Chapter Eight: Strangers, Till Now

Deep beliefs are so held as to be protected by one's mind— in us is constantly the fear that, should we take these beliefs, expose them to light, scrutinize them in all the glory of our cynicality— they should dissolve into dust, and blow away, leaving us hollow and empty and incapable of ever being filled.

The door led to a long, low corridor, carved out of a dim blue stone. Sarah advanced down it first, looking from side to side anxiously. Her claustrophobia resumed its angry dance in her skull, and her breathing quickened as her heart beat double time.

She nearly started out of her skin when she felt the touch on her shoulder. She turned quickly to find Erik just behind her, staring down.

"Would you like me to go first?" he inquired.

She swallowed.

"Yes—"

He nodded and began to walk past her.

"No!" she said, and clutched at him. She caught a double handful of his cloak and pulled him to a stop. "No, if you go first I'll be picked off when your back is turned."

The eyebrow went up again.

"Then you would like to walk in front?"

"Y— no, if I walk in front I'll be picked off as a natural victim." She shut her eyes for a moment, fought back the claustrophobia, tried to give her brain breathing space. "Won't you just— walk beside me? There's room for both of us."

He paused and appeared to be thinking about it.

"Yes," he said finally, "there is room for both of us—"

Another moment and he held out an arm for her to take.

She swallowed hard, and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. The cloth of his coat was rough to her skin, but also comforting. She was reminded suddenly of being a very little girl and walking arm in arm with her grandfather, when he got down on his knees so as to be closer to her in height. Erik looked down at her, and she looked up; from this perspective all she could see was the unmasked cheek. Even so, he did not look normal. His skin was sallow, pale as though he never saw the light, and those eyes, liquid gold framed in darkness. The visible eyebrow arched only slightly, giving him an expression of permanent thoughtfulness, as though he was contemplating something that did not make him happy. She noticed he had no smile lines around his eyes, and this saddened her.

She wondered about the scar on his left cheek, even more than she wondered about the mask— she didn't dare ask about either.

"I have mentioned," he said quietly, "that it is rather rude of you to stare."

Instantly she pushed her gaze forward. "I'm sorry."

They walked on.

The corridor widened out abruptly into a series of large rooms, empty except for irregular columns of the same rock the walls were made of. Sarah clutched Erik's arm just a little bit closer. There was a cold wind there—

And, as they passed the first column, a voice leapt out and assaulted them.

"As our two intrepid protagonists walk through the room, their minds whirl with ideas of what could possibly inhabit it— or, indeed, what the voice could be that comes to their ears—"

It was a deep voice, mellisonant, slightly jovial, and, Sarah thought, strangely familiar.

"The pretty young woman reflected to herself that the voice was known to her somehow, though she couldn't place quite from where—"

She shot her eyes up to look at Erik, just as he looked down at her.

"Is that what you were—"

"Thinking, yes, just now. As soon as I thought it, that's what it said."

"The masked man puzzled over his companion's words. What could it mean? It had to all add up somehow, but how? He thought over what he knew of the Labyrinth and its strange inhabitants—"

A small smile crooked the corners of Erik's mouth.

"It's the Narrator," he said.

"What?" said Sarah.

"She repeated the word in tones of disbelief, as she couldn't quite credit what her tall acquaintance had just said—"

"Explain it, please?" said Sarah desperately.

Erik attempted. "You've read fairy tales, perhaps?"

"Yes. When I was younger, of course," she added hastily, blushing slightly. Erik already thought of her as a child— he didn't need reinforcement in this assumption.

"Her ears burned as she thought fleetingly of what she could do to impress upon the man her adultness, or if there was anything she could do to make him look upon her in a different light—"

"God!" said Sarah before she could help herself, now blushing furiously. She dropped Erik's arm, too flustered to realize that he was looking at her with amusement plain on his face. "A narrator. I understand. Nevermind."

"Yes, it seems the voice lives here in these caves. And— narrates."

His tone was amused as well.

"I get it," said Sarah. She kept her face turned away from him; young as she was, she still had a habit of being inordinately embarrassed by everything. Erik reached for her hand, and drew it again through his arm, drawing her into a faster walk.

"The sooner we get out of here, the sooner your mind loses the feeling of being looked into," he assured her.

"Well then, can't we run?" she asked. "It is not a comfortable feeling."

"No, I don't suppose it is."

The voice followed them, bouncing off the walls and the misshapen columns, jumping wildly at their heads in an attempt to catch them up. Snatches of the mellifluous tones were audible, and the rest was lost in a buzzing static.

"He thought of his beloved as she— the young woman bit her lip and sought to— the masked man felt the beginnings of song returning to his mind as— he wondered to himself if she had guessed yet who he was—"

Sarah shot a sharp glance up at him, but his eyes were focused in front of them.

"This," he said out of the corner of his mouth, "would be one of the times when not thinking is the wisest course."

They rushed on, and tried desperately not to think.

The voice bounded along behind them.

"The legs of the man stumbled— she thought to herself, how could he— who was he?"

Finally, there in front of them, was a door. They had been walking on an slight upwards slope all this time, and when Erik opened the door, they stepped out into sunlight.

Immediately in front of them was a strange-looking creature. It was tall, rangy and thin, swathed in a dark red cloak, a rumpled and bent top hat jammed tightly on its head; currently, it was bent over, making complicated motions with its four fingers. As they watched, something clicked, and the spreading vista to their right changed instantly to a blank brick wall.

There was a rumbling growl deep in Erik's throat. This was the first noise they'd made, and the creature jumped, standing up straight on bent hind legs, his eyes staring wildly at them, a thick lock of black hair falling into his face. The slanted eyes focused on them for a moment, and then the mouth curved in a grin, the eyes slitting with amusement.

"What have we here?" it asked. The voice was like a purr, low and throaty.

Erik's back had gone stiff. Sarah glanced at him, then back at the creature in front of them.

"Who are you?" she said.

The grin remained, and the creature bowed. "A humble servant of His Majesty— like all denizens of the Labyrinth. And who might you be, young miss?"

"Sarah," she said, tentatively.

"Just as I suspected," said the creature, and preened his whiskers.

"Will you not tell us your name?" she asked.

"Indeed not, young miss Sarah, for it is only the Head, not the Hand, that is named. A rose called by any other name would smell as sweet, but were you to inhale my aroma, I assure you you would find that I am no rose. I jest to Jareth, and make him smile, when I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, preying on the likeness of His Majesty's love."

"His name," said Erik, quietly, "is Turnabout. He is the Goblin King's Chief Minion."

Turnabout stood up straighter. "Right hand man, jester, entertainer, bard, singer of songs, teller of jokes, proclaimer of proclamations, asker of questions, poser of riddles, scratcher of back, massager of feet— all this and nothing more, except by appointment."

Sarah looked up at Erik, but he was staring fixedly at Turnabout and did not look back at her. She turned her eyes to Turnabout once more; his gaze was locked with Erik's, and a strange expression was on his face— it looked like a wordless warning.

"Do you two know each other?"

"A bit," said Turnabout, but Erik said, at the same time and louder, "Not at all, we have never met."

The grin on the face of the cat-like creature widened. "Perfect strangers is what we are," he said to Sarah, apparently changing his mind. "Never have we met before. And in your companion's eyes there is no deception; his heart is as pure as that of a child." He swept her another low bow, catching at his hat as it nearly fell off his head. "I would advise you, young miss, to beware your brain. Sickness is catching."

He saluted to Erik, his back suddenly ramrod straight, then turned military-style, on his heels, and marched away. He'd not gone ten stiff paces when he disappeared into thin air.