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.Repatriated	By : keithcompany Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Gulliver's Travels Views: 3308 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on Gullivers Travels by Jonathan Swift.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
Hortesnaed's pregnancy was much smoother than Ritchasska's had been. All the scientism confusion had been established with Renee, as had the legal questions and any fear of laughter from the crowds.
Her giant husband remained a gigantic, babbling idiot for the duration, though he was at least distracted by the baby. Renee spent about five minutes learning to walk, then tipped forward and started running.
She had mastered ricochets, deflections and bounces, though she scorned the theory that the angle of incidence had any damned thing to do with the angle of reflection. The whole household were still waiting for any sign that she was able to pause.
Once everyone was comfortable with the fact of the second pregnancy, eyes started to drift towards Phoebe. Who insisted that she'd had a period just the other day, thank you very much. And she did not feel that it would be meet for a Duke's child to be born from a pet.
Ted already had a royal pardon in a lead box in his pocket, and waited for the 'right moment' to reveal it. He wasn't sure if he should wait for her to get pregnant, thus making it a political move that the Lilliputian politicians would accept.
His other plan was for a Blefuscan holiday, which the Lilliputians might not like, but any complaints would be seen as terribly petty.
Then he would spend hours wondering when he got so political.
He was considering this very question when his Butler appeared at his elbow. "A woman at the door for you, sir. She insists upon seeing you."
"Send her in," Ted said happily. Anything besides pondering the weighty question of doing what's fun versus doing what would be best for the whole household.
The Butler sniffed. It was the only protest he would allow himself. A proper Duke would have several layers of professionals screening any visitors.
The Duchess Hortesnaed would at least have asked who she was, how she presented herself, whether there was any calling card or invitation to speak of.
The Duchess Ritchasska would ask if there was any intel available on the woman, any retinue, how she arrived at Dollhouse and the estimated cost of her clothing.
Even the Blefuscan Spy would ask for The Butler's advice or any fair warnings about what was on the doorstep.
The Duke lived more like the owner of a Pub. The more's the merrier and don't even worry about wiping your feet, we have people that do for the floors.
His protests duly registered by a sharp intake of breath that Ted could neither hear nor properly interpret if he had, he returned to the front door and allowed the woman entry.
She was wide-eyed as she crossed the entry and rose up the stairs. The carpeting on the stairs alone probably cost as much as her house and any building inside a block's radius, he thought.
"Oi!" the woman said, coming to a stop on a landing. "There ain't no way the Duke he could have seen this stairway, no time, right?"
"Of course not," Butler sniffed.
"It's pretty posh." There was no question so he didn't bother to reply. "He must really trust the people he's got, lettin' 'em decorate his place in his name for his guests."
Then she had the audacity to wipe a finger on the bannister. "And he'll never, ever inspect, but you all keep it clean as a whistle for his sake, what?"
"Um… Well, yes," he said. "It's our jobs."
"Don't gimme that," she said with a smile. "Workin' this hard when he'll never catch you slackin'? Says a lot about yer master. You guys either loves him or fears him." There was a twinkle in her eye as she smiled at Butler. "I'm guessin' you guys do it out of love. Which says a LOT about the Duke."
"Ahem," Butler said, uncomfortable. He gestured towards the next flight of stairs. "He is waiting."
"Sure," she shrugged, moving on. He slowed his pace after a moment, allowing her to step beside him.
In a low voice he said, "I advise candor, miss. The Duke puts great value on candor."
"Thankee," she said in a voice just as low.
The Duke smiled and gestured towards a chair on the end of the dining table. Butler waited to announce her.
The room was a lot to take in. He had the option of standing there quietly while the guests gaped and gawked at the chamber and the giant furnishings.
Or he could announce them quickly and depart, leaving them alone with their awe.
This time, he waited until the sheer magnitude of the Duke and the bulk of Dollhouse slowed her steps. That gave her the greatest chance to recover while he announced her.
