Chapter Ten: Said the Spider to the Fly
She ate dinner with the Goblin King that night, bleary-eyed from sleep and awkward. It was a silent affair; she lingered long enough to gobble up her food and rushed off as soon as possible. She had the feeling that Jareth was laughing inside as she left, but she didn't stop to look for a glint in his uneven eyes.
The next morning was another lesson. She summoned maimed and malformed crystals until she could take no more; Jareth sent her off. That afternoon, he handed her a dusty and musty tome and lectured her on theory. He told her of conjuration, illusion, divination, necromancy, and enchantment. There were others, but the names didn't stick in her brain. His own specialties, he told her, were illusion, conjuration, and enchantment. Sarah wasn't particularly surprised.
The third day, she felt something of a routine develop. More studying—and towards the end of the morning, Sarah created one perfectly formed crystal, clear and beautiful. She whooped loudly and jumped up out of her chair. Jareth clapped slowly and muttered "Thank the gods" aloud. Sarah was too pleased with herself to glare at him.
"So what do I do now?" she asked happily, trying to stifle the grin on her face.
"I think we should hold off on crystals for awhile," he said musingly. "I can show you a few cantrips that don't require them. Like lighting candles—a little less ferociously than you already do," he added when Sarah rolled her eyes. "How to call an object to your hand, as well. Now what area of magic would that be?"
"Conjuration?" she asked hopefully. Jareth shook his head.
"It's actually a more miscellaneous skill. Not everything belongs to a category. Conjuration would involve summoning something from another plane, or to create it purely from your own power."
"So would I use conjuration to transport myself back home?"
"A sort of backwards conjuration, yes. You'd be summoning yourself to another place—or summoning a place to you. But," he said with a stern look, "don't you dare try it. If you're idiotic enough to get stuck between worlds again, I'm not going to come fetch you."
"Harsh," she said lightly, not really believing him. Odd, that she should trust him like that, but she did.
They started on the rudiments of moving an object without touching it; Sarah got a book to hover midair for a few seconds, but little beyond that. She couldn't wait until the day that she could lob rocks at Jareth's head without exerting herself. It sounded like a lovely diversion.
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The sorceress-in-training had hardly finished her lunch when Meggedy made her second visit, bearing an armful of gifts. She was flanked by a couple of helpers, children with shy smiles. One looked human and one did not at all; they set down their burdens and ran off before Sarah could speak with them.
"I'm not that frightening, am I?" asked Sarah, eyebrows raised. Meggedy laughed.
"You have an intimidating reputation, you know. But it's not just you, it's the castle. His Majesty scares the children. He can be... grumpy."
"He can be an ass, you mean."
Meggedy squeaked, eyes growing huge. She looked from side to side, as if afraid that Jareth was listening. "Don't say that!" she exclaimed.
"Don't worry, it's nothing new. I swear at him to his face all the time, and he says that I'm free to curse at him as much I like when he's not teaching me."
"He must like you," Meggedy said, shaking her head in amazement. "Anyone else, he'd drown in the Swamp of Eternal Stench. Or worse. Feed to the cave trolls, or drop in an oubliette."
Sarah blinked at this assessment. "I don't think so. I—he can't really do anything to me, that's why. Since I beat the Labyrinth."
The foundling girl shrugged. "Suit yourself. Why don't you look at what I brought over, see if everything is right." She pulled the open the wrappings of one of the three packages on the floor... and Sarah drew in her breath sharply.
Velvet spilled out of the canvas in a wave of midnight blue, revealing gauzy cerulean and silver thread hiding below it. Meggedy pulled at the cloth and it turned into a dark blue gown with a paler shift and metallic embroidery. Another outfit lay underneath, in autumnal shades of brown silk, and then icy green. The girl opened the next package: lavender and dusty blue in brocade, and then deep green and dull gold. Burgundy, almost black, followed by dark gray and cream.
The chamber was spattered with pools of luminous color, a fortune of fabric even in Sarah's machine-run world.
Sarah found that she couldn't quite move or speak. She swallowed heavily and licked dry lips.
"This is all... mine?" Her voice came out tiny and unsure.
