Chapter Thirteen: A Serious Conversation On Ethics

"I suppose," she said carefully, "that one cannot always rely on one's own mind. It seems so apt to change— and alter— and deceive."

Erik trudged through the Labyrinth, eyes on the ground, apparently unaware of the changes going on around him. Turnabout was having a field day— all around Erik, vistas sprouted and melted away within seconds, snow fell and turned to sunflowers on the ground, holes opened up in midair and dogs leapt out, only to turn tail and run when chased by a herd of zebra. A series of irrational paranoias took over the world, but only for a second, and soon everything was back to normal, for a given value of normal. Erik was, in fact, watching most of these events— he had never been entirely sure of what was normal anyway, and so he ignored them, though was slightly saddened by their very presence.

Far away from him, Sarah walked—

Perhaps he should have managed, somehow, to convince her to let him stay.

This thought caught him by surprise— what need had he of the girl? She was certainly a bit obnoxious, and definitely obstinate, and those eyes were weak with a kind of helplessness that he despised. Indeed, over all, the girl was not in the least impressive. Not in the least worth his time.

Apart from the fact that, deep down, he was positive that she would succeed.

No, he thought, only fools are positive in this world.

Which reminded him—

His gaze meandered upwards and he glanced about him. The grass was blue now, and the walls of the Labyrinth were mirrors, from which he shied away. Twisted, stunted trees with trunks like fat bellies surrounded him, a grotesque foresterie in which he could become lost, if he did not have the way firmly in mind.

Which, incidentally, he didn't.

Nothing was sure, here in the Labyrinth—

What world was this, anyway?

He thought he heard a scream, and with the jab of a guilty conscience, he turned around immediately, turning on his heel, and running instantly face to face with Jareth.

The Goblin King tilted his head to one side, nose to nose with Erik. Erik swallowed hard and tried to step away— something prevented him. There was a coldness all around him, and he could not move.

"Now," said Jareth, deliberately, "where— are you— going?"

Erik swallowed again, tried to speak. He only succeeded in palpitating his vocal cords and biting his own tongue.

Jareth laughed in his face.

"It isn't very much fun, is it, to have your free will overridden? Erik— dear Opera Ghost— treasured servant—"

His tone was a direct insult, and he stood for another moment, practically standing on Erik's toes, before stepping away. He walked a few paces away, put his hands behind his back, and contemplated the trees.

Suddenly, Erik could move again. He stepped backwards several feet, and stood, watching Jareth warily.

"How is it going?" said Jareth, apparently talking to one tree in particular.

Erik swallowed. "As well as can be expected," he said.

Jareth looked at him as though he'd forgotten he was there. He pointed a long finger at the tree.

"I was talking to him," he said.

Erik gritted his teeth and turned away.

"Ah," said Jareth, "and so you have been doing what I asked of you? I had heard rather differently, I must confess— there were certain rumors going around about you and the— relationship—" The word hissed from him like a snake. "—that you were building up with the girl."

"You're a sodding idiot," said Erik, still turned away.

Jareth hissed.

Erik glanced at him, and gestured away. "I was talking," he said mildly, "to the tree."

Jareth took a few long strides and was in Erik's face once more. "Keep in mind, if you will— she is mine. I do not share my possessions."

Erik stared him down, yellow eyes into steel blue ones.

"Neither do I," he said quietly.

For another moment they stared at each other, anger flying fast and thick between the two men.

"Christine—" started Erik.

"Sarah," countered Jareth, and pulled a crystal out of thin air. He twisted it, turning it suddenly flat, running it through his fingers, and tossing it to Erik, who caught it in his hand, and looked down at the object in his palm.

It had turned into an apple.

He regarded it for a moment, then looked up. Jareth had stepped back, and stood now several feet away. The masked man quirked one eyebrow at him.

"Poison?" he inquired mildly.

Jareth merely smirked.

"You will give that to Sarah. It should remove all necessity of your assistance beyond that— an easy way to complete your servitude, Mister Opera Ghost— I'd advise you to take it."

Erik looked down at the fruit, resting so innocently in his palm. He swallowed.

"I will do nothing to harm her," he said.

Jareth sighed.

"A bit late for a sudden development of a higher moral code, isn't it?"

"Its not the morals that bother me," said Erik, rubbing his chin and staring still at the apple, "it's the ethics."

"Leave ethics out of it."

"I don't think—"

Jareth stepped towards him again, his cape swirling sinuously around him. His voice went low and dangerous, all the taunting humor gone.

"If you want to see your Christine again, you will give her that," he said.

Erik looked up. Again, their eyes met.

"And," said Jareth, "you will remember that Sarah is mine."

Then he was gone, and Erik was left to puzzle over what it was he heard in Jareth's voice— that strange, familiar quality. He had a feeling he'd heard it many times before, and even spoken with it apparent in his own voice, more than once.

He walked with a slow measured tread, back towards where he had left Sarah.

Eventually, he recognized it.

Jealousy.