"Your Grace, Duke of Cashpierent, Theodore, may I present to you Miss Dupeerepond, a citizen of the Duchy, a schoolteacher in the Poodefend District."
Ted raised an eyebrow. He'd caught on to the pattern of Butler's introductions. He'd managed to become impressed with Miss Dupree in the time it took to walk from the front door to the dining room.
Butler may have noticed that Ted noticed, but he did not react. They waited patiently until Dupree had recovered. When her eyes could focus once more, he offered the chair again.
"Schoolteacher," he repeated. "Are you a Brownie?"
"Class of 432," she said automatically. He had suspected she was asked that question a lot. It might help her get her bearings. She sank into the seat and placed her purse before her.
"And what is it you wish to see me about?" he asked.
"It's me rights," she said. She lowered her chin and her voice as if she was expecting him to resist. "And yours," she added.
"My rights?" he asked.
"Yessir. Yes, sire. I mean, um, yessier, yer gracey, sir."
"Don't worry about the rank," he said with a smile. "I'm not even used to it. Call me Ted, or if that's too familiar, call me sir and be done with it."
"Yes, sir, Mistery Ted, yer grace."
"And what right is that?" he asked. She blinked, trying to remember.
"Promo Octavo," she said. Between the accent and the terribly Old Fuscan language, he had to ask her to repeat it twice. Then he blinked. "What's that? Wait. Octavo is eight, right? I get, promo, um, I have the right to promote eights? I wonder if that's pieces of eight?"
"Sir," Butler started to explain. Sir wasn't having any.
"No, wait. Octavo was a kind of a book, wasn't it? Discworld. Eight spells were inside it. Does promo mean speaking? Casting the spells, as it were?"
Dupree jumped to her feet and slammed a fist on the table. "It means ya' gets to takes my clothes off, ya big ape!"
Butler was shocked enough to gasp. Ted stared. Any stories told later about his glancing fearfully in the direction of Testy's manor, where his wives and pet were visiting, were complete lies.
Rather, he glanced guiltily towards their private offices on the upper floors.
"Do I gotta?" he asked.
----------
Ted shook himself after a moment and asked, thinking aloud, "I wonder what the Duchi would say, here."
"They'd say 'We'll be right there!'" Butler said with unusual bluntness. "Um. What I mean is, your Grace…"
"No, no, you're right. I need counsel." He lowered his face a bit, thinking it generated intimacy. "I'm not giving you the brush-off, but I do need to talk to my wives about what's going on. We'll find you a room, tack care of your carriage, until we know what we need to do."
Dupree had almost become comfortable with the Duke as he lounged in his chair. The face was far enough away that she could see his expression.
At his interest, the face came closer and he became more of a puzzle, trying to see each part of his face.
And looming right there, up in the air over her, she could stare into his eye or watch his mouth. Eyebrows and brow and other mood-indicators were caught haphazardly if at all.
But she'd been to University and seen Duchess Arlene more often than most people saw their liege lord. So she recovered quickly enough. "I don't haves a carriage, m'lord, um, m'grace, ah, sir. I walked, I did."
"Oh, my," he said softly. "From Poodefend? That'd take ME half an hour. In that case, we should show you our baths."
"No, sir, I don't wants to be no troubles to no one. I just came for my rights."
"Our bathhouse has constantly running hot water," he said. "No trouble." He saw her expression and knew the deal was sealed. "My Butler will show you the way to the bathhouse while they prepare your room."
"The-, ther-, Ahem. Thanks, yer Grace!"
--------
"Promo Octavo," Ritch explained, "is very old Fuscan for 'First Opening.'" She relaxed in the sofa, watching Renee run back and forth between her father's elbows.
Phoebe sat on the far arm of the sofa. Hort stretched out between them and the giant rubbed her feet with thumbs the size of the footstool.
"By opening," he muttered, "you mean making her a real woman?"