"All of it." Meggedy beamed at Sarah and the room. "It was a joy to work with such fine materials. I've never done better work, if I do say so myself."
Sarah searched for words and found none waiting.
"Milady? Are you alright?"
"It's Sarah," she said blankly. "Not milady. I'm just a high school student. Sometimes I'm a babysitter. I'm not a lady."
"Oh," replied Meggedy, sounding like she didn't understand at all. "Is something the matter? Don't you like it?" Her face became anxious and Sarah felt a twinge of guilt.
"No, it's beautiful," she assured her, wholeheartedly. "It's absolutely gorgeous. I've never seen, much less worn, this kind of stuff in my life. You and the others must be amazing seamstresses."
"Thank you very much," said the foundling, bobbing her head in an abbreviated curtsy. "I'll be sure to tell everyone else that you said so. I think that you should have enough to serve you well for awhile now; the last package has undergarments and a few nightgowns, ribbons, things for your hair. If you'd like to change now, I could just bring all the borrowed things with me when I leave."
Sarah agreed, still feeling dazed, and Meggedy helped her gather up a gown and shift, petticoats and slippers. She carried it all in an armful down to her little bathroom and changed mechanically, mind whirring distantly—something was bothering her, but she couldn't quite form the conviction into the proper words. Off went the suddenly dowdy borrowed clothes, shed like a snake's skin or a butterfly's cocoon... for the second time that week. The first metamorphosis had left her jeans and tank-top behind.
Finally the change was ended and Sarah shook her new raiment into place. Almost fearfully, she turned to look into the cloudy mirror.
A pale and shining creature stared back at her.
They had picked the lavender and blue brocade; it was high-waisted and low-necked, the top lacing together with ribbon over a gauzy, pale blue underdress. Puffs of blue emerged from slashes on the sleeves and an edge crept above the collar, preserving her modesty. A silver net kept Sarah's hair back and the delicate leather slippers on her feet were tanned pale.
The sister of Toby and daughter of Robert disappeared with her flip-flops and ponytail. In her place was the grandaughter of Angharad Dara and apprentice to the Goblin King.
"'Tis but thy name that is thy enemy," she whispered aloud, an attempt at reassurance. "Thou art thyself, though not a Montague." This didn't make her feel any better. It applied to names, not fabric. What did Juliet know, anyways, she thought angrily. She died at thirteen. Sarah gathered up the dirty clothes and sped upstairs, nearly tripping on her long skirts twice.
"There—oh!" Meggedy clapped her hands together in glee. "You look like a princess! I think. I've never actually seen a princess, but I don't think they could look any grander."
Sweet girl. Sarah felt affection well up inside her suddenly and she smiled despite her mood.
"You are the nicest person I've ever met," she told her sincerely. The other girl blushed.
"Don't be silly," she replied, looking down and quickly changing the topic. "I put your things away in the wardrobe for you, and got the other dress out."
"Here you go." Sarah handed her bundle to her. "This is the last of it. Thank you a lot. Maybe I'll come visit you and the other children and... Addie Otherwood, is it? It's boring in this old castle."
"You should!" the foundling exclaimed. "I hope you do. I'll run along now, I suppose. Goodbye, mila—good bye, Sarah."
Then Sarah was alone again. Déja vu. She plucked at her skirts aimlessly for a moment, thinking.
These aren't clothes for someone who's only staying until they get their magic under control. These are permanent clothes. These are stay-here-forever clothes.
That was the unsettling thing, or at least the only unsettling thing that Sarah could put a name to. She decided that she better have a talk with Jareth. Soon. Right now, in fact.
She was out the door immediately; on a whim, she gathered her skirts up and ran, enjoying the feeling of the air blowing past her and the cloth billowing around her legs. Down the corridors, down the stairs, skid to a stop in front of the door. She pushed it open and stuck her head inside; it was dark and empty. Hmm. That was a first. Where would he be? She looked further down that hallway, where another staircase was visible at the opposite end. She had never gotten around to exploring. No time like the present.
Outside, the day was overcast, leaving only cold gray light to filter into the castle. It lent the place a foreboding air. It didn't help that Sarah seemed to be alone now—she had never before noticed how empty the castle seemed. Except for the occasional goblin that brought food, or Meggedy, she and Jareth seemed to be the only real inhabitants. She couldn't even hear noise from the Goblin City. It made her wonder where everybody was.
