Exchange Fic #20: I Fought the Law and the Law Won: The Sarah Williams Story
The actual identity of the writer will remain secret until all the submissions are in and posted.
****
This Mystery Author wrote two fics for the same prompt, the first one being There and Back Again.
Title: I Fought the Law and the Law Won: The Sarah Williams Story
Author: dmacabre
Recipient: whitemunin
Prompt: Sarah has done something considered a crime in the Underground. At her trial, she's found guilty. Jareth decides her punishment. You pick the crime and the punishment.
Rating: PG
Plot Summary: In the goblin justice system, the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups: the loyal subjects in charge of the frame-up, and the Goblin King who prosecutes the offenders. These are their stories.
Author's Note: Sometimes when a prompt offers more than one plot bunny, I take the masochist's approach and write both simultaneously. This is what came of that method. My sincere apologies to Law & Order and all its various spin-offs for stealing their introduction.
"This," said Sarah with a fiercely accusing look at the gathered assembly, "Is entrapment."
Her statement sent a ripple of excitement through the courtroom, which also doubled as the back room of The Naughty Gherkin, a pub famous for its Curried Pigeon Wednesdays.* What it lacked in proper gravitas as a place where justice was tempered with mercy, it made up for with free bar snacks. No less than a dozen goblins jostled for room at one end of a trestle table loaded down with deep fried snails and other equally tempting tidbits. Sir Didymus was perched on a barrel of cider at the other end of the table, wearing somber robes and a wig that looked like it had been fashioned from the back end of a sheep.
An imposing high-backed chair with velvet upholstery sat by the fire. It was empty.
"My lady, I regret to inform thee that Underground law does not recognize such a defense." The little knight's expression was grave.
Sarah sighed inwardly. Of course it doesn't. A kingdom where mazes had dead ends and trap doors opened up onto oubliettes wouldn't consider this base trickery at all. She was more irritated at herself than anyone else-- after six years of regular visits to the Labyrinth, she should've expected as much.
"Get on with it, then." She darted an anxious look at the door. If this silly charade could be wrapped up before a certain king turned up, then so much the better.
Sir Didymus gestured grandly and a somewhat disreputable-looking goblin bailiff scuttled forth to do his bidding. "Please to present Exhibit A."
Up until this point, the knight had been rather vague about the actual nature of Sarah's crime, despite her vehement insistence that she had a right to know what the charge was. After much coaxing, he'd mumbled something about "defilement of crown lands". Sarah found this slightly reassuring. She was certain she hadn't defiled anything that belonged to Jareth... as tempting as that now sounded.
Exhibit A turned out to be a small wooden post with a parchment barely bigger than a postage stamp nailed to it. It read:
Tread ye not uppon the grasse!
Sarah recognized the handwriting immediately-- Didymus' creative spelling meant he was the Underground Scrabble champion, but a perennial loser when it came to crossword puzzles. The annoyance that had been building up inside her for several hours ratcheted up a notch.
"This is entrapment! That sign was never there before."
It hadn't been, she was sure of it. The allegedly defiled land in question was in a remote section of the maze, surrounded by high privet hedges and a nearly invisible garden gate woven out of willow and ivy. A spring-fed brook ran through it, and in the center was a wide branching oak tree that provided shade on sunny days. It was the perfect place to read and think-- or just to dream, which Sarah did often.
She'd been under the impression that there existed a tacit agreement between her and the Labyrinth's ruler: Sarah refrained from inciting rebellion among the citizenry, and he discreetly looked the other way when she came to see her friends and enjoy an inexpensive vacation in the Underground. This impression had been further reinforced by the discovery of some new improvement to the garden room each time she saw it.
First came the roses, cleverly charmed to repel fairy infestation. Seemingly of their own accord, wild strawberries sprang up in the dappled shade beneath the oak, sweeter than any she'd tasted Aboveground. A small silver cup appeared by the spring, in case she should get thirsty. On this most recent visit, someone had added a a decorative seat beneath the oak, one of living wood where the branches were supple enough to give slightly beneath her weight. A mound of thickly padded cushions in white and gold silk provided further comfort, just the thing to while away a lazy summer afternoon with a good book. All she needed to do to reach it was what she'd always done: open the garden gate and cross an inviting stretch of perfectly manicured lawn...
Sarah gritted her teeth. Too good to be true. I should've known.
"All right. So what's my punishment, a fine or something? Community service?"
Sir Didymus glanced briefly down at his pocket watch, then riffled through the pile of papers before him as though he were stalling for time. "I fear t'is not for me to decide, my lady."