"No, not taking her virginity," Ritch said. She assumed her lecturing-to-the-mentally-disabled tone. "The words actually mean opening her robe. You've the right to be the first man that sees her naked."
"So no sex?" he asked suspiciously.
"Well, that depends on the nobleman. Your official duty is to verify that she's free of blemish, mutation, scar, tan, stretchmark or gender that cannot be accounted for within her known biography."
"I'm checking for tan lines?"
"After two years of public nudity," Phoebe pointed out, "I'm not exactly a good catch for a husband hoping for advancement or even merely to avoid public shame."
"Hmmmph," Ted grumbled. "I'd marry you."
"You're already a Duke," she pointed out. "You can't be advanced unless you inherit the crown."
"And we don't think it's possible to shame you," Ritch added. He shrugged. Under his chin, Renee started to shrug, too. Hers grew in range and speed until she was violently wrenching her shoulders around.
She shrugged herself off balance and tipped over. The toddler didn't fall because she kept running, her feet almost making it under her. She hit Ted's forearm face first and sank slowly to the table.
"Is she okay?" Ritch asked as she rose to her feet?"
"She's snoring," he reported.
"About time," Ritch smiled. She turned towards the stairwell to summon the nanny. Aggie had heard the Duke's report and was already climbing the stairs.   Renee snored through several kisses goodnight and was carried off.
"Okay, so after I approve of her body, what do I do? What are my options?" He continued massaging his pregnant wife. She purred and the other two smiled.
"Traditionally," Phoebe said, "you can either fuck her and give her a gift, or you can give her an even better gift and ask her to TELL everyone you fucked her."
"What? Why? Why would I do that?"
"Does no one in your homeland value their reputation more than their hard-on?" Ritch asked.
"Ah." He nodded. "But how much more would it cost to make her keep a straight face….?"
---------
"Okay, so nudity, sex and a gift," he said. The other two nodded. The remaining one stretched one leg out for attention to her calf. He obeyed. "So how do we let her down easy?"
"Let. Who. Down?" Hort asked, rising up to a sitting position.
"The, uh, the woman demanding my inspection?"
"Why would you 'let her down?" Ritch asked easily. Or at least, not as tersely as Hort.
"Well. Nudity," he said. "I'm happily married. And you guys don't want me… Um… Alone with…" His voice trailed off.
"It's an HONOR for them," Hort said. She wasn't angry enough to pull back from his touch, he noted, but then again she'd been pregnant all day. He probably shouldn't use that as a gauge for her anger.
"And a DUTY for you!"
"But I haven't honored or dutied anyone since I was created, the Duke," he protested.
"You certainly HAVE!" She lifted her other leg and he rubbed her major muscle groups in tandem.
"I have?"
"Your sheriffs," Ritch explained, "deliver a gift from you to each bride. He orders it when they announce the engagement and delivers it at their intentions."
"What do I give them?"
"It had been traditional to give a decorated hand mirror," Phoebe said, "but you're probably the only Duke in the whole archipelago to present brassieres."
"Ah," he nodded with that silly smile all three of his women wanted to kiss. Or beat off his face with a rake, one or the other.
"Okay," he said after a moment. "Okay, so I give them gifts instead of Prima Octopus. Why is she here?"
"There may be some sort of scandal," Phoebe mused. "The ritual IS a matter of getting the liege's approval. If you say she's appropriate for a bride, no one would dare to say otherwise."
"You're so cynical!" Ritch protested. "Maybe she's just loyal. And wants that brief, shining moment with her liege."
"You're such a romantic," Phoebe said. Her tone was scornful, but she smiled and reached to grab Ritch's hand. They squeezed and Hort wrapped her fingers around both wrists.
They leaned together for a hug.
Ted briefly regretted not being able to be that intimate with the women in his life.
Then again, if he was that small, his mother-in-law could take him in a fight.
