This is my parody of Tess of the d'Urbervilles, inspired by Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Graheme-Smith.
PHASE THE FIRST: CHAPTER 1
On an evening in the latter part of May a middle-aged man was walking homeward from Shaston to the village of Marlott, in the adjoining Vale of Blakemore, or Blackmoor. The pair of legs that carried him were rickety, and there was a bias in his gait which inclined him somewhat to the left of a straight line. He occasionally gave a smart nod, as if in confirmation of some opinion of the aliens—known as Koddi—who now ruled Britain, though he was not thinking of anything in particular. His pants were torn and his ass rather visible, the result of a skirmish with an alien soldier earlier that day. A Koddi egg-basket was slung upon his arm, the nap of his hat was ruffled, a patch being quite worn away at its brim where his thumb came in taking it off. Presently he was met by an elderly parson astride on a gray mare, who, as he rode, hummed a wandering tune.
"Good night t'ee," said the man with the basket.
"Good night, Sir John," said the parson.
The pedestrian, after another pace or two, halted, and turned round.
"Now, sir, begging your pardon; we met last market-day on this road about this time, and I said 'Good night,' and you made reply 'Good night, Sir John,' as now."
"I did," said the parson.
"And once before that—near a month ago."
"I may have."
"Then what might your meaning be in calling me 'Sir John' these different times, when I be plain Jack Durbeyfield, the haggler?"
The parson rode a step or two nearer, careful to speak in a high-pitched voice so Koddi spies would have trouble hearing his words . With tentacled bodies arranged in rough human form, they were of a skin that matched any background perfectly. When naked, the Koddi were almost impossible to see, and quite a few poor souls had been surprised by the monstrous creatures on country roads, never to be heard from again.
"It was only my whim," he said; and, after a moment's hesitation: "It was on account of a discovery I made some little time ago, whilst I was hunting up pedigrees for the new county history. I am Parson Tringham, the antiquary, of Stagfoot Lane. Don't you really know, Durbeyfield, that you are the lineal representative of the ancient and knightly family of the d'Urbervilles, who derive their descent from Sir Pagan d'Urberville, that renowned