Emma’s Travels
- Shipwreck
Emma Stevens stood on deck of the liner, leaning on the rail and looking into the distance, her long ginger-blonde hair flapping and flailing in the wind, but not getting in her eyes at all; being as she wore glasses, not for the purpose of preventing this but simply so she could see into the distance. Her uncorrected myopia was minus 13, plenty enough to turn the seascape around her into a blue smear without them.
Suddenly she heard a muffled “bang” that resonated throughout the ship, which then progressively slowed then stopped. The engines were dead, but instead Emma could hear screams and cries for help. Moments later the back end of the liner exploded, chopping off the end of it, then it started to sink. Emma knew that if she wanted to survive, she would have to swim for it. After taking off her glasses and tucking them into her purse, she jumped into the turbulent sea and swam away from the crippled liner.
The next ten minutes were a daze of bobbing up and down, sometimes submerging, sometimes swallowing water, sometimes gasping for breath. Emma never was a good swimmer, and even here in the warmish waters, it wasn’t good to be drifting in the open sea for too long. She turned back to look for some trace of the liner, but her waterlogged myopic vision gave her no idea where it was. Quite soon she heard another distant explosion and a orange blur behind her: it had to be the rest of the ship blowing up. She heard distant screams for help, but could do nothing for them. She needed to find some land, or failing that, something to cling onto to help her float.
After some minutes of struggling to stay afloat her fingers touched a piece of wood. She grabbed it, hoping it would help to hold up afloat. She pulled it toward herself, and wiped her eyes dry. The scrap of wood was only about a yard long and a few inches wide, but was enough to lean on and support her weight, and at least prevent her drowning. As for the ship, well that was as good as gone and the conditions too dangerous for her to go and try to find. She kicked and bobbed her way directly away from the wreckage, not really certain which way she was going. She didn’t feel like getting her glasses out in case they were broken or got dropped by her numb, shaking hands.
Emma floated on her little piece of wood for a couple of days, becoming exhausted, seasick and thirsty in the process. She soon found seawater tasted too awful to drink, so gave that up. But worse was to come: one morning a storm brewed up and in the middle of the huge waves, lashing rain and high winds, the bit of wood broke in half, leaving her attempts to stay afloat rather badly impaired to say the least. But she managed it, somehow, even in her now totally exhausted state, despite the complete loss of the remains of her wooden flotation aid. When the storm cleared later that afternoon she thought she saw green ahead: with her vision, just a mirage? She fumbled for her glasses and put them on, and saw land ahead. But was there something odd about the land she saw? Could it just be her vision or the lenses, or the water droplets on them? She took them off and set herself to getting ashore. It took her nearly an hour before her feet touched the bottom so that she could push herself along to the seashore and collapse just beyond the reach of the sea’s high tide mark, then lay there for the next few hours insensible.
- Found on a Beach
Robert the carpenter’s son was in a pretty foul mood: he’d just been had a row with his father for coming in late from a previous job, where there just happened to be a pretty girl around, so he dallied a little longer than he should in order to look at her and talk a little. He’d sent Robert out to the beach just over the crest to collect driftwood for use on the fire: better than using valuable stock, he told Robert. Through the woods up the slope he walked, then down again, with the beach in sight. Hopefully he’d find something today or else father would send him out again. He would find something today, but it would be nothing like driftwood. Slowly the trees began to thin as he reached the poorer soil nearer the beach, then through the trees, he saw her. Well, he could hardly fail to miss her, really: he stopped dead in his tracks, and then realising she wasn’t moving much, started walking up to her.
She was lying on her side, with her cheek resting against the sand, and was dressed in a pale-green shift top and long black skirt of light but opaque fabric, short black boots and a purse attached to her belt, and her hair was ginger-blonde, straggling around her head and down her back. Both her clothing and hair looked damp: it seemed likely that she’d been shipwrecked and suffered some ordeals before reaching this beach. She looked pretty and shapely enough to be readily desirable. He also noticed a pale red mark on each side of her pretty nose, just below her eyes. He heard a soft sigh of her breath, and his astonishment started to wear off. Perhaps if this had been any other girl on a beach it wouldn’t have taken him so long to walk around her, but this one was rather larger than any girls he’d ever seen. She must have been getting on for 120 feet tall, or rather long as she lay breathing shallowly. He looked around nervously, as if to ascertain he really was the only one around. Then he ran back to his father’s woodshed.