"Tell me," he said after a moment, "if I DO Prima-"
"Primo Octavo," Ritch corrected.
"Whatever. Word will get around. What do I do when the next one shows up?"
------
They invited Dupree to dinner that night. She was hesitant at first, but relaxed visibly as the meal progressed. Ted's jokes quickly convinced her that it wasn't a solemn occasion, and his wives has very natural smiles.
She did stiffen up again when Ted asked why she wanted to go through the Primo Optical. Ritch threw a roll at him and begged she forgive the big idiot with the brains of a cheese wheel and the attention span of a cannon's lit fuse.
"Well, your grace, sir, it's 'cause I'm not from round near."
"How's that work?" he asked.
"Ah'm a Brownie," she said proudly. "Part of what we DOES is go someplace unlike our homes. We teaches readin and writin and conservation, plus an added bonus of someone the kids've never met."
"Makes sense," he nodded.
"But then, we gots a reputation of… Of…"
"Of being worldly women," Ritch suggested.
Dupree nodded, but unhappily. "More like…" She paused, clearly uncomfortable.
"Sluts," Phoebe suggested.
"Whores," Hort countered. Dupree's eyes bugged out. She never would have thought a duchess KNEW the word, much less would use it in public.
"But she was right. "Pretty much," Dupree replied. She looked back up at Sir Ted. "So I don't wanna bring disgrace on my beau, or his family. But you, sir! You they dotes on. They's real, real proud'o being your vassals, sir. If you say I'm not a whore, they'll - "
"You're no whore," Ritch said conversationally.
"Of course not!" Hort hissed. Dupree flinched before she realized that tone wasn't aimed at her. Rather the Duchess was on her side, aimed at others. Judgmental others.
That was a bit of alright, she figured. Couldn't hurt to have a pissed-off Duchess on your side in a fight.
"So whatever happens," Ted said softly. "I can't just do this once and stop." The others shook their heads.
Phoebe caught Dupree's eye and winked at her. For some reason, that made her as happy as Hort's anger.
Things would get sorted. She knew that.
---------
"We'll do it Wonka style," Ted said suddenly, loudly, in the middle of the night. Phoebe pitched out of her bed and landed on the carpeted floor of the birdcage.
"Don't DO that!" she screeched. "I thought it was The Final Separation!"
"No, just an idea!" he said excitedly. He opened her cage and held her to his chest. "We set up a lottery. All the women that make an announcement, the sheriff sends us a list. Once a month, we pick ten from each Shire and send them a Golden Ticket."
"Do you know how many shires there ARE in Cashpierent?" she snarled. "Because your duty also extends to the city of Cash, Ritchasska's duchy, and the city of Pier, Hortesnaed's duchy. That's 5000 more people."
"Okay, one from each shire. And we give the sheriff one that he can give out to anyone he wants."
"Oh, yeah," the former rebel sneered. "That'll keep them out of corrupt hands."
"Hey, if he sells them, I don't care. He'll also have the opportunity to make sure his daughter gets to come, if it's important to him. To her. To them."
"Hmmm," Phoebe considered.
"And the Brownies get a Golden Ticket. They can use it or sell it or give it to a friend.
"And every woman that goes through Promo Octavo gets to take home a Golden Ticket. To sell or give."
"Why can you only pronounce things properly when Ritchasska is in not in the room?" she mused.
"Shut up. And when they get here, they'll get a bath in the bathhouse.   Like a ceremony. Oils and candlelight and all that.
"And a very high quality robe to wear. No, to keep!
"And they come in here, to a feast."
"In groups?" she asked.
"I think it'll take the pressure off," he said. "They're not alone with a giant when they open the robe."
"That… Might be a good idea," Phoebe said. She'd discuss it with Dupree. And the wives, of course.
A giant finger started to stroke her hair. She relaxed into his grip. "So one day a month, you're going to see…" She counted shires on her fingers. "Twenty five to thirty women come here, eat your food and bare themselves like cattle."