Her slippers made only the softest pat-pat against the stone floor, and her skirts swished very softly. Sarah's breath and heartbeat seemed loud in her ears. Looking around surreptitiously first, she began jogging again, trying to escape the loneliness of the place. She went down the stairs two at a time once she reached them; this set was winding and tall, without any jewel-toned stained glass windows. Dizzy from the quick spinning, she reached the bottom a few minutes later.
A pair of heavy wooden doors barred her way. She pressed her hand against one and it swung open without a sound. Sarah peered through the crack—and felt life sweep over her again. A low murmur, the thrum of many creatures chattering at once, seeped toward her ears from somewhere ahead of her... and a familiar, irritated voice cutting through it. Ah-hah.
But what's going on? Sarah slipped into yet another hallway, turned the corner... and found something she recognized. The throne room of the castle, remembered from her last sojourn in the Labyrinth. This time the room was filled, practically brimming, with goblins and other creatures. They lined up against the walls, sat on the floor, and some hung from the walls. There were the normal garden-variety goblins, small and lumpy; bigger creatures, almost like Hoggle but more angular; tiny things that glowed; human-like animals; animal-like people.
She would have liked to just stand, hidden, and watch them. Unfortunately, the congregation spotted her looking around the door frame. The chattering paused and changed its tenor; Jareth stopped his harangue and glanced upward. He was dressed in dark brown and pale gray, sitting on the very edge of the throne, as if he wanted to jump up and start pacing. He froze for a moment after spotting her, just staring; then the harried expression smoothed from his face and he sat up.
"Sarah," he said in a conversational tone, voice carrying clearly across the room. "How convenient. Come up here, if you will." He waved her over and she walked into the room—slowly at first, and then rushing when she felt the watching eyes on her back. She bunched her skirts up in her hands and looked down at the ground, trying not to step on any stray goblin hands or feet. The step up to the dais was something of a relief, until she realized that she would get even more attention while standing next to Jareth.
"Would you like to sit down?" he asked more quietly, still smoothly. Sarah looked at the stone floor and then at the multitudes of goblins milling about. She wrinkled her nose.
"I don't know where this floor's been," she said in disgust. "No way."
"I didn't mean on the floor," he replied, amused. Sarah raised an eyebrow and looked around the room.
"It looks like I could sit on the floor or on your lap. Not gonna do either one." She crossed her arms.
"I could always scoot over," he suggested, mouth almost twitching into a smile. It grew broader when Sarah rolled her eyes at him. "Calm down—here you go."
He formed a crystal with a twist of his hand, threw it onto the ground behind her—and a low chair appeared behind her, one of the spindly variety that populated her own room.
"Show off," she muttered, pulling the chair towards her. She sat down and directed her attention towards the rest of the throne room.
They were all staring forward, silent. All of them.
"Well," said Jareth, rubbing his hands together as he addressed the congregation, "I've finally found something that will create order in these infernal gatherings. Sarah will have to attend more often."
More silence, some shifting. A tiny stone seemed to fall from the ceiling, almost hitting Jareth in the shoulder; Sarah scowled to herself when it missed and Jareth sent her a sideways reproving look.
"Where were we? Lord Fellmarch?"
"Ah, yes, your Majesty," began a small, hissing voice. It came from a ball of light directly in front of the dais, resting on the arm of an agreeable soldier-goblin. Sarah realized that there was a tiny person in the light; not a pixie-fairy, like the ones that Hoggle sprayed, for this one had dragonfly wings and a pale, naked, luminescent body. It was an eerie little creature. "I was saying that my people will not endure such slavery from the trolls any longer. We can and will attack if they do not cease."
"Lies!" yelled a rumbling voice from the other side of the chamber: one of the creatures that vaguely resembled Hoggle. This one was corded with heavy muscle and slightly taller than the others. "The little beasts have been murdering swamp trolls for years! We only take revenge for the deaths."
The room fell into chattering again, while the soldier-goblins kept Lord Fellmarch and the troll away from each other. Jareth sighed and turned towards Sarah.
