Four
Sarah spent a dark hour there by the meadow before she raised herself up and stumbled on her way. She berated herself as she walked, felt sorrier and stupider with each minute, but she didn't stop moving. It had to be seen through to the end, no matter how much a fool she turned out to be. Even if it killed her. Which it very well might.
The Labyrinth around her felt like another planet. Weird, strange, and confusing. What did I see in this place? Sarah thought, and then smirked at herself knowingly. She could remember quite well. God, I was so damned innocent. An adventure it had been, all right … but a, well, relatively pleasant one. Dangerous, yes, and she could still recall the cold ache of the fear of losing Toby, but at the same time … she had enjoyed herself. There had been something cartoonish about the whole setup. There were friends. For the most part, her enemies were rather stupid and easily defeated. And … this part came as a surprise to her … she had had … no peers. No competition. She was the only girl (well, human one, anyway) that she had met on her travels, and it pleased her to be thought of as unparalleled … it made her feel special … extraordinary. Exotic. Beautiful.
Then there had been the ballroom. She had nearly forgotten that.
Elsewhere in the Labyrinth, all the men were silly goblins or the harmless-grandfather type, friendly and gruff and absentminded; all the women were withered crones. None of them were threats to her; they didn't even seem to be physical in the same way that she was. But in that ballroom … Her skin crawled, remembering: the lewd stares, the too-revealing costumes, the jokes that she couldn't hear but knew were too nasty for her to even really understand. It was the only place that she had felt truly frightened in a way that was alien to the adventure … the danger to her was not the black and white of right or wrong, life or death, Toby or no Toby; it was a more sickening, subversive sort of fear. As though it were not really herself that was in danger, but some sort of idea of herself.
She remembered swirling in the arms of the Goblin King and how she had expected it to be the night of her dreams. But it hadn't been. Not at all.
It was easy to get to the castle this time. When Sarah walked out from the trees, there it was before her, shining red in a setting sun. There was no junkyard, no goblin city in its way; nothing to keep her from walking across the bare, wild plain and right up to its heavy doors.
Crimson grass stretched out before her, waving in a slight breeze. Patterns of sunlight shifted and danced within it as they had back in the clearing. From the castle she thought she heard faint strains of music.
She sighed deeply. Let's get this over with.
Nothing else moved over the darkening red plain but the wind, and that was growing faint with the onset of the night.
The massive doors were unbolted but very, very heavy. She struggled to push one open far enough to slip through.
The foyer was empty. No goblins, no guards. No random animals. No stolen babies. Nothing. It was finally starting to get to her. Especially when mixed with her memories of the last time she'd been here, and the faint echo of a plaintive promise, "Should you need us …"
She trudged up the steps that led to the throne room, letting her feet lead the way as she looked about her surroundings with wary, narrowed eyes. She had no expectations, though; not really.
The throne room that had been a filthy mess before was now immaculate, the stone gleaming, the central recess filled with silken pillows. The throne itself shone like a star behind its occupant, a long-legged figure striking a languid, but studied, pose.
"So," he remarked. "You've come."
And he leaned forward, as if to ask, now what you do?
She stifled the urge to ask if she'd won. She now knew it wouldn't be that easy.
So instead she just drew in a deep breath and asked, "You hungry? I'm starved."
He grinned. "So am I."
Standing, he continued. "I am sure you would wish to freshen up, make a change of clothing. Come now; just let my goblin laundresses take care of those for you. You can don them again straightaway."
She looked at him. His mouth was curled in an enigmatic smile. She didn't know for certain, but she sensed perfectly well that there were no such entities here at the castle, just as there had been no guards, no servants, no minions of any kind.
But she succumbed … she really did long to get out of her old clothes. Despite her efforts to clean them in the stream back at the clearing, after being drenched with old river mud, caked by the cool breezes of the plain, then baked by the fierce sun during her journey this afternoon, her old jeans and shirt had reached the point where they could stand by themselves. But of course, then there was the matter of what to wear while they were being cleaned...
So she reluctantly let him whip out for her from one of his crystals a long, green silk gown … a surprisingly plain, unfussy one. Considering the goblin king's own particularly flamboyant style, she had been expecting something a little beyond her power to adequately wear, but this dress was actually quite uncomplicated, perfect for her currently unfocused state of mind. She let him lead her to a bath chamber with a hot bath waiting in it, where he quite properly shut the door and left her be. She spent a wild minute convincing herself he was somehow watching her surreptitiously from somewhere, but then decided that she didn't even care … she wanted that bath too badly.
She shed her clothes, and with them the last of her hesitation. She enjoyed her bath, thinking of nothing, and finally emerged, clean again and clothed in green, in the throne room.
The change of clothes, more than anything else, made her feel like a different person. The curtain was in front of her, ready to rise on the final act. She felt numb, but at the same time she tingled; finally, an end to this.
Only then did it occur to her that if he could create a dress for her out of thin air, he could probably have re-produced her own clothes, clean and fresh again, the very same way.
Jareth was arrayed in splendid form, of course, in an ankle-length coat and hair akimbo. It would not have worked anywhere on earth, except perhaps in a movie or, of course, a play, but here it somehow seemed to fit the castle, the guttering candles and the long, fully prepared dining table. He looked as natural a part of the setting as the stone walls that surrounded him.
She, meanwhile, inexplicably, still felt the touch of the wind in her hair.
They ate in silence, Sarah making no fuss about accepting his food or his hospitality, since she was actually quite ravenous, having ingested nothing but water for at least two nights and a day. She even drank the wine that stood by her plate in a calm crystal goblet without hesitation. Whatever would happen, would happen. No use trying to predict it … or control it.