"You're against it?" he asked softly.
"Yeah. I'm naked but at least it's an ongoing punishment from a murder. What have they ever done?"
"My wives are in favor of the Duty," he pointed out.
"The women that are independently wealthy, who each have, or will have, a child by you, who aren't your pets, those women? They're comfortable with you looking at younger, healthier, skinnier women? They're confident enough in their lives to shrug off jealousy?
"Imagine that!"
"Well. Maybe I should marry you," he said.
"Too many complications," she said with a sniff.
"I have the pardon," he said. Time stopped. Phoebe turned to stare up at his nostrils over her head.
"You what, now?"
"I was waiting for Saint Vitchraed's Day," he lied. He wasn't aware that his nose did that thing when he lied. Phoebe was the one that taught the wives about it.
"Romantic," she muttered.
"So, enact the pardon, offer you my hand, beg your forgiveness…"
"All so I'll be a confident wife and let you ogle strange women? That you'll probably have to pick up in order to search out scars?"
"Yeah," he said.
"Okay," she shrugged. Then ran up his chest to snuggle his pulse point. "Can we have the wedding in Blefuscu?"
"We can have the wedding in Boiritesse," he offered. She purred.
---------
On Dupree's fourth day at Dollhouse, she was led back to the bathhouse. Lanterns with colored panes lit the room in shades of red and pink. The lights glinted off the still surface of the warm waters. Herbs and crushed evergreen needles floated in the two extra-hot tubs in the corners, making the room smell of a forest.
Smiling maids helped her bathe in the blood-warm water of the central pool. Her hair was washed, then done by one of the Duchess' own dressers. She had a choice of perfumes.
The servants assured her they were all scents that the Duchess actually wore, not knock-offs. One even whispered, "The Duke really likes this one." And that's the one she chose.
When the makeup was completed, they took the thick robe away and presented her with a silk one. The Duke's sigil was blazoned in a golden brocade over her right breast.
"Pretty," she said. "Wished could have sommat like this on m' wedding night." The silk seemed to caress her of its own accord with every step she took.
"It's yours," a maid assured her. And she would accept no argument.
The table was set for four. Dupree sat between the Duchi, a signal honor. And they welcomed her. Well, they always had, but this seemed special somehow.
They talked and ate and asked Dupree's opinion on the evening so far. They explained that they were eating without the Duke because sometimes watching him masticate was a nightmare.
They assured her that they'd planned to let her keep the robe, the servant had not overstepped her bounds.
And they complimented her choice of perfume.
Then the lights were brought up, just a bit, and his Grace entered and sat. He conversed with the women, and made a point to use Dupeerepond's entire name, though he made a hash of the Postaddle accent.
She didn't care. A full duke and his wives were TRYING to make her feel welcome. The very choice to make the attempt was nearly enough to make her swoon.
She was so happy that when Phoebe escorted her to the 'viewing stand,' she hardly cared. It was twice as tall as she was, making the inspection more convenient, without requiring he lift her on his palm.
The Duke leaned down close as she let the robe slip down her arms. Phoebe gathered it and held it for her.
In a stronger light from a lantern beneath the platform, the Duke inspected her, without touching any body parts normally removed from public notice by the arrangement of modest clothing.
He sniffed and a wide smile spread across his face.
He announced that she was pleasing, pure, healthy, adorable and sufficiently lady-like that any of the duchy's citizens should feel absolutely privileged to gain her hand in marriage.
Ritchasska logged it in a brand-new ledger. Hortesnaed signed the proclamation in Ted's name.
She did swoon, then. Just a little. Her knees gave and Phoebe caught her. Then she was robed and returned to the table where dessert was served.
The wax was still warm on the proclamation as she was returned to her room and tucked into bed.
--------
A month later, they had fifteen women at the Promo Octavo. One balked at the last minute, clutching her robe tightly and refusing to climb the inspection stand.