"This one is all yours, as promised," he said with a smirk. Sarah opened her mouth to ask him what the hell he was talking about, but then her memory lurched into action.
"The marsh lights and swamp trolls?" she asked.
"Are going to war," he finished. "Go ahead, take charge. Have fun. I'll step in if you start making things worse." He leaned back in the throne and crossed his arms over his chest. Sarah's expression was pained.
"This is your kingdom," she responded.
He just watched her.
Sarah took in a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly. She smoothed her skirts. She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear.
"Lord Fellmarch," she began. "Could you start from the beginning and tell me what your grievance is?"
The little man fluttered his wings and shifted irritably. "My lady. My people live in the marshes at the edge of the Labyrinth, coexisting with the swamp trolls and various other races. It was a fairly amicable relationship until recently. The trolls began to take my subjects captive, imprisoning them in containers to light their way. We have, of course, taken actions to prevent such occurrences, but it has not had any effect. We are here as a last resort before staging a full-scale attack."
"I—what's the troll's name?" she whispered to Jareth.
"Tragdin," he murmured back.
"Thank you, Lord Fellmarch," she said, louder. "Er, Tragdin. What do you have to say about this?"
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought to herself. But the troll answered readily enough.
"Don't believe a word that the little blighter says," he growled, curling up one impressively-clawed fist. "They're tricksome little bugs. Don't know what in the seven hells 'amicable' is, but we haven't never been friendly. Plenty of times at night, some poor troll or troll-baby is wandering around outside the village, and they--" he spat the word, spittle flying from his mouth "--they lead them into the nearest sinkhole they can find. Fuckers."
Sarah was speechless. She sent Jareth a help, please look, but he just grinned at her.
"Lord Fellmarch," she said, thankfully without spluttering, "Is this true?"
The marsh light adjusted his wings, like a bird preening. He didn't meet Sarah's gaze.
"We do not exist for the trolls' convenience. If they choose to follow us, it is none of our affair. We don't try to lead them anywhere, to sinkholes or otherwise. We fly where we please."
"What is this about capturing the marsh lights, Tragdin?" Sarah asked. "You didn't mention that."
"It's bloody dark out there, at night," replied Tragdin. "We figured, a bottled up light won't kill you like a free one. We feed 'em, and all. Just don't let them out. They owe us after all. My sister's kid, he just disappeared one night, after dark. Some light's idea of fun."
"I see." Sarah considered this a moment.
"Your Majesty," hissed Fellmarch, addressing Jareth. "I tire of this. I do not relish the light of day. Do you have a judgment for us, or have we your leave to go to war?"
"War is forbidden among my subjects," the Goblin King said severely. "Ask Sarah for your judgment."
Great, just great.
"My lady?" prompted Tragdin roughly. Sarah's mind raced, but she forced herself to appear calm. She was, after all, an actress.
"I think--" she paused. "I think that both of you have some blame in this argument. Lord Fellmarch, slavery is indeed unjust. But so is leading trolls to their death. Tragdin, capturing the lights hasn't helped at all." Another pause. She had an idea. "So here's my solution. The trolls can no longer imprison the marsh lights."
Fellmarch raised his chin imperiously, obviously pleased with the decision. Tragdin's shoulder slumped.
"That's not all," said Sarah. "Lord Fellmarch, you must command your people not to lead the trolls to unsafe areas. I know you said that they don't do it on purpose; maybe that's true, but you can't confuse them either. If a marsh light sees a troll following it at night, kindly put the troll back onto the proper path, or at least warn it. That much doesn't take much effort. If either of you break this judgment--" she thought a moment before narrowing her eyes and channeling Jareth as well as she could.
"--then perhaps the offender would enjoy taking up residence in the Bog of Eternal Stench. I'm sure that the good Sir Didymus would enjoy company there."
There was a wave of laughter, or cackling, rather, from the rest of the room's occupants. Tragdin nodded seriously, accepting her compromise. Fellmarch looked miffed but didn't protest.