"Look here, I do not have time for the quirks of the goblin justice system. I've only got three more days of vacation leave and--"
A slight commotion stirred in the main room of the pub, along with the sound of many chairs being hastily scraped back. From the doorway came a blast of tinny, off-key trumpets, and a stout goblin poked his head in and vigorously cleared his throat.
"All rise and hail his august Majesty, the merciful, the generous, the devastatingly handsome--"
"Oh god," Sarah groaned, "Please tell me this isn't happening..."
His shadow filled the doorway first-- a neat trick, considering the placement of the lanterns-- quickly followed by his lean frame. It was drizzling outside, a light summer rain that misted his fair hair and dampened his cloak. On anyone else, it would've looked untidy. On the Goblin King, it sparkled. He cut short the announcement without the slightest sign of embarrassment, then surveyed the courtroom with an air of feigned surprise.
"Well, well. This will make an interesting change from residing over cases of pig theft and malicious abuses of root vegetables." He seated himself by the fire, fastidiously brushing a speck of dust from the arm of the chair. "Do go on."
"I refuse to be party to this travesty of justice," announced Sarah coldly.
She fumed. Her visits to the Underground were always informal and now she wished she'd worn something more impressive than sandals, cut-offs and an old Duran Duran t-shirt. In stark contrast, the Goblin King was elegantly attired: a loosely-cut shirt that managed to both breathe and cling, the usual gloves, and brown leather breeches that fit loosely into the tops of his boots and snugly everywhere else. Though his expression was innocent beyond reproach, there could be no mistaking the mocking humor in his eyes. Jareth's satisfaction at the proceedings was as ill-concealed as... well, other parts of him.
Sarah averted her eyes and scowled harder.
"I'm afraid that your refusal has no legal standing," said Jareth, graciously declining a bowl of extra-crispy snails, "Everyone who abides in the Underground-- for any length of time-- must obey its laws. You are not above the law, surely?"
"Laws to keep people off the grass?"
"Urban renewal, my lady," offered Sir Didymus in apology, "I did tell thee new rules to beautify our fair city had been passed into law."
Sarah searched her memory. Come to think of it, the knight had mentioned it briefly, and at the time, she'd heartily approved. The goblin city needed a rigorous clean-up, and the immediate effects were surprisingly pleasant. The streets were paved and no longer ankle-deep in mud and debris, flower baskets now hung from every streetlamp, and there was a concerted effort to keep livestock presence to a discreet minimum.
Even the law regulating the lewd names of inns and public houses had gone into effect with only a little protest, though it meant a lot of hasty repainting of signage. Sarah rather liked the newly-christened The King's Magnificent Clock. Their cider was excellent, and she was relieved that she no longer had to pretend to look the other way when she walked past it on her way to Hoggle's house.
She turned upon Jareth, who lounged in his chair with an indolent, cat-like grace. "Then why wait six years to punish me?"
The Goblin King shrugged and smiled, teeth pointed and white. "The wheels of justice grind slowly."
"Bullshit."
"However," continued Jareth smoothly as if she hadn't spoken, "I believe that since the accused is, shall we say, an old acquaintance, we might dispense with the formalities of sentencing."
A disappointed groan rose from the goblin jury and Sir Didymus shuffled his stack of papers anxiously. His wig had slipped down until it rested on the back of his neck like a woolly collar. "Art thou certain, Your Majesty? I was informed that thy command was to detain my lady until thou couldst bedazzle--"
"Yes." The Goblin King's smile was more like a baring of teeth. "This court is dismissed. I shall... I'll pronounce the sentence in private."
Ushered briskly out by Sir Didymus, the goblin jury filed from the room, some of them grumbling under their breath.
"Never heard of such a short trial..."
"... most irregular..."
"... anyone for a pint?"
Left alone with the Goblin King, Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "Well?"
Jareth had appropriated the stack of papers, which he perused with great interest. "I see Didymus has gone through the history books and compiled a list of all the possible punishments for defilement of crown property. His diligence is commendable, although I'm afraid I've misplaced my..." He held the sheet up to the light and scrutinized the wobbly handwriting, "...Pear of anguish.** Quite careless of me, really--"
"You can't seriously mean to say this is a real crime!"
Jareth tutted. "The law is the law, dear girl. Of course, there are many less strenuous punishments. Some, I dare say, are no more than mildly inconvenient."
The Goblin King's voice had taken on a certain wheedling note which set Sarah on her guard. "Oh? And what would they be?"
"Let me see..." Jareth ran an elegant gloved finger down the list. "I'll skip all the ones that involve limb amputation or clamps of some kind then, shall I? Ah, here we go, mild punishments."
