An hour later, Jareth was beginning to fret. He really didn't want to be here all night. Perhaps it was time to shout for help, little as that appealed.

Then he heard footsteps. Someone had entered the cavern. He bent quickly and picked up the knife, then stood with his back against the wall, watching to see who looked over the edge.

He heard muttering, then the end of the ladder appeared and slid down to rest on the bottom of the pit. Large feet stepped onto the top rung, and a man descended with his back to Jareth. He thought it was one of Maybury's henchmen, the man Pol had addressed as Mason.

The newcomer got a huge shock when he turned and saw Jareth in the pit. "Who the frack are you? How did you get in here?" He glared, his big hands bunching into fists.

"My name is Coppersmith. I came to see Professor Maybury yesterday about his research," explained Jareth, as calmly as he could.

"Oh, the cripple," Mason acknowledged, with a faint sneer. "But that doesn't explain why you're here. How did you find this place? No one is allowed in the grounds without an escort."

"I was curious," Jareth said. "I followed the path."

"Curious, eh?" Mason smiled, unpleasantly. "Too bad. You know what they say about curiosity."

He lunged forward, both hands reaching for Jareth's throat.

Jareth threw up both arms to counter the move. He still held the knife in his right hand and Mason's eyes widened as he saw it. He flinched away, instinctively, without pause for thought, fell back against the ladder and stumbled. Jareth followed through with a powerful blow to the jaw and Mason collapsed onto the ground, out cold.

Jareth rubbed his knuckles. "I gather you haven't done much actual fighting lately," he chided the recumbent figure. He picked up the knife, stepped over the body, and cautiously climbed the ladder, always a tricky action with his metal leg.

He thought briefly about pulling the ladder up after him, but decided to leave it in place. It would be some time before Mason woke and was able to use it.

When he reached the gate, the gatehouse was empty and Jareth let himself out. Now, he had a nice long walk back to the inn to consider how he would deal with Ursula... and Pol.
~~

Evening was drawing in by the time he returned to the inn and he could smell the tantalising aroma of roast meat. He glanced into the front room through the window. Ursula was seated at a table by herself, eating dinner without an apparent care in the world. In contrast, Pol was sitting at a table for two, twisting in his seat as he stared back and forth from the inner stairway to the front door. A worried frown creased his brow. He checked his pocket watch, then pushed back from the table and went toward the stairs.

Looking for me, thought Jareth, with warm satisfaction. With Gifford and Pedlar both gone, he and Pol had arranged to eat at the same table that night. If Pol was Ursula's accomplice, she hadn't bothered to tell him Jareth wasn't coming.

Was Pol her collaborator or scapegoat? Jareth still hadn't decided, not for certain. He knew which he wished to be true, but he'd been wrong before.

Rather than going in the front door, Jareth slipped around to the back of the inn. He found Pol outside his room, knocking on the door.

"Looking for me?"

"Jareth, did you forget-? What the frack happened to you?" Pol's expression changed from annoyance to alarm in an instant.

"Ursula stabbed me," Jareth stated, watching closely for Pol's reaction.

"Stabbed you? What the- Let me see!" Full of concern, Pol pushed open the door to Jareth's room and drew him inside. "Where- oh I see," he murmured gently, easing the torn jacket from Jareth's shoulders. He sucked in his breath when he saw the blood stained shirt.

"Come over to the wash basin. I'll clean this up."

Pol dabbed at the shirt bandage with a wet cloth. Eventually he was able to remove it with the help of a tiny pair of scissors, without reopening the wound too much.

"It's not as bad as I feared," murmured Pol, wiping away more of the blood. "Do you have a medicine kit?"

"Not with me, sadly."

"Wait here. I'll be back in a minute."

Pol returned shortly with a small bag. He took out a bandage and a tube of ointment and was about to apply it when he found his wrist gripped in an iron hand.

"Show me first," Jareth asked, his tones even. Without arguing, Pol let the items drop into Jareth's outstretched hand.

"These are quite safe," he said, calmly. Then jabbed the small scissors into his own forearm, making it bleed. "You can cut the bandage in two and put the first piece on me."

Jareth stared at the blood, welling on Pol's forearm. With hands suddenly unsteady, Jareth did as he was told, cutting the bandage. Then he dabbed a small portion of ointment on the wound, and placed the bandage firmly over the top.

He turned so that Pol could do the same for him.

"I'm sorry for doubting you," Jareth apologised. He drew the red cloth from his jacket pocket. "After Ursula stabbed me, she dropped this on me and said it came with thanks from you... and I wasn't sure."

"Understandable," Pol agreed. He studied the cloth. "Interesting. Pedlar told me earlier that he'd sold Fisher some handkerchiefs. I bet this was one of them." He pulled out a genuine assassin's cloth and gave it to Jareth. "You can see the difference."

Jareth could.

Pol tucked his cloth away. He ran a hand lightly over Jareth's bare back. "You have a rather impressive set of muscles..." He cleared his throat. "I better get you a clean shirt before I do something I might regret."

Before Jareth could decide how to respond, Pol went across and took the spare shirt from the clothes rack.

When he turned back, his expression had turned serious.

"What are you going to do about Fisher?" he asked. "She won't be here for much longer. I heard she ordered a steam carriage to take her to Blackworth immediately after dinner. She plans to spend the night there and take the train home tomorrow."

"Does she?" murmured Jareth. "Well, I don't want to create a disturbance here, before she goes."

He pulled on his shirt then lifted his jacket from the floor. He drew out the jewelled snuff box which had been hidden in an inside pocket.

"Keep watch for me, will you? I have a little present for her."

Pol lifted a curious eyebrow but did as Jareth had asked, looking out into the corridor to report that it was clear.

Ursula had left the door to her room unlocked. It was the work of moments for Jareth to slip inside and place one of his scarab beetles into her small instrument case. The scarab would remain dormant until someone opened the lid again. He thought it unlikely Ursula would check the contents before departing, but sooner or later, she would open the case.