I hear a small clunk inside and a moment later the door opens to reveal a surprisingly flustered Goblin King. I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Apparently, my intuition, though still rather untested, is right about some things.
"I cannot reach," I say, turning around, "so can you unzip my dress?"
"Unzip?"
Oh. I wonder if he knows what a zipper is. I stifle another laugh. "You see the line in the back of my dress? At the top, hidden in the material, is a little bar, like a handle. Use one hand to hold the top of my dress and the other to pull that little handle down and it will undo the fasteners," I say, managing to withhold the patronization from my tone.
"Oh. And what do I get in exchange for my generous assistance?"
An apology. But he deserves that anyway, so I cannot very well give it away as an award, can I? "My gratitude," I reply simply.
Apparently, that is good enough because immediately I feel him fumbling at the top of my dress, trying to operate the zipper. I try to control the shiver that runs down my spine as the night air enters my dress with the fluid downward motion of his hands on the zipper. He stays there for too long a moment, one hand clutching the material below my neck, the other still on the zipper at the small of my back.
"Ahem," I wake him from his stupor.
"Ah, yes. It is done." He releases his hold.
I turn around, considering exactly how to apologize and thank him. I cannot risk angering him further if I am to manipulate my way into his good opinion, but I guess there is no wrong or right way to go about apology and gratitude. "Sorry," I blurt.
"Excuse me?"
I hesitate a moment before continuing. "Sorry for not accepting your shirt. I must say that my rejection of your shirt was not meant to be offensive, though. Where I grew up, a woman wearing a man's clothes... means something, so I was just... taken aback. But I am sorry. This is not that world, and you are right that it will be infinitely more comfortable than sleeping in this rather uncomfortable dress again. So I apologize. And I thank you for your generosity in allowing me to stay here, even in your own bed, and wearing your own shirt."
I must be possessed by an evil spirit because I rise on my toes and place a kiss on the cheek of a very surprised Goblin King before dashing away with a hurried "good night" and disappearing behind the bedroom door.
Heart pounding in a mix of fear and excitement, I try to calm my adrenaline rush. With careful, purposeful movements, I change into the slightly large shirt and place my things against the wall. Letting my hair loose from the bun, I slip into bed.
%%%
The sun and an early morning breeze drift through the window and I shiver in my nightshirt. Jareth's shirt. The aroma of breakfast drifts in despite the closed door, and my stomach reminds me that I have not eaten since my arrival in the Labyrinth. Briefly, I wonder how I lasted this long, and almost fall out of bed on my way to the door. With my hand on the latch, I realize that I am not appropriately dressed and that that is rather dangerous. I pull on my leggings, twist my hair into a knot, and thread my fingers together, pressing my gloves on more securely from where they loosened in my sleep. Leaving my boots untouched, I exit the room in search of food.
The sitting room is quiet. The study door is open, but I cannot tell if the room is occupied or not. I locate the source of the smell. Through the archway, on the expansive dining table, is a plethora of food. I am drawn by the sight and smell, but I pause in the middle of the room. If Jareth is still in his study, it will be rude to pass by without greeting him. And partaking of the food as if it is mine is rather presumptuous.
Wondering just how long this game will go on and whether or not Jareth has decided exactly how I can win his help, I rap lightly on the doorframe and peek in. I bite my lower lip as I try to contain a laugh that has no need for existence. Jareth is in the chair at his desk, the papers around him even messier than when I spied the room before. He slumps in the seat, head lolling to one side and eyes closed, still in the clothes he wore last night.
For a moment, I hope that he did not fall asleep there on purpose. I feel guilty for monopolizing the bed.
Drawing my head back so he cannot see me, and closing the door until it almost latches, I knock again on the doorframe, this time much louder. After the third time, I hear the rustling of papers and know I have awoken him. I hope that he is not angrier at being awoken than he would have been at me for the conceit of "making myself at home."
Without the sound of footsteps to announce his approach, the door opens slowly to a much less disheveled Goblin King, awake enough now to put on his usual self-assured smile and change clothes without a thought, or with nothing but a thought—however that works.
"Good morning, Sarah." There is a twinkle of amusement and pleasure in his eyes as he says the words, as if he were sharing a private joke with a good friend, except that he has only himself.
There is something strangely attractive about that confident smile, the way his voice rolls over my name, and the rare emotion in his eyes. I need to get out of here.
The pesky infatuation is still battling the fear in my heart. As much as I abhor my fear, it is the lesser of the two evils, and so I let it win. I step back in apprehension and watch his gaze follow my movement. Involuntarily, I notice that his shirt is white now, and his trousers gray.
Ah! I am looking at him again! Admiring his appearance is not helpful, Sarah. It will bolster the opponent of fear in my heart, and until I find a third alternative, I am letting fear dominate. Even so, I cannot help noticing that he looks aged, like he did when I last saw him in the ruined room of the castle where I won Toby's return. I wonder why I did not notice it before.
Concern is an emotion that will only aid the budding infatuation in its battle so I push it aside, but the appearance of another emotion is a good sign. I am not acting like myself right now. If I were in control, what would I be feeling? Disbelief. Indignation. Curiosity. Impatience.
I settle for curiosity, as it is, though generally considered a childlike quality, the least childish. In any case, I will need information to play this game. I cannot just shout out my questions, though, can I? Though he looked down on me, sabotaged my journey through the Labyrinth, and tried to seduce me when I was still a naïve girl, our conversations had always begun civilly, and when I managed to keep them that way I generally got what I wanted—or thought I wanted.
"Good morning," I reply, though there has been a lengthy pause since his greeting.
Apparently, my words are unexpected because he loses control of his usually arrogant expression and it betrays him by showing me his surprise. It is only a fleeting moment.
His expression returning to normal, he continues the small talk. "You slept well, I trust."
"Contrary to common belief, sleep is not a trivial conversational topic; I thought we were maintaining polite conversation."
Again, my reply is unexpected, but the Goblin King does a better job of hiding his reaction this time. I cannot blame him for his surprise; the words rolled off my tongue before they consciously registered in my mind, so I am also surprised.
"I do not think it is necessary to 'maintain polite conversation,' as you would say." The Goblin King pauses a moment, apparently expecting me to speak, but I do not, so he continues. "Then: did you sleep well? And why is sleep not a trivial topic?"
I hesitate a moment. I can answer the first question casually, but replying to the second will mean giving him implied information as well as my literal answer. I do not speak about such things, even with Alice.
I do not have much choice, or, rather, I am willing to sacrifice here in order to gain the information or his good opinion of me that I need to leave this place once again.
"I slept well," I answer honestly, still trying to form my next sentence. "And sleep is not a guaranteed trivial subject because not everyone sleeps well, and it is rather impolite to remind such a person that they had a fitful night, or whatever the case may be."
"Then it should be a trivial topic if one sleeps well. I knew you slept well, so it was not impolite to ask."
There is a glint in the Goblin King's eyes that makes me suspect that not only does he know I slept well last night but he knows I slept infinitely better than I do in my flat or childhood home. I do not, however, want to broach the topic or dwell on how he has either piece of information.
Somehow I know he wants me to admit to sleeping better here than there, but I do not think I will get a fair trade for that admission. Even if I could, the maturity of my conversation and the civility of his should wane soon.
"What's next?" I ask informally and rather bluntly, suddenly overpowered by my desire to end the conversation and escape his presence. I hope it did not sound venomous.
He takes my question and tone rather well, considering how he would have reacted to it in the past.
"Breakfast."