It took a frustrating few minutes to tell his father, while panting,
’there’s a giant on the beach!’
‘Yes, I’m sure there is. Now go back and collect some driftwood for me and be quick about it!’
‘No, really. There’s a giant… girl.’
At that, his father’s eyes narrowed: he said angrily,
‘you and girls, you need to get on with your work not wasting your time with them!’
At that Robert started to pull at his father’s sleeve, crying,
‘There IS a giant girl there… come and see!’
At last his father realised he’d better humour him, otherwise he’d never hear the last of it. He sighed and said,
‘Fine, fine. I’ll come and see the giant. You’re going the right way for a thrashing anyway, so why not?’
All the way up the hill Robert kept cajoling his father and telling him about her; he started to shake his head, but carried on anyway. Once he went over the ridge and saw the girl lying on the beach he carried on shaking his head, this time in disbelief. Robert said,
‘Now do you believe me?’
‘Yes, of course you stupid boy.’
His father got over the shock faster than Robert expected: Robert started jabbering things such as “what shall we do?” His father calmly told him to shut up, then they would both go and fetch the nearest town’s mayor or something like that and get him to deal with her. So, they both hurried back, and promptly got on a horse and cart and went to the nearest town. It was some time before they were seen by the mayor and even longer before he agreed to come and see the giant. He wasn’t keen on a ride in the carpenter’s rickety wagon, so got a rather plusher version and some guards to take him. Upon seeing her, he was suitably astonished and impressed, and offered them money as a reward for the information. Then it was his problem to work out what to do with her.
- Blur
Some hours later Emma stirred and woke, feeling really uncomfortable and quite exhausted. Before she opened her eyes, she swore heard a little scream or two, and many muffled tiny footsteps. Then she opened her eyes, and was immersed in the uncorrected blue of myopia she was so accustomed to when not wearing glasses. Instinctively she reached down for her purse where she believed her glasses still resided… only to be stopped an inch into the movement by a sharp tugging at her elbow. Puzzled, and unable to see what exactly was the trouble, she tried to free her arm, only to find the other one was similarly snagged. She then tried to get up… and found that her legs were also trapped. She squirmed and struggled a bit, and heard some more little screams… very strange, she thought. Then it dawned on her: she wasn’t snagged on some tree branches or something like that. Her limbs were bound deliberately into near immobility.
Her tugging subsided, and she called out,
‘hello? Is there someone there?’
She heard what sounded like more tiny footsteps, like a faint pattering of a mouse in a field, and then a tiny voice trying its best to sound important said,
‘you are now the property of the great King Fredbert of Liliput, and as such should only speak when spoken to.’
She had only a vague idea of where the voice was coming from: from her left and below her head, and didn’t really want to be stuck here and told what to do by what sounded like a mouse, so she said,
‘why have you tied me down? Let me go!’
She gave a tug at her bonds for good measure.
At that the conversation ended, then she heard what sounded like many horses, but far away… lots of neighing, nickering and suchlike. Abruptly she heard a creak, and something shuddered beneath her; she began to move, still lying on her back. She realised that she was being pulled along. During her journey, she saw many things, but as she couldn’t see that well, it was all a bit of a mystery to her. But out of all the blurs and fuzzy lumps around her, and the small but many voices and sounds around her, she deduced that strange as it may sound, she might have come into a world where she was much larger than the natives. Eventually she was dragged into something that seemed like a large town, even a city: things seemed to get a little larger even if no clearer. A large building loomed up before her, taller than herself for a change; she was pulled inside, and the doors clanged shut, leaving her in near darkness.