What followed was the most preposterous list of penalties that Sarah had ever dreamed of. It would seem that goblin lawmakers had definite ideas about the nature of minor sentences, and most of them involved torture. Others were even more nonsensical. Rolling a gryphon's egg from one end of the town square to the other without the aid of hands or feet? Running naked down the main street of the goblin city with three scarlet feathers stuck up one's bottom? Goat waxing?
Sarah nearly wore a rut down the middle of the floor with her pacing, but when the Goblin King had finished reciting the list, she fixed him with an icy look. "Is that all?"
"There is one last possibility," he replied with a sidelong glance, "But you would never consider it."
"Try me."
He handed over the paper without protest. To Sarah's surprise, the list really did contain all the absurd things he'd said and more besides. Also true to his word, there was one last entry at the very bottom of the page written in a larger, bolder hand than Sir Didymus' flyaway script. She read it twice.
"'Dinner with the king' is a punishment?"
Jareth rose, tugging off his gloves and tossing them carelessly on the seat of his chair. "I am told," he said in perfect deadpan, "That I have excessively stringent standards when it comes to table manners."
"You don't say."
"I'm afraid it is so. And yet... I've reason to hope that you would regard it a fair sentence?" He offered her an outstretched hand.
Fair compared to what, having hot coals inserted into awkward places? Sarah stifled an incredulous snort. That's hardly the way to spend a precious long weekend.
But one evening... now that would be interesting. A plethora of interesting possibilities presented themselves, not the least of which was the question of what was on the menu for dinner. Or dessert. One evening was not so very much, all things considered. Come to think of it, she had a few sick days remaining. Her three days' leave could be extended to four... or five.
She smoothed down the wrinkled hem of her t-shirt, silently grateful for all those yoga classes and her stepmother's insistence upon decent underwear regardless of where you were going or what you planned to do once you got there.
"I believe," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, "That I might be up to the challenge."
When she at last accepted his hand, the arch of Sarah's eyebrow was the equal of any in the Underground.
The End
* A bowl of hot curried pigeon n' potatoes with a half pint of cider for three copper pennies-- two if you BYOP. This dish is more popular than the mouse kebab and chips, but not as highly lauded as the Rat Tikka Masala, because goblins appreciate an exotic melange of spices from the Far East, so long as the dish is served hot enough to kill all the parasites.
** Medieval torture device. Far nastier than the Peach of Ill-Disguised Sexual Symbolism.
****
This Mystery Author wrote two fics for the same prompt, the first one being There and Back Again.
Title: I Fought the Law and the Law Won: The Sarah Williams Story
Author: dmacabre
Recipient: whitemunin
Prompt: Sarah has done something considered a crime in the Underground. At her trial, she's found guilty. Jareth decides her punishment. You pick the crime and the punishment.
Rating: PG
Plot Summary: In the goblin justice system, the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups: the loyal subjects in charge of the frame-up, and the Goblin King who prosecutes the offenders. These are their stories.
Author's Note: Sometimes when a prompt offers more than one plot bunny, I take the masochist's approach and write both simultaneously. This is what came of that method. My sincere apologies to Law & Order and all its various spin-offs for stealing their introduction.
"This," said Sarah with a fiercely accusing look at the gathered assembly, "Is entrapment."
Her statement sent a ripple of excitement through the courtroom, which also doubled as the back room of The Naughty Gherkin, a pub famous for its Curried Pigeon Wednesdays.* What it lacked in proper gravitas as a place where justice was tempered with mercy, it made up for with free bar snacks. No less than a dozen goblins jostled for room at one end of a trestle table loaded down with deep fried snails and other equally tempting tidbits. Sir Didymus was perched on a barrel of cider at the other end of the table, wearing somber robes and a wig that looked like it had been fashioned from the back end of a sheep.
An imposing high-backed chair with velvet upholstery sat by the fire. It was empty.
"My lady, I regret to inform thee that Underground law does not recognize such a defense." The little knight's expression was grave.
Sarah sighed inwardly. Of course it doesn't. A kingdom where mazes had dead ends and trap doors opened up onto oubliettes wouldn't consider this base trickery at all. She was more irritated at herself than anyone else-- after six years of regular visits to the Labyrinth, she should've expected as much.
"Get on with it, then." She darted an anxious look at the door. If this silly charade could be wrapped up before a certain king turned up, then so much the better.
Sir Didymus gestured grandly and a somewhat disreputable-looking goblin bailiff scuttled forth to do his bidding. "Please to present Exhibit A."
