For almost a week, I spend my mornings learning rudimentary magic from Jareth. When he retires to his study, or the throne room, or some other place of duty, I explore the castle, venture into Goblin City, wander the castle grounds and nearer parts of the Labyrinth, and read in the library. I finish each day with supper with Jareth and then spend too long in the steaming pool that serves as a bath before falling into an empty bed. I quickly learn to request darker colored clothing—the air itself seems dirty, dulling bright colors and dirtying light ones—but never ask for a replacement for my nightshirt, though I consider stealing another one since Jareth's scent is beginning to fade from it. He still "accidently" sleeps elsewhere, so the sheets are losing his scent as well. (He smells of charcoal and wood smoke and damp earth and crisp air—if that can have a smell.) I wonder how Jareth keeps his clothes so clean-looking. I wouldn't be surprised if the answer was "magic."
Tentatively, I let Jareth observe my already established relationship with the goblins. He says nothing, but I think that he already knew. I risk asking to see my friends, and I am relieved to hear his acquiescence, so my afternoons become even busier.
It is growing close to the end of my vacation time in the human world, and I know I have to return soon in order to not be missed.
"As one gains greater control over their power, it will not need to revert to the subconscious desires in order to find an outlet," Jareth explains once again, but continues with a new idea. "Despite the unexpected speed with which you are learning, it will take longer than you want for you to have enough power to independently translocate from the Underground." For that, apparently, is what the whole of this land is called. "I think our best course of action is that I take you. The resistance should not be so strong since you have learned some control. If I go with you, you will not have that desire interfering," he smirks at me, "and if you plan on the trip being temporary, and tell yourself that it is a need—though it is a need for others and not yourself—you should be able to manipulate yourself into returning home."
We decide to wait a day or two—a day or two of magic practice—before trying.
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The sun is low in the sky and I sit in Jareth's study in the waning light, my feet propped up on a now paperless desk. The layer of dust in the room has magically disappeared and several of the books have traded places. The cleanliness and organization are courtesy of my magic lessons. Jareth has taken a rare day away from his usual duties. I chuckle at a few of the books that have made their way to Jareth from the human world.
I nod toward several familiar books on his desk. "Where did you get those?"
"The goblins."
"The goblins gave you books?"
"The goblins steal things, Sarah, without caring much what they are stealing."
I wonder if the Goblin Kingdom is the land of the lost and lonely because the things have been stolen, or if the things are stolen because they are lost and lonely.
Deciding to direct the conversation away from my unspoken question and back to my original thought, I nonchalantly comment, "Goblins make great couriers as well as great thieves."
Jareth honors the statement with a turn of his head and one arched eyebrow but says nothing. He is, by far, intelligent enough to understand my meaning without having to say it aloud. After a moment of consideration, Jareth returns his gaze to the Labyrinth. I look away from the penultimate intrigue of the maze and resume my unabashed study of Jareth's features and expression.
When he is in thought it is more often than not too difficult to discern his mood. I have realized over the course of my stay here, though, that contrary to my initial assumption, the Goblin King does not mask his emotions. He is, after all, the king. He has no need to hide the fact that he is irritated, angry, disappointed, happy, proud, or self-assured as the case may be. As a refined individual he is, of course, in control of his expressions when he wants or needs to be, but he usually has no reason to hide them. This calls to my forethought several issues.
There are several important conversational topics which we have successfully avoided. They are all interrelated. None of them are safe, but I choose the one that is the least dangerous.
Rising from my—his—chair, I wander to the window and observe the Labyrinth and the twisted, ever-changing glory of its plethora of environs. Apparently, I have stood here gazing out for longer than intended, because Jareth's voice breaks me from my reverie.
"Do you grow bored of looking out?"
I pause a moment, reflecting. "Bored? What a funny concept, to grow bored of something ever-changing. Well, funny for a human at least."
I turn fully toward the window, take a step forward and lean against the sill, drinking in the sight I could stare at all day and trying to ignore the closeness to Jareth that my actions produce.
"I could never grow bored of it. In fact, I have to resist the urge to go lose myself in it."
After another moment of staring at the beauty of the Labyrinth, I become aware of Jareth's eyes trained on me and have to exert self-control in order to avoid squirming under his gaze. His look is knowing, and that thought brings back a momentary memory of a distant dream.
"Why do you stare at him with that knowing look, Sarah?"
"What are you talking about, Hoggle?"
"You look at him like you know something he doesn't know."
"Well, I suppose I do."
I startle as I feel an arm snake around my waist possessively. Jareth pulls me into an awkward embrace and I feel Hoggle's presence disappear.
He leans down and whispers in my ear, "What do you know that I don't, and how do you know it?"
I laugh airily. He is answering the first question himself. "Woman's intuition," I answer the second.
"And the answer to the first question?"
"You have already answered it," I admit.
Jareth growls. "I'll beat the answer out of you if I have to, Sarah." It is lighthearted, so I do not fear.
I release a laugh through my nose. "More likely to kiss it out of me."
Surprised, his grip on me loosens. "What?"
"And that's all the answer you're going to get!" I snake out of his slack arms and skip backward and out of his view.
A hand on my shoulder startles me from remembrance. I did not even notice Jareth move. I do not look at him, but innately know that he is looking at me with questioning amusement in his eyes.
The sun is setting, bathing everything in red and gold. It is breathtakingly beautiful and so I find myself once again distracted.
"Tomorrow will be a long day, princess, so perhaps you should retire?" He phrases it as a question or suggestion and not an order, and I appreciate that. I ignore the pet name.
Obligingly, I set out for the bedroom. After a characteristically long bath, I risk Jareth's wrath and sneak into his wardrobe to steal another shirt, black this time. I am about to habitually fall into the empty bed when I realize I never addressed any of the needed conversational topics, not even the least dangerous one. They can all wait, I suppose. The others can wait until my return if need be, but that one will need to be addressed before I return to the human world, or at least before I contact anyone there.
Perhaps I can gradually broach the topic. Or accustom Jareth—and myself—to the idea I have settled on. With foolish determination, I return to the study where I know Jareth has remained.
"Are you coming to bed?"
If my life was more of a comedy—and Jareth was not the ever-graceful Goblin King—I might expect a spit-take, if Jareth had a beverage in hand. When I planted a kiss on his cheek the night he returned I ran away without waiting to ascertain his surprise. Even so, I am sure the surprise then cannot hold a candle to the expression he now openly wears. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from releasing a laugh that is inexplicably forming in my throat.
Gaining control of my faculties, I am proud to say, before Jareth does, I roll my eyes and clarify, "Not that way."
If Goblin Kings can blush, or perhaps flush, then Jareth is doing so now, though barely.
I explain myself. "I cannot in good conscience steal your bed, and yet you have made it perfectly clear you will allow me to sleep nowhere else. Therefore the only remaining solution is to share."
I know I will win this argument easily, if it even is an argument, but I hope he does not turn it into a game, forcing me to resort to more drastic measures to 'convince' him. We have to act at least congenial toward each other if my plan is to succeed and neither stubbornness nor awkwardness will help.
He does not answer by word, but by action. With poise only possible from Jareth, hestands. After he passes me in thedoorway with nonchalance, I let show my smirk to rival a Goblin King's. I follow a pace behind and proceed to ignorehis presence for the sake of my sanity. Falling onto the bed as is my tradition, I curl into a ball in his blackshirt, squeeze my eyes closed, and try to stop the function of my ears,chanting to myself that this is all for the sake of my plan while an underlyingtrain of thought tries to make me admit that I like it.