Jareth regained consiousness to the searing bite of a lash across his back. He tensed and instinctively tried to get away from it, only to find that his arms were manacled over his head in iron. The last thing he remembered was signing his name to that damned letter and hoping that Sarah would understand when she read it.
The lash fell again and he hissed. "Raspiel, you bastard," he snarled. He jerked at the chains, though he could see that it was useless. The chain links were thick and heavy, and the manacles were tight around his wrists. "What do you want?"
"My master is not here," Jonas said behind him. He flicked the whip, and Jareth flinched at the loud sinister snapping sound, expecting to be hit again. "He is busy. But don't worry, fairy-man. He'll be back."
"I want to talk to him," Jareth said.
"Sure you do," Jonas said. "And he wants to talk to you too. That's why he had me wake you up."
The lash fell again, and this time Jareth had to bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out. "I'm awake," Jareth said. "You don't have to do that anymore."
"Oh, but I want to," Jonas said and laughed. He drew his whole arm back this time and brought the whip down hard.
Jareth clenched his teeth against the pain and closed his eyes.
"Lookit that," Jonas said with sadistic satisfaction. "Blood."
Jareth opened his eyes. There was a fine spray of tiny red droplets across the stone floor. "Where—where am I?"
"In my master's castle, fairy-man, where else?"
Behind him, Jareth could sense Jonas drawing back for another blow and closed his eyes again. I am in such deep shit, he thought, and was almost amused. The lash fell again and again, until the blood that hit the floor no longer fell in mists and droplets, but splashes. He was trapped in the torture chamber of his one great enemy, at the mercy of a sadist who was enjoying himself way too much. 'Deep shit' did not even come close.