed the inside, and took a small bite. He waited a few more moments, but his face didn't turn purple or anything sinister like that. Handing her the other half, he said, "It seems to be safe."
Sarah said, "I'm sure it is," and took a large bite. It was the sweetest, juiciest peach she had ever tasted. Some of the nectar ran down her chin, and she laughed as she licked it up.
Jareth's voice said, "Sarah." He sounded strange. She turned her head gaily to ask him what was the matter, and saw him collapse to his knees. The remains of the peach rolled from his hand onto the green grass, its core putrid and rotten. Her body began to go numb, and she watched in horror as the Goblin King keeled over to lie prone in the green grass.
"Jareth," she whispered, and then her eyes glazed over and she felt herself spinning, spinning, spinning into blackness.
"It's poor luck, but it can't be helped," he said in a low voice. The silence seemed to discourage breaking it; even those soft words rang like clashing steel. "Fortunately I've always had a decent left-handed lunge. I don't suppose you know how to use a weapon?"
"Since I've gotten here, my one big regret has been passing up Mr. Brugley's fencing class," Sarah said dryly.
He raised an eyebrow, then turned his hand and produced a crystal at his fingertips. "It's never too late to start," he told her, handing her a silver blade about two feet long. "Allow me to summarize two thousand years of fencing technique: hold the blunt end and don't cut yourself."
Sarah folded her arms across her chest. "You know, you might want to rethink this offer. Currently the odds favor my immediately swinging for your head."
Jareth threw back his head and barked a short, harsh laugh. There was little mirth in the sound, but some part of the hollow stillness in the air vanished like smoke on the breeze. Summoning a scabbard to go with the short sword, he held it out to her. "Take it, Sarah. Though your tongue is a fearsome weapon, I believe that cold iron may serve you better for the moment."
Gingerly, Sarah accepted the thing. The pommel fit her hand perfectly and he must have magicked the blade to be unusually light, but she felt extremely uncomfortable holding something created for the sole purpose of hurting someone else. "Well," she muttered, "it's likely to be someone hell-bent on murdering me, so better safe than sorry."
"You needn't bother thanking me," Jareth said haughtily.
"Okay, then I won't," she grinned. "Even though I'd love to stand in this cold, damp alley talking all day, shouldn't we get moving? It's not like they won't figure out where we've gone."
"Admirable spirit, though misinformed as usual," Jareth said mockingly. Sarah squealed and aimed a kick at his leg. Eyes dancing, he stepped easily out of the way. Sarah was ready to land a really satisfying kick on the rough stones behind him, but to her boundless surprise, her foot passed right through the wall. She overbalanced, started to topple, and shot out the hand with the sword in it and caught herself with its point between two cracked slabs.
"Oh look," she said weakly, "it's been useful already."
Jareth leapt past her, sword out, and stuck his head through what seemed to be solid rock. Ducking back, he nodded in satisfaction. "It looks clear. Well done, my dear, well done indeed! First point's to you." He held out his hand like any well-bred gentlemen would do to a lady he was escorting to a royal ball. Sarah pursed her lips and tried to decide if he was making fun of her again, then shrugged.
"Hell with it," she said, and placed her fingertips on his. If this was to be her last run, she might as well enjoy herself a little. "Shall we, my lord?" she asked loftily.
"The Labyrinth awaits," he replied, and led her regally through a barrier that wasn't really there at all. Sarah felt the shiver of magic pass over her as they stepped through the illusion, then looked around to see the true beginning of the Labyrinth.
Passages twisted and turned away from them in every direction, snaking through walls that stuck out at crazy angles all around them. Rising above the mad, helter-skelter maze, Sarah could see a smudge of darkness that might have been the tower at the center of the Labyrinth. She turned to look behind them and saw more passages just like the others. "Hey, it changed!" she cried.
Jareth tossed a cursory glance over his shoulder and dismissed it. "Nonsense. We simply entered the true Labyrinth. The first riddle is usually to find the real entrance. Most people assume that walking through a fancy gate is all that must be done, but assumptions can be very dangerous."
"Well, let's hope the soldiers won't think of kicking the wall," Sarah said.
"It wouldn't matter if they did," Jareth said as his eyes flickered between the options before them. "Our battle is against the Labyrinth now, and any who follow must run their own races. I doubt very much that they will follow us. No, they will go running to the lord of this maze - who, I suspect, is the elder Duath, unless Malocoli has usurped him and rules in his place - and will surely be waiting for us at the center."