Up until this point, the knight had been rather vague about the actual nature of Sarah's crime, despite her vehement insistence that she had a right to know what the charge was. After much coaxing, he'd mumbled something about "defilement of crown lands". Sarah found this slightly reassuring. She was certain she hadn't defiled anything that belonged to Jareth... as tempting as that now sounded.
Exhibit A turned out to be a small wooden post with a parchment barely bigger than a postage stamp nailed to it. It read:
Tread ye not uppon the grasse!
Sarah recognized the handwriting immediately-- Didymus' creative spelling meant he was the Underground Scrabble champion, but a perennial loser when it came to crossword puzzles. The annoyance that had been building up inside her for several hours ratcheted up a notch.
"This is entrapment! That sign was never there before."
It hadn't been, she was sure of it. The allegedly defiled land in question was in a remote section of the maze, surrounded by high privet hedges and a nearly invisible garden gate woven out of willow and ivy. A spring-fed brook ran through it, and in the center was a wide branching oak tree that provided shade on sunny days. It was the perfect place to read and think-- or just to dream, which Sarah did often.
She'd been under the impression that there existed a tacit agreement between her and the Labyrinth's ruler: Sarah refrained from inciting rebellion among the citizenry, and he discreetly looked the other way when she came to see her friends and enjoy an inexpensive vacation in the Underground. This impression had been further reinforced by the discovery of some new improvement to the garden room each time she saw it.
First came the roses, cleverly charmed to repel fairy infestation. Seemingly of their own accord, wild strawberries sprang up in the dappled shade beneath the oak, sweeter than any she'd tasted Aboveground. A small silver cup appeared by the spring, in case she should get thirsty. On this most recent visit, someone had added a a decorative seat beneath the oak, one of living wood where the branches were supple enough to give slightly beneath her weight. A mound of thickly padded cushions in white and gold silk provided further comfort, just the thing to while away a lazy summer afternoon with a good book. All she needed to do to reach it was what she'd always done: open the garden gate and cross an inviting stretch of perfectly manicured lawn...
Sarah gritted her teeth. Too good to be true. I should've known.
"All right. So what's my punishment, a fine or something? Community service?"
Sir Didymus glanced briefly down at his pocket watch, then riffled through the pile of papers before him as though he were stalling for time. "I fear t'is not for me to decide, my lady."
"Look here, I do not have time for the quirks of the goblin justice system. I've only got three more days of vacation leave and--"
A slight commotion stirred in the main room of the pub, along with the sound of many chairs being hastily scraped back. From the doorway came a blast of tinny, off-key trumpets, and a stout goblin poked his head in and vigorously cleared his throat.
"All rise and hail his august Majesty, the merciful, the generous, the devastatingly handsome--"
"Oh god," Sarah groaned, "Please tell me this isn't happening..."
His shadow filled the doorway first-- a neat trick, considering the placement of the lanterns-- quickly followed by his lean frame. It was drizzling outside, a light summer rain that misted his fair hair and dampened his cloak. On anyone else, it would've looked untidy. On the Goblin King, it sparkled. He cut short the announcement without the slightest sign of embarrassment, then surveyed the courtroom with an air of feigned surprise.
"Well, well. This will make an interesting change from residing over cases of pig theft and malicious abuses of root vegetables." He seated himself by the fire, fastidiously brushing a speck of dust from the arm of the chair. "Do go on."
"I refuse to be party to this travesty of justice," announced Sarah coldly.
She fumed. Her visits to the Underground were always informal and now she wished she'd worn something more impressive than sandals, cut-offs and an old Duran Duran t-shirt. In stark contrast, the Goblin King was elegantly attired: a loosely-cut shirt that managed to both breathe and cling, the usual gloves, and brown leather breeches that fit loosely into the tops of his boots and snugly everywhere else. Though his expression was innocent beyond reproach, there could be no mistaking the mocking humor in his eyes. Jareth's satisfaction at the proceedings was as ill-concealed as... well, other parts of him.
Sarah averted her eyes and scowled harder.
"I'm afraid that your refusal has no legal standing," said Jareth, graciously declining a bowl of extra-crispy snails, "Everyone who abides in the Underground-- for any length of time-- must obey its laws. You are not above the law, surely?"
"Laws to keep people off the grass?"
"Urban renewal, my lady," offered Sir Didymus in apology, "I did tell thee new rules to beautify our fair city had been passed into law."
Sarah searched her memory. Come to think of it, the knight had mentioned it briefly, and at the time, she'd heartily approved. The goblin city needed a rigorous clean-up, and the immediate effects were surprisingly pleasant. The streets were paved and no longer ankle-deep in mud and debris, flower baskets now hung from every streetlamp, and there was a concerted effort to keep livestock presence to a discreet minimum.