- Slavery
Let me introduce myself. I am known as Puffin, I work officially as one of the King Fredbert’s advisors, although “general dogsbody” might be a better term. He wasn’t such a bad King, it’s just he could have been a lot, lot better. You could say the word “inept” was made for him. Not that his predecessors were that much better at the job. There were many of us who would have liked a different King… if we could have found one.
I had more important things that needed attention: relating to the giantess recently discovered on the beach. She had with her all manner of things like and unlike those women of our country possess: a comb about ten feet long. Some bits of paper that bore huge lettering at least 6 inches high. A lump of some sticky pink stuff about 2 feet across, with huge teeth marks in it. And then there were the glasses. These visual aids did exist in our land, although only those who could afford such availed themselves of them. They were usually delicate things: these were not. I stood in front of them as they sat on a trolley: the frames were of some dark metal, and ran around the huge lenses in bands that were as wide as my hand. The lenses were getting on for four feet wide and over 14 inches thick! I’d never seen anything like this in my life! I could see things through these huge lenses, but they were shrunken and seemed oddly distorted. How this giant woman saw anything through these lenses I knew not how… then I realised maybe they were needed to correct some gross visual defect.
I went to watch her in the Cathedral, the only building big enough to house her. Even so, she dominated the hastily-cleared interior. She groped around blindly, despite the ample light. She was being fed, a complicated process for us, but worth it because she could do much more hard work than a hundred men, working the pumps at the dam project being built a few miles away. I watched her, and I thought she looked young, beautiful and kindly in her hugeness: she had a soft, graceful curviness to her body that caught my attention. And then her heard her voice, soft but with a spark of life in it, as she asked where her water was, and warning people to keep clear as she moved.
I watched for some time before the carts bringing her repast were hauled away, then I went down the stairs from my vantage point on the balcony and through one of the doors into the main part of the cathedral. The giant-woman looked vaguely in my direction, and asked,
‘is there someone there? One of you little people?’
She wasn’t really quite looking the right way, but that didn’t matter. She then said,
‘be careful: I can’t see you at all. I don’t wish to crush you by mistake.’
I was immediately impressed by that care for those who had imprisoned her.
I asked,
‘giantess, what is your name?’
‘Emma.’
She leant forward, restricted by the metal chains preventing the full range of her movements, trying to see who she was talking to, her eyes squinting, unaided by the glasses she evidently sorely wished for. She asked,
‘who are you?’
‘I am one of the King’s advisors, known as “Puffin”. I have come to check on your belongings and ask questions about some of them.’
She settled back and waited for further questions. I asked,
’those spectacles: you require them to see?’
She responded with a mixture of bitterness and hope,
‘yes. Can I have them back?’
‘So, you cannot see me, despite me being only about twenty yards away?’
‘Of course not.’
She looked a little confused over the distance. I asked
‘Emma, how tall are you?’
‘Five feet four inches.’
To me she looked well over a hundred feet tall.
She then asked a question
‘Puffin, you said you have a King?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘We don’t really have Kings where I come from. Well, we do, we have a Queen, but she has no real power. The authority resides with Parliament, which is elected by the people. It’s called “Democracy”… maybe if you had that, strangers who got washed up on your beaches wouldn’t get put in chains and forced to work as slaves.’
‘Democracy? The word is unknown to me.’
‘Everybody gets a vote, they vote for the party they want.’
I stood considering the unknown concept: it seemed frankly preposterous to me at first impression. I promptly left Emma and went back to my duties.
- “Don’t Look Up!”
That evening I was in my bedchamber considering what Emma had told me about Democracy: perhaps this Giantess was more than a big stupid slave, fit only for menial and hard labour: she was certainly possessed of some intelligence. What neither she nor King Fredbert knew was that I was part of a small, secret group of people opposed to the rule of King Fredbert. Previously, our solution to his misrule was to find some other member of the royal family and replace him. Alas, all the possible replacements were pretty much the same, inbred fools with no aptitude for government and lacking wisdom as well as all other kingly virtues. Our options seemed limited, to say the least.
