Chapter Eighteen: The Way

They had life for a little while, and though they did not know the direction it was going; be it up or down, left or right, it moved ever forwards, and that had to be enough.

Turnabout's eyelids fluttered, and he groaned.

"More," said Erik.

Sarah poured the rest of the water over Turnabout's head.

Turnabout shrieked and scrabbled with dirty claws. Erik regarded him with a deep satisfaction as he finally came fully awake.

"You snore like the dickens," he informed him, and handed him his hat.

Turnabout blinked and rubbed water out of his eyes.

"What did you go and do that for?" he demanded snappishly.

"Which?" asked Erik. "Knocking you out, or waking you up again?"

Turnabout glared at him and put his hat on his head. It turned out to be full of water, and he shrieked again. Sarah giggled, Ludo laughed, and even Erik smiled. He was doing that more and more often now— the deep depression that sanity had forced on him was ebbing slowly, and he felt as though he would prevail, in the end— a feeling he hadn't had in a very, very long time.

Perhaps never.

"You knocked me out, why did you have to revive me?" complained Turnabout. "Obviously you've gone turncoat—"

"Obviously," said Erik, slowly removing Sarah's arm from around his neck. Sarah stepped away from him— he confused her still. Welcoming her touches one moment, rejecting them the next— his personality was exceedingly mercurial, and although she had tendencies that way as well, she resented it. She folded her arms and stared at the ground.

"Traitor," spat Turnabout.

Erik stood up straighter.

"I took no oath of allegiance," he said smoothly. "And I never claimed to be a servant of your Goblin King. I serve no one, and hold no alliances worthy of mentioning."

Turnabout's eyes flicked between him and Sarah.

"That would appear to be a lie."

Erik bowed frostily.

"I choose the path that serves my own ends," he said quietly. Sarah looked at him sharply, but his face was carefully blank. She understood then— her memory had been coming back in bits and pieces, and she had flashes of a ballroom full of strangers, and she herself was dancing with Erik, and Erik thought she was his Christine. She knew that he was trying to distance himself from that, get himself back to a time when he and Christine were the only people of consequence— he couldn't afford to let anyone else matter. He had to focus, to concentrate.

She understood it, but she hated it. She was human; and humans do not like to be overlooked or ignored.

She was cursed— or blessed— with a sudden reliving of the feel of Erik's mouth on her own, and she shivered and clutched her arms about herself. Even if she saved Toby and got back home— which looked less and less likely, even now— she would never be the same bright young girl, dreaming of knights in armor and maidens in distress. For now, she didn't see that it was worth it— she had lived a dream up till now, and all she wanted was for the dream to end.

There was a half-hidden sorrow in Erik's eyes as he looked at her, and they formed an unspoken truce as their eyes met.

Turnabout watched them.

He sighed.

"It matters not what you say," he said. "True allegiances always show— you can't make them disappear with a snap of your fingers. There's no denying the deep things of the world— should someone make you laugh or make you cry, you'll take that with you to the end of the earth. She's got into your head now— you could kill her or you could sleep with her or you could never see or speak with her again, and it wouldn't matter a bit."

Erik took his arm and pulled him up.

"Lead on," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And silently, if you please— your tongue may get you into trouble."

"Ah," said Turnabout expansively, "the tongue— the tongue! Such trouble from the application of such a little thing. Why, I knew a girl once—"

Erik shoved him ahead of them, keeping hold of his arm and twisting it behind Turnabout's back. Turnabout yelped and then was quiet.

He led them on, knowing quite well where they wanted to go.

And, he reasoned, it wasn't a betrayal of allegiance if your life is threatened— as, he was sure by the look in Erik's eyes, it clearly was. After all, one's first allegiance must always be to oneself.

Still, he regretted the almost certain loss of the prize he deserved for serving the Goblin King.

Ah well, couldn't be helped now.

He led them a ducking, weaving path, sometimes doubling back to take a different turning. All the while, he hummed to himself, occasionally flicking his fingers commandingly at a wall, causing the path to close up behind them. Sarah looked about her as they went, marveling at the vast differences in texture, shape, color, form, objects, people; each place unique and different from the last, each staggering in an odd way. It was still, even after all this time, dawning on her the difference between her normal world and the Labyrinth— it still astounded her, and for a moment she stood stock still, not even drawing breath.

Erik seized her by the arm and pulled her along.

"We're so close," he said. "Last-ditch efforts are even more dangerous to us. Beware, Sarah."

She nodded and hurried along at his side.

Two more turns, to the right and then the left, and straight in front of them were the enormous metal gates of the Goblin City. The group of them stood in awe, looking up at the gates with the beginning of dread.

Turnabout, taking advantage of their distraction, twisted his arm from Erik's grasp. However, he didn't run away immediately, but instead stood and looked at them.

"You're going in there, are you?"

Sarah nodded.

"We have to. My brother is in there."

"My Christine is in there," said Erik, his face set, his eyes gazing over the top of the gates to where he could see the top level of the castle. Somewhere in there—

"Well," said Turnabout, and rubbed at his arm, looking at them thoughtfully. "How are you going to get through the gates, I wonder?"

Sarah frowned. "I hadn't thought about that."

Erik still could not drag his gaze away from the castle, and so he was no help, simply shrugging and murmuring nothing in particular.

Turnabout coughed delicately. Sarah looked at him.

"If I may make a suggestion," he said.

Sarah turned her frown on him. "Why would you help us now?"

"I adore causing mischief," said Turnabout, with a raising of his slim shoulders. "I'm incorrigible that way."

Erik snorted.

"And what is that intended to imply, Monsieur Opera Ghost?" said Turnabout snappishly, looking at him.

"Anyway," said Sarah, anxious that he shouldn't get distracted. "Your suggestion."

"Well," said Turnabout, "what do you think?"

She shrugged. "I suppose we could climb over them somehow— or maybe Ludo could push them open, he's pretty strong—"

She turned to Ludo, who shook his head and moaned softly.

"Maybe not."

"Quite the conundrum," said Turnabout, with a wicked grin. He held up one finger, and walked to the gates. "Knock," he said, "and the door will open."

He rapped on a bronze section with his paw, three times.

A small door opened just in front of him.

He turned back to them and gave them a swift smile.

"In the new world order," he said, "remember me."

He disappeared into the ground, leaving the three of them standing, staring at the door.

The open door into the Goblin City.