Even the law regulating the lewd names of inns and public houses had gone into effect with only a little protest, though it meant a lot of hasty repainting of signage. Sarah rather liked the newly-christened The King's Magnificent Clock. Their cider was excellent, and she was relieved that she no longer had to pretend to look the other way when she walked past it on her way to Hoggle's house.
She turned upon Jareth, who lounged in his chair with an indolent, cat-like grace. "Then why wait six years to punish me?"
The Goblin King shrugged and smiled, teeth pointed and white. "The wheels of justice grind slowly."
"Bullshit."
"However," continued Jareth smoothly as if she hadn't spoken, "I believe that since the accused is, shall we say, an old acquaintance, we might dispense with the formalities of sentencing."
A disappointed groan rose from the goblin jury and Sir Didymus shuffled his stack of papers anxiously. His wig had slipped down until it rested on the back of his neck like a woolly collar. "Art thou certain, Your Majesty? I was informed that thy command was to detain my lady until thou couldst bedazzle--"
"Yes." The Goblin King's smile was more like a baring of teeth. "This court is dismissed. I shall... I'll pronounce the sentence in private."
Ushered briskly out by Sir Didymus, the goblin jury filed from the room, some of them grumbling under their breath.
"Never heard of such a short trial..."
"... most irregular..."
"... anyone for a pint?"
Left alone with the Goblin King, Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "Well?"
Jareth had appropriated the stack of papers, which he perused with great interest. "I see Didymus has gone through the history books and compiled a list of all the possible punishments for defilement of crown property. His diligence is commendable, although I'm afraid I've misplaced my..." He held the sheet up to the light and scrutinized the wobbly handwriting, "...Pear of anguish.** Quite careless of me, really--"
"You can't seriously mean to say this is a real crime!"
Jareth tutted. "The law is the law, dear girl. Of course, there are many less strenuous punishments. Some, I dare say, are no more than mildly inconvenient."
The Goblin King's voice had taken on a certain wheedling note which set Sarah on her guard. "Oh? And what would they be?"
"Let me see..." Jareth ran an elegant gloved finger down the list. "I'll skip all the ones that involve limb amputation or clamps of some kind then, shall I? Ah, here we go, mild punishments."
What followed was the most preposterous list of penalties that Sarah had ever dreamed of. It would seem that goblin lawmakers had definite ideas about the nature of minor sentences, and most of them involved torture. Others were even more nonsensical. Rolling a gryphon's egg from one end of the town square to the other without the aid of hands or feet? Running naked down the main street of the goblin city with three scarlet feathers stuck up one's bottom? Goat waxing?
Sarah nearly wore a rut down the middle of the floor with her pacing, but when the Goblin King had finished reciting the list, she fixed him with an icy look. "Is that all?"
"There is one last possibility," he replied with a sidelong glance, "But you would never consider it."
"Try me."
He handed over the paper without protest. To Sarah's surprise, the list really did contain all the absurd things he'd said and more besides. Also true to his word, there was one last entry at the very bottom of the page written in a larger, bolder hand than Sir Didymus' flyaway script. She read it twice.
"'Dinner with the king' is a punishment?"
Jareth rose, tugging off his gloves and tossing them carelessly on the seat of his chair. "I am told," he said in perfect deadpan, "That I have excessively stringent standards when it comes to table manners."
"You don't say."
"I'm afraid it is so. And yet... I've reason to hope that you would regard it a fair sentence?" He offered her an outstretched hand.
Fair compared to what, having hot coals inserted into awkward places? Sarah stifled an incredulous snort. That's hardly the way to spend a precious long weekend.
But one evening... now that would be interesting. A plethora of interesting possibilities presented themselves, not the least of which was the question of what was on the menu for dinner. Or dessert. One evening was not so very much, all things considered. Come to think of it, she had a few sick days remaining. Her three days' leave could be extended to four... or five.
She smoothed down the wrinkled hem of her t-shirt, silently grateful for all those yoga classes and her stepmother's insistence upon decent underwear regardless of where you were going or what you planned to do once you got there.
"I believe," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, "That I might be up to the challenge."
When she at last accepted his hand, the arch of Sarah's eyebrow was the equal of any in the Underground.
The End
* A bowl of hot curried pigeon n' potatoes with a half pint of cider for three copper pennies-- two if you BYOP. This dish is more popular than the mouse kebab and chips, but not as highly lauded as the Rat Tikka Masala, because goblins appreciate an exotic melange of spices from the Far East, so long as the dish is served hot enough to kill all the parasites.
** Medieval torture device. Far nastier than the Peach of Ill-Disguised Sexual Symbolism.