"There you have it," declared Jareth, a broad smile on his face. "I'll support the decision. Now get out, all of you. I've had enough of this for the day. Anyone else with grievances can go bother Castor or wait until next week. Go. Run along." He made a shooing gesture with his hands, still leaning back lazily in his seat. Surprisingly, his subjects began to shuffle out fairly promptly. Fellmarch took to the air and zipped out of the room over the heads of everyone else; Tragdin used his considerable strength to push aside everyone in his way.
After a few minutes, only a few goblins lingered, sitting by the door and giggling to themselves. Jareth sighed loudly and stood up.
"If you are not gone by the time I count to ten, I will pick you all up by your scrawny ears and toss you out the door."
They scrambled away with a yelp. Sarah hid a smile.
"Well done," commented Jareth lightly when they were alone. "I particularly liked the threat at the end. The bog is my favorite deterrent."
"I admit that the threat was inspired by you," she said matter-of-factly, a trace of laughter still evident on her face. "I didn't realize that you, er... arbitrated disputes."
"Believe it or not, I do actually rule my kingdom," he replied, deadpan. "As much as I enjoy stealing babies and playing the villain, I have other duties."
"Um. Sorry," she added lamely. This was a first. God, did I just apologize to him for something? I must not be feeling well. "So. Thanks for the new clothes and all." She shifted nervously. She had the feeling that she was amusing him again—not that there was anything new about that.
"I can't have you walking about in rags and embarrassing me." Yes, there it was, that predatory almost-smile that didn't quite reveal his pointed teeth.
"They're really nice. Just a bit, you know, fancy for someone who's only staying here until she gets her magic under control. Until I can magic myself back home, like you said."
Wow, that almost-smile did weird things to her stomach.
"Of course. But there's no need to dress like a servant."
"... exactly how long do you think it'll be until I can get myself back home?"
"Hmm. That depends on how quickly you learn. I really couldn't say."
"Oh." Why did she have such a bad feeling about this? What, besides the obvious, was Jareth hiding from her? I'll figure that out later. Next question, please.
"Well, if I am going to be around for awhile longer, I think I would like to get out of the castle. I want to go visit Abbie Otherwood, and my friends. Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus."
"Since you asked so nicely," still with the hooded eyes and curled mouth, "I suppose. Wait a few days, though."
"Why?"
"As you've noticed, some of my subjects are rather ill-intentioned. No matter what Lord Fellmarch says, his people do enjoy leading the trolls to their deaths. You would be safer if I gave you a signet of some sort, a sign of safe passage. It would also identify you to the Labyrinth itself—the oubliettes and other pitfalls would avoid you."
"Alright. I guess I could wait." She was left with an echoing silence, filling the places where she was used to finding anger.
"Look around the castle if you're feeling bored. I'll see you later this afternoon." Jareth nodded to her, a dismissal, but it was he who wandered off, hands stuck in the pockets of his coat, hips swaying slightly as he sauntered, boots making a faint clip-clop on the stones of the floor. Sarah smiled because the walk was a show—usually he would just disappear in a whoosh of displaced air. She smiled because Jareth was Jareth, an arrogant, egotistical, somewhat-conceited bastard.
She wasn't nearly as vexed as she should have been, considering the conversation. She should have been worried about being imprisoned here. But in the quiet dusty throne room, alone, Sarah couldn't quite dig up enough energy to freak out. It was painful to admit, but with nothing at stake... she kind... of... liked... it... here. Oops. Surely that wasn't allowed.
Walking towards the door, a scrap of a poem floated to the top of Sarah's mind. She suddenly had a name for the expression in Jareth's eyes.
Come in to my parlor, said the spider to the fly...
By the end of the week, Sarah was lighting candles and lifting books off of shelves.
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A/N: Okay, I lied, I didn't get this one out very fast. I apologize. I guess a chapter a week is a good speed for me. Thank you reviewers: Velf( good guess, but you may be surprised), Moonjava, Acantha Mardivey, Bex Drake, draegon-fire, and Give-Me-Your-Coffee(hee hee, like your name!). As I've said before, I lurve reviews. Stay tuned for the next episode: Sarah ventures outside! We learn the history of the Labyrinth! Perhaps a meeting with Abbie Otherwood, caretaker of the foundlings! Jareth puts the moves on Sarah! Okay, probably joking about the last one. Probably. Bye-bye for now.