Free Labyrinth by A. C. H. Smith Page B

neatly cut openings in them, and turned such precise right angles, and the lawn was so flat and tidy, that the garden was like a green box, with the blue sky for a lid. But that was not why they were called box hedges, was it? It was a rather formal garden, with carefully positioned stone monuments. On the stones were runic carvings, and a few faces — more of those Phony-Warnings, Sarah decided, preparing herself for gloomy predictions.
    The hatchway through which they had emerged was itself the top of a large ornamental urn, set upon a marble table. What a ridiculous arrangement, Sarah reflected, as they clambered out of the urn and stepped down to the lawn. Nothing was what it seemed to be. It was like a language in which all the words were the same as your own, but where they meant something quite different from what you were used to. From now on, she would take nothing at its face value. She looked with suspicion at the urn, and then down at the grass. She stepped carefully. It could turn out to be the top of someone’s head.
    Hoggle spread his hands. “Here we are then. You’re on your own from here.”
    “What?”
    “This is as far as I goes.”
    “You …”
    “Said I didn’t promise nothing.” He shrugged, callously.
    “But you …”
    “And you said you didn’t need anyone to save you.”
    “You little cheat!” Sarah was outraged. “You nasty little cheat!”
    “I’m not a cheat. I said I’d take you as far as I could go. Well, this is it.”
    “You’re lying. You’re a coward and a liar and — and —”
    He sniffed. “Don’t try to embarrass me. I have no pride.”
    “Pipsqueak!”
    “Don’t say that.” Hoggle tightened his fists.
    “Nasty double-crossing little runty cheating no-good pipsqueak!”
    “I said, don’t say that!” His eyebrows beetled.
    She leaned toward him, and whispered, “Pipsqueak.”
    “Arrgh.” Hoggle’s body clenched. He bared his teeth, then opened them to scream. With his feet together, he jumped in the air, thumping the ground as he landed. Then he lost his balance, and rolled on the grass, beating his fists in the air, kicking his stumpy legs. His voice alternated between a growl and a scream. “It was you insisted on going on. I said I’d get you out, but oh, no, you’re so clever. You knew better, didn’t you? Arrgh. Well, now you’re on your own, and good luck to you, and good riddance.” He closed his eyes, and rolled on the grass again.
    Sarah watched him, her mouth open in amazement. She had never seen anyone so angry, not even Toby.
    Eventually Hoggle subsided, and lay for a while, his eyes still closed, his body twitching occasionally. Sarah wondered if he needed some sort of help. She felt guilty. She had provoked all that with just her one word, which was clearly more hurtful than sticks or stones.
    Hoggle opened his eyes. He did not look at her as he stood up, brushed himself down, and pretended he had enough dignity left to turn away with his head held high. “Hoggle won’t be coming back to save you this time,” he informed her.
    “Oh, yes, he will,” Sarah muttered under her breath. And before he could get away, she darted forward and snatched the chain of brooches and badges from his belt. She had to tug quite hard to get it off, and he staggered forward.
    “Hey!” he protested.
    “Ha-ha!” She held his precious jewelry too high for him to reach.
    He danced around beneath the dangling chain, trying to jump up and grab it. It was no good. “Give that back!” he shrieked.
    “No. You can have it back when I get to the center of the Labyrinth.”
    “But you heard Jareth,” Hoggle whined. “The center is farther than I can go. No! No!” His whine had risen to a shrill whimper. “Upside down in the Bog of Eternal Stench,” he said. His eyes closed, and he shuddered.
    “Now there’s the castle,” Sarah said, in a deliberately matter-of-fact voice, one a parent might use to a child after its tantrum. Over the hedges,