I took what I had been told by Emma to our next meeting of like-minded souls. There were only a few of us, always scared of discovery and consequent hanging for treason. They listened, which is more than King Fredbert would have done, but at the end were at best doubtful of such a scheme. There was simply no precedent for such a thing as a “Parliament”. And, to be honest, perhaps I didn’t fully understand it myself. I knew I would have to visit Emma again.
I went back a few days later and found her unwilling to say more about the subject. She seemed tired and drained, rather forlorn and hopeless. But one thing kept her going: she demanded the restoration of her glasses before she would say any more about “Democracy”. I told her I couldn’t do such a thing, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t think I could get away with it.
The next day I was on my way down from my chamber to see what needed doing, when one of my fellow conspirators found me and took me into a corner. What he had to tell me sent me into almost a panic: our little group had been infiltrated by one of the King’s agents, and I had been implicated in a plot to overthrow the King. He told me his best advice would be to hide or get out of the Kingdom altogether as soon as possible. It occurred to me to try something else: I had access to Emma’s belongings, and to the keys locking her manacles around her wrists and ankles. I immediately decided to try to get her on my side. Perhaps with a giantess for an ally, things might go easier for me.
I rushed down to the office where the keys were kept: two big black ones, about a foot long. Fortunately the guardsman there was either sleepy or unknowing of my guilt, so happily let me take the keys. Then I scampered over to the Cathedral as fast as I could, and went to the side chamber containing Emma’s possessions. Thankfully no-one had bothered moving them, so I pushed the trolley they were on toward the door into the main part of the cathedral, first stopping to put the keys next to them.
I soon realised how heavy giant-sized glasses could be, but by dint of shoving got them through the door. Emma heard the noise and peered rather uselessly at its source, namely me, but had no idea what was happening. Vaguely she said,
‘hello? Who’s there?’
‘It is I, Puffin. I have your glasses and the keys to your manacles.’
She looked surprised and delighted, then a little suspicious.
‘Do you still want me to tell you about Democracy then?’
‘Not yet. Here, they are just in front of you.’
Emma leant forward, but obviously could not see her glasses, thus I was obliged to guide her, making sure I was out of her reach. Then, after what seemed like far too long for safety, her fingers found them, knocking the cart over, but then lifting the things to her face. She seemed to briefly inspect them for damage, at close range of course, then put them onto her face. Such a view greeted my gaze as I have never seen before or since: I don’t know or understand my feelings about it, but I knew that what I was looking at looked most appealing. She looked down from her crouched position, her lenses distorting her face inward, but in her case by nearly eighteen inches!
Her shrunken blue eyes regarded me softly for a moment, then looked around her: for the first time she could see the interior of the cathedral clearly. She seemed both impressed and slightly surprised. She commented,
‘you’re smaller than I expected.’
I drew myself up to my full height and declared
‘I am six feet tall, quite tall really.’
She couldn’t resist a smile.
Suddenly there was an almighty commotion at the doors. Someone spoke, more shouted, asking for me by name and demanding I open up and let them in. Of course, I could not. I looked up to Emma and asked,
‘help me.’
Emma shrugged and said
‘OK.’
She reached for the keys, and picked them up: tiny things in her fingers, but she had the dexterity to unlock her wrists. She dropped the chains with an almighty clang!
Just at that moment the door crashed open and I could hear many footsteps coming in. I cried out to her,
‘quick! Hide me!’
Emma replied without hesitation,
‘get under my skirt, but don’t look up!’
I ran for cover under her voluminous black skirt and hid behind one of her legs. Emma pushed the trolley that had held her glasses under her skirt, arranged the manacles so that it looked like she was still chained, then finally whipped off her glasses to make appear as if nothing had changed. At that moment I heard the guardsmen run into the main body of the cathedral. One of them shouted at Emma, asking if she had seen me. Emma replied plaintively,
‘how can I see you? I’m half blind without my glasses!’
