Chapter Five: Turnabout

...flummoxed as she was, she became suddenly steeped in the suspicion that there was a deeper, darker, more mischievous mischief at work here than she had previously supposed— it was sourced in the sudden, apparently spontaneous, proliferation of words beginning with S—

Deep inside the bowels of the castle where the Goblin King reigned, felonious plans were being put into action, miscellaneous objects were mysteriously appearing or disappearing, extra limbs spontaneously combusted, people grew new heads to replace old ones, songs were sung, and a tiny bit of evil in the world was replaced with a cheerful devilry; all this as a matter of course, for whilst Jareth was in residence, his very presence set everything in motion, and the entire Labyrinth, Goblin City, and castle were all self-sustaining, feeding off his desire for trouble and confusion and general mischief. His minions played cards around rickety tables, his cleaning staff slept off their hangovers in wheelbarrows and buckets, his lackeys stole the silver, and love was in the air— or rather, more specifically and accurately, love was in the small room just behind the throne, which was never locked. The key had been lost long ago, and the frequenters of it were used to coming (and going) as they pleased.

Jareth himself, having returned from his sojourn in Sarah's world, was now seated on his ornate throne; made of the bones of some archaic beast, and covered in a the thick brown fur of a grizzly bear, it was exceedingly comfortable, and he would not have had it any other way. He sprawled lengthwise across it, one knee bent, his eyes upturned to the ceiling, his fingers tapping against each other in a steeple that suggested deep and serious thought.

Eventually he said, "We shall have to have the roof repainted."

All noise in the throne room immediately ceased, and dozens of goblin faces turned towards him expectantly. Jareth stared upwards for a few more seconds before looking around, mildly surprised.

"No, that's it," he said. "That's all I was going to say."

His subjects relaxed slightly and went about their business.

"Although," said Jareth, and the same thing happened. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to him.

He frowned.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, still staring upwards.

"No, that's it," he said finally.

Once again, the rustle and bustle returned. They were quite used to this pattern. It occurred every day, several times; every time, in fact, that Jareth opened his mouth, whether he be ordering an execution or requesting a toothpick.

Jareth observed the everyday rituals of goblin life that were going on in front of and behind him, and was bored.

Finally he said, "Bring me the baby."

Their attention returned once more to their beloved ruler, the baby was brought forth, and Jareth took him into his arms, bouncing him up and down in the air as though weighing him like a sack of potatoes, looking him over with a critical eye.

"He does not in the least," he said aloud, "resemble his older sister."

Gamstrung, a goblin who was seated on the wide arm of the throne, ventured, "He is a baby, sire— they're all ugly at that age."

"Everyone is entitled to be ugly at some point in their lives," declared Jareth. He paused, and glanced around at the goblin faces surrounding him. "Granted, some people abuse this privilege."

The goblins tittered and pointed fingers at each other.

Jareth eyed them, and sat the baby on his lap decisively.

"She shan't get you back again," he told Toby. "I've taken you, and she shan't get you back."

"But sire," hazarded a rather fool-hardy little goblin named Pratchett, "the baby does belong to the girl—"

Jareth turned his searing glare on the unfortunate Pratchett, whose hat burst into flames on his head. With amusement in his eyes, the Goblin King watched the creature dance around, yelling excitedly, until someone dumped a bottle of whiskey over his head, upon which the rest of him caught on fire.

"All property is theft," said Jareth, "except mine."

This was taken as a new law, indeed, it sounded very much like the old one; however, that didn't stop Jareth's compulsive secretaries from scribbling down every word on dirty notepads, with cracked and chewed pencil stubs. Jareth turned his attention back to the baby.

"Its only a matter of time, after all," he said. "There is—"

He glanced at the clock.

"Ten hours, twenty three minutes. Just that, left to go till you belong to me rightly and legally and unchangeably. Lets see her navigate the Labyrinth in such a short time."

He laughed in derision, and then motioned to the goblins until they laughed as well. There was nothing Jareth enjoyed more than a good laugh, unless it was seeing someone catch on fire, which often led to a good laugh (on his part) and so, really, there was nothing Jareth enjoyed more than a good laugh.

However, the wheels in his brain were turning, and presently he pulled on Gamstrung's beard and instructed him, "Send for Turnabout."

"Send for Turnabout!" shouted Gamstrung.

"Send for Turnabout!" shouted the secretary, and the cry was echoed through to the back of the castle, where Turnabout lay sleeping.

He left his nest and then his room, closing the door behind him and securing the enormous padlock, before making his way into the throne room. He stepped forward into Jareth's presence, bowing deeply, sweeping his hat off his head, revealing pointed, furry ears and letting long black hair fall into his face.

"Your Majesty wishes my presence?"

Jareth watched the crystal he was manipulating in his hand.

"The Labyrinth has been in good working order for many years," he said. "It changes every few minutes, and is enough to confound any normal person."

Turnabout waited silently.

"And yet," said Jareth, "I sense that that will not be enough."

Swinging his legs down in front of him, he sat up straight and began to declaim,

"Spirit of the Labyrinth,

Labyrinthine sprite

Curse the one I

Love tonight

Bind her feet with

Twisted tales

Close doors, gates, walls

Fight tooth and nail

Prevent the onward

Surge of strength

Provide me with a

Source of angst

Trip her up and

Tie her down

Keep her from

My Goblintown— "

Turnabout raised one hand, the long fingers ending in curved golden claws. He held it out, in a cease-and-desist gesture.

"The poetry," he said in his silky voice, "really is not necessary."

Jareth cocked his head. "But it adds such dimension to one's commands, don't you find?"

"I suppose so," said Turnabout politely. "Not being in a position of power myself, I would not be by way of knowing."

Jareth leant forward, his hands by his knees, supporting his weight on his palms. He frowned slightly and chewed his lower lip. "I see. Well, may I say, Turnabout, that should you assist me in this manner— I will see my way clear to putting you in a very powerful position indeed."

Turnabout's pointed ears perked up.

"Say— royalty?" suggested Jareth gently.

Turnabout swept another deep bow, sharp white teeth gleaming in a grin.

"I shall strive to do everything I can," he said. "And you well know it is what I am best at."

Jareth nodded, smiling slightly. "I do indeed, my fair Turnabout. Off you go then."

Another bow as Turnabout left the room, replacing his hat on his head and pulling it low over slanted green eyes, off to do the bidding of his master.

Behind him, the castle began to ring with the laughter of a hundred voices.

A/N: I started a blog::sets off firecrackers and throws confetti: The general purpose of it is to have a place to answer my readers, and also let them know if I should, ahem, decide to ruthlessly rip a story off this site, or just stop writing something... not that I'd do that, of course. No. Anyway. The address will be on my author's bio page, and I'd love it if you'd read the thing and leave a comment, even!

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