Phoebe glanced up at her fiancé. He shrugged. "She's in a hurry to get to the dessert, I guess." He expressed no anger, disappointment or judgment, just smiled and nodded back to the table.
She made it halfway to her seat, seeing sympathetic smiles from the other women in the room. The servers, the Duchi and the other brides.
Ritchasska set her down and patted her shoulder. "He can be a bit overwhelming," she said. "The day I met him, I had a choice between him picking me up and a village of cannibals recapturing me."
She leaned down to whisper, "I very nearly chose the cannibals. But I am SO very glad that I didn't."
The young woman stood, hugged her liege lady and rejoined the line at the back.
--------
Three months after that, Ted was commanded to the Palace. He arrived and waited at the usual spot outside the King's office. An aide appeared on the balcony and waved vigorously to the other side of The Tower.
Ted wandered in the indicated direction and found the Queen waiting for him. He bowed and waited for her permission to stand.
"Rise, Duke Modernism, and attend our counsel."
"Ma'am?" he asked.
"Every Earl, Marchess, Moff and Duke in the land is scrambling around trying to have the most generous Promo Octavos, cleaning the most soiled of doves, respecting the least of their citizens, all that.
"Two hundred years of mostly ignoring their duties, and now the foreign duke from See Tat Tell is showing them up. It's most amusing."
"I'm…glad to entertain you, your Majesty," Ted guessed.
"What's really, really amusing?" she went on. "Kings don't have the right of Promo Octavo." She smiled, an evil expression of glee. Ted realized she was playing to the audience, the listeners all about the castle and on the grounds.
"So all this nudity is going around and my poor husband can't see a single tit."
"That's too…bad?" he guessed.
"It's too GREAT!" she smiled. "And I have you to thank."
"It, well, it was a group effort," he said.
"Obviously, by 'you' I meant you and your lovely wives," she said with a nod of her head. He nodded back, grateful for the concession. Then a thought occurred.
"Um, on that subject?" he said. "Isn't one of the King's titles Earl of Fen?"
She made a dismissive wave. "A family holding. From before this dynasty. It's a rock. An island with nothing but goats upon it." She laughed, a sincere sound of jocularity. "I suppose he can pronounce one of the goats suitable for marriage."
"He would, too," Ted agreed, "just to be one of the guys. But I find myself in a bit of a bind. I proposed to Phoebe." He winced in anticipation of her response. A peer of the realm marrying a convicted felon, one with ties to Blefuscan rebels, even if they had been quiet for a long, long time. However,
"About zucking time," was all Queen Gangbangi said.
"Well… It seems to me, if I'm going to have a happy marriage, I need someone who outranks me to declare her a proper bride."
"And why are you asking me, then?" she challenged.
"Well, if I go to the King without your blessing, he'll do it, but only to spite you." He shook his head, rueful. "I don't really want a marriage out of spite. But if you bless it, and he does it…"
"One of my titles," she said slowly, "is Marchess of Vroostep."
--------
It was a dual ceremony in the throne room. The highest members of court attended. They waited patiently as a screen was erected around the throne. Ritch and Hort presented her, kissed her cheeks and left her with the Rroyals.
They closed the screen, ensuring the privacy of a woman that had been publicly naked for several years. Her robe was tossed over the top of the screen, proving that she was indeed naked for the inspection.
She was loudly judged to be appropriate. Loudly enough to be heard by the giant ear hovering outside the window.
And by the power of little leftover titles they hadn't thought of in years, they cleansed Phoebe's reputation and blessed the coming union.
Most of the political commentators left the issue alone. A couple of the more conservative Lilliputian papers wondered if the King'd have found her quite so appropriate if there wasn't a giant hovering near by.
The more vocal of the Blefuscan papers asked if anyone really thought the Queen was afraid of one, measly giant.
There was no published response.
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