This being the truth, they did rather a derisory search before shouts of “he’s in the tavern” came rolling through the cathedral, and they were off.
After it went quiet, I peeked under the edge of her skirt, and saw that the coast was clear for now, so I told Emma. She immediately put on her glasses, hidden in a fold of her skirt: despite which she had to feel a little for them. Then I took the keys to her ankles, and unlocked those too, and in a few moments the chains were pushed aside and she was rubbing her ankles and wrists, and of course looking at everything around her with her bespectacled gaze.
- A Small Revolution
She then got to her feet, stretching up to her full height, filling the tower section of the cathedral, ducking her head slightly to avoid a bump. She asked,
‘well, Puffin, what now? Can I get out of here now?’
‘By all means.’
She knelt again and inspected the main doors to the cathedral, musing,
‘mmm, I think I’ll need to bash the doors open.’
She pushed her right hand against it, and the heavy wooden beams began to splinter. She then stopped, and asked me,
‘please go and check there’s no-one outside who might get hurt when I break this down.’
I did as she asked, then stood aside while she smashed it apart with one good push of her hand: I suppose that was one benefit of being a giant. She crawled through the hole as she’d been forced to do so many times before. On leaving, I heard many screams and yells of panic and fear at the sight of Emma freed: called out to them not to be afraid. As giants go, she seemed quite friendly and didn’t seem likely to eat anyone. She crouched, and let me get up onto then stand on her hand, itself as broad as I am tall, and then lifted me up - way up - onto her immense right shoulder, telling me to hold on tight to the edge of her top. From there I could see so much: a fine view of the city, a glimpse of the world as seen though her right lens, and looking down, a view of the largest bustline I’d ever seen.
Emma’s voice seemed to boom in my ear, despite her femininity. She asked urgently,
‘where is the palace? I wish to find your King’
I pointed at it: an obviously more regal and needlessly opulent building than all the rest. Within a few steps and strides she was there outside it, and I was looking down on it. It seemed like a toy building from my and I imagined Emma’s perspective. She called out,
‘bring out King Fredbert, or I’ll smash your palace to pieces.’
I wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but those inside obviously thought coming out was the best bet instead of being crushed by Emma. In any case, I was fairly convinced she wasn’t very likely to carry out her threat, but the courtiers and the like didn’t know that. She then asked me,
‘which is the King?’
Which was a fair question from her, having heard but never seen him clearly. Eventually the chubby fellow appeared, in rather a flushed and panicky manner, and Emma bent to scoop him up. He screamed like the fat useless pig he was.
Emma told him she would not hurt him, but would take him somewhere where she’d been recently. He had not long to find out where: a couple of miles, in our scale, out of the city was the dam project where slaves and poorly cared for workers toiled for this grandiose scheme. Within a couple of minutes Emma had got us there, and then dumped the King in the middle of it. I wondered what her scheme was, perhaps to simply let him see the state people lived in here. But no: she forced him to help, which at first those watching found hilarious, the fat useless King doing some manual labour for the first time in his life and not exactly loving it, let alone being much good at it.
But then the laughter drifted away. It seemed to me evidence that this King, or any King was just a man in fine clothes, good or bad. Admittedly it was very amusing to see him do it, with Emma, I and countless slaves watching. Before long the slaves and workers were edging forward, and I saw hatred and vengeance in their eyes. Emma amazed me: she put her hand in front of the King and shielded him from attack. He look up her, and pleaded,
‘please, forgive me. Forgive me for imprisoning you… can you protect me from this mob?’
Such was the pitiable plight of this man. Emma replied,
‘you must learn to treat your people with respect and dignity, not lord it over them and ignore them. If you are not careful, they will depose you.’
Emma took the King back to his palace much chastened. Over the next few weeks there was a kind of uneasy peace, during which she built herself a boat to try to leave. She herself had no experience of boat building and sailing, so many of us helped her with advice and such manual labour as we could manage, fairly insignificant as it was. She left one bright morning, her huge craft sailing into the sea with food and water for a long voyage. And the next day the revolution began…