"That's very cheerful," Sarah said sourly.
Jareth closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he raised his hands in front of him. Fingers waving slightly, he began moving his arms in little sigmoid curves in front of him. He looked a little like the conductor of an invisible symphony, Sarah thought, or like a mad dowser feeling for water. Still with his eyes closed, Jareth said, "Of course, Malocoli is likely a good two days' travel away at least. If we move quickly, we may beat him yet. We have certain advantages."
"Like what you're doing now?" Sarah asked.
Jareth smiled like a cat that had gotten into the cream and opened his eyes. "Exactly," he purred. "Come, Sarah! The clock is ticking." He strode off down one of the passages.
Trotting to catch up, Sarah pressed, "How exactly do you know which way to go?"
His face was almost jubilant as he replied, "I have a passing familiarity with such things. Power flows through the Labyrinth toward its center, like rivers to the sea. We have but to find the main current, float ourselves along it like so much driftwood, and we are almost certain to find our way to the center."
Sarah caught the qualification. "Almost?" she inquired.
"Nothing is ever certain in the Labyrinth," he said curtly.
That didn't make her feel much better. "So why are we relying on 'almost' when your magic can take us to the center in a heartbeat?" Sarah demanded.
Jareth never broke stride. "Clever, but still ignorant," he chided her.
Sarah flushed. "If you spent half as much time explaining things to me as you do enjoying your superiority, I'd know more than you by now!" she retorted.
"Your vociferous point is well taken," he said, flashing her a wry glance. "Allow me to enlighten you. Entering the Labyrinth is tantamount to entering into a contract of sorts. As long as we abide by certain behavior, the Labyrinth is bound by certain rules. As challengers, we must physically traverse the thing, and you truly can't understand how annoying that is to me. If I tried magically to move us to a point closer to the center, the Labyrinth would be free to intercept us and send us to the nastiest location of its devising. I doubt very much that either of us would enjoy such an outcome."
"You say that like it's alive," Sarah observed.
"That's because it is," Jareth replied.
They didn't talk for the next half hour or so, but Sarah spent the time noticing how right he was, and wondering how she could have missed the fact that the Labyrinth was clearly a living entity. Its corridors thrummed with energy, almost like a heartbeat, and she got the distinct feeling that the walls were growing and changing every moment. Sometimes she even turned her head to see, out of the corner of her eye, a wall growing out to block the way they had come. "Magic is its blood, and the center its heart," she murmured.
"A decent analogy, except for the fact that the magic flows," Jareth said, interrupting her thoughts.
Sarah blinked. "Clearly that's why the analogy is so good," she said.
Jareth laughed. "Are you mad? Blood doesn't flow!"
Sarah was so stunned she almost tripped over her own feet. "What d'you mean, blood doesn't flow? Of course it does! Unless - " She stopped suddenly. "Wait a minute. You look like me on the outside, but that doesn't mean we're the same on the inside. Maybe your blood really doesn't flow!" She thought about that for a minute, then added, "You have a heart, though." She had heard it beating as he held her, weeping, in his arms.
This new mystery intrigued both of them. Jareth ransacked his memory of the old legends of the Underground and after swapping their limited knowledge of anatomy, they concluded that they were most probably quite similar on the inside as well. Sarah discovered, however, that Jareth was completely ignorant of the function of any of his internal parts. He told her in complete earnestness that it had been proved centuries ago that the heart was the seat of intelligence, containing water on the right side and air on the left and thus providing a balance of two of the most important elements for life. The heartbeat, he said, was the element of fire. A suspicion began to grow in Sarah's mind.
"You must have astronomers in the Underground," she said. "They must have ideas about the stars, right?"
"Of course," Jareth said. "The world is the center of the universe, and the sun, moon, and stars occupy various celestial spheres moving in fiendishly complex patterns." As Sarah listened with growing conviction that her theory was right, Jareth gave her a near-textbook explanation of Ptolemaic astronomy. She asked him about math and chemistry and although her own knowledge of those subjects was fairly abysmal, she obviously outpaced Jareth by a hundred miles. The Underground was brim-full of magic, and science had paid the price.
Although Jareth clearly thought that the Uplands was full of madmen, he listened in fascination to her stumbling explanation of the circulatory system. Sarah had hit a wall trying to explain the idea of the heart as a pump ("What's a pump?" he had asked, baffled. "It's for, well, pumping things," she had replied) and was looking at the ground for something to demonstrate the concept when she felt his hand clamp down on her arm in a steel grip. One look at his face made her blood run cold, and she turned stiffly to see what could possibly have given him such a definite pallor.
In front of them, lounging across the path, was a huge woman as big as a house. She filled the passage from wall to wall, and was naked from the waist up, her tangled black hair falling in giant elflocks to cover her breasts and stomach. As Sarah watched, the woman shifted herself to a more comfortable position and revealed the body of an enormous lion where the woman's giant legs should have been. A pair of wings sprouted from the lion's shoulders, the vivid red and blue of the feathers making a startling contrast with the tawny gold of its hide. All told, the creature had eight limbs. One hand lifted lazily to the woman's face as she casually inspected a curved claw. She raised her emerald cats' eyes to regard them momentarily, then returned to her examination of her talon.
"You can go no further, little creatures, unless I permit it," she said in a rich, deep voice.
"Ah," Jareth said. "I wondered when we would meet the inhabitants." Pitching his voice louder, he cried, "I greet you most cordially, your Grace! We seek the center of the Labyrinth. May we have your permission to pass?" Sarah was amazed that he could speak at all. The sight of the giant creature had quite taken her breath away.
The woman flicked her lion's tail in a gesture both leisurely and powerful. "Do you know what I am, little creatures?" she asked.
Jareth gave her a dazzling smile and said, "Of course, my lady! Who has not heard of the might and wisdom of the Sphinx? But the tales do no justice to your great beauty, I see. Perhaps mere words are not enough to capture such splendor!"
He was talking perfect nonsense, but Sarah couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit put out. She had been his sole companion for four days and she'd never seen so much as a hint of the charm that was currently oozing out of him. She told herself firmly to get a grip. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a house-sized Sphinx. Obviously his gallantry only emerged when it saved him from being someone's lunch.
The Sphinx preened herself languidly and laughed a deep, throaty chuckle. "I like you, little man. I'll make you a bargain. Give me that ugly girl and I'll make you my pet."
Sarah shot an enraged glare at Jareth. He turned considerably paler and hastened to say, "Much as I hate to decline your generous offer, I must escort this girl to the center. A matter of honor, you understand."
"Oh yes," the Sphinx said. "You Men care so much for your honor. Then I am sure you will do the honorable thing and pay me a fair price for your passage."
"And what might that be?" Jareth asked cautiously.
"Merely a trifle," the Sphinx sniffed. "My price is the answer to my riddle." Rolling casually onto her haunches, the Sphinx stretched luxuriously and began to speak in a sonorous voice. "What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?" she intoned.
"That's easy!" Sarah cried, relieved to get off so lightly. "It's a per-"
"Stop!" Jareth shouted.
"-son," Sarah finished.
"Done!" the Sphinx howled. Unsheathing all her claws, she pounced.
Jareth crashed into Sarah and knocked her flying. Dazedly climbing to her knees, Sarah saw him dash towards the Sphinx, silver sword blazing. The Sphinx was roaring like a creature possessed, slashing at Jareth with her huge paws and scoring deep grooves in the stone with every blow. He danced nimbly between her legs, stabbing downwards, and the Sphinx shrieked in pain. As his sword flicked into view again, Sarah saw that it dripped scarlet.
Enraged, the beast retaliated. Her wings began beating furiously, generating a wind that threatened to knock Jareth off his feet. Dust flew into his eyes and mouth despite the warding arm he flung in front of his face. A claw came whistling down and Sarah heard a very human cry.
The sound spurred her to action. Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed the first piece of loose masonry that came to her hand. "Fly hard, you," she ordered it, and flung it at the Sphinx's head with all her strength. Sarah didn't wait to see if she had hit her target, although given the size of that head it would have been hard to miss. As soon as the rock left her hand, she felt for another and loosed that one after its brother. Yelling and stamping, she aimed for the Sphinx's eyes and was gratified to see the monster flinch, then turn her ponderous head in Sarah's direction. The cats' eyes narrowed and a hiss escaped the twisted mouth.
"You, ugly girl, will do just as well," the Sphinx growled.
Sarah drew her little blade and shouted, "Come and get me!" The Sphinx turned her hunting gaze on Sarah and prepared to spring. Sarah looked for Jareth in the dust cloud at the Sphinx's feet and whispered, "Please don't be dead, please don't be dead."
Jareth was not, in fact, dead. As soon as the Sphinx shifted her attention to Sarah, he moved as silently and swiftly as lightening, and the Sphinx's huge cry as his blade sank to the hilt in her chest was like thunder. Before Sarah was able to do more than gasp "You're alive!" he raced up to her, threw her over his shoulder, and sprinted for the far passage.
Before Sarah could blink, they were out of the Sphinx's little courtyard and flying down a long hall. She started to yell at Jareth to put her down, had to stop to cough up a lungful of dust, and decided to pound on his back instead. He paid no attention to her, sprinting around corner after corner until the howls of the Sphinx were long gone. They burst out into a wide, grassy area that looked like it might have been somebody's orchard once. He looked around, seemed to decide it was safe, and dumped her unceremoniously to the ground.
"Fool . . . idiot . . . girl," he wheezed, chest heaving. He turned away from her to pace, too furious for words. Sarah got slowly to her feet. She had to admit that he was right. She had acted stupidly, assuming that all the Sphinx wanted was a verbal answer to the riddle. Instead, by answering she had agreed to the Sphinx's price: a person. She opened her mouth awkwardly to apologize but the words seemed to stick in her throat. Her pride was just about the only thing that had protected her from this man thus far, and she was too afraid to abandon it. Jareth came to an abrupt stop in front of her. Sarah forced herself to meet his furious gaze. She started to gather her will to tell him the truth, but suddenly he seized her by both arms, pulled her to him, and engulfed her in a fierce embrace.
His arms encircled her like a vise, his body shaking from head to toe, his breath coming from him in hoarse sobs. Sarah was squashed against his chest, face pressed against the prickly brocade of his collar, and she found she didn't mind at all. He had trapped her arms along with the rest of her, so instead of wrapping them around him she settled for leaning her body against his. She closed her eyes and thought of wildflowers, then banished the image as not perfect enough.
As suddenly as he had pulled her in, he pushed her roughly back. Shaking her so that her teeth rattled, he yelled, "You fool creature! What the devil possessed you to throw rocks at that beast? You would - you could have been - curse all women for interfering busybodies!"
Part of her thought that she should probably be annoyed with him, but the rest of her couldn't care less. He wouldn't be Jareth if he didn't think he could take on the world all by himself. "She scratched you," Sarah said, raising her hand to touch the line of blood at his neck.
"Barely nicked me," he scoffed. "She was as slow as molasses. Quick enough to take me by surprise when she turned about, though. I would never have given you that sword if I'd known it would make you so confounded foolhardy!"
"Jareth," Sarah said firmly, "shut up." Surprised, he closed his mouth. She continued, "I'm sorry I got us into that mess in the first place. You were right - assumptions are dangerous, and I took it for granted that all I had to do was answer the riddle. I'm sorry."
He stared at her for a long moment, his blue eye frigid and his gold eye flaming. Her own deep brown eyes stared back, daring him to stay angry with her. He was the first to break eye contact, storming off to kick one of the trees that shaded the grassy lawn. Sarah could hear him muttering oaths, and she found herself smiling at his inventive vocabulary. Her eyes were drawn to the branches above his head, and she noticed that the trees had small fruit hanging heavily from its branches. "What kind of trees are these?" she asked.
Jareth raised his head and growled, "Of all the trivial nonsense!" He cast a glance into the branches above his head and cocked his head in surprise. "Peach trees," he told her.
"It's been a long four days since I've had fresh fruit," Sarah said.
Jareth peered suspiciously up at the tree, then gingerly reached out and plucked two peaches. He stood there, hand outstretched, as if waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he sniffed the fruit, turned it over in his hand, and brought it to her. "I don't feel a spell on it," he said in a conciliatory tone.
Sarah smiled and said, "Good. I'm starved." She would let the peach be a peace offering between them.
Jareth took out a small dagger and cut one of the peaches in half, sniffed the inside, and took a small bite. He waited a few more moments, but his face didn't turn purple or anything sinister like that. Handing her the other half, he said, "It seems to be safe."
Sarah said, "I'm sure it is," and took a large bite. It was the sweetest, juiciest peach she had ever tasted. Some of the nectar ran down her chin, and she laughed as she licked it up.
Jareth's voice said, "Sarah." He sounded strange. She turned her head gaily to ask him what was the matter, and saw him collapse to his knees. The remains of the peach rolled from his hand onto the green grass, its core putrid and rotten. Her body began to go numb, and she watched in horror as the Goblin King keeled over to lie prone in the green grass.
"Jareth," she whispered, and then her eyes glazed over and she felt herself spinning, spinning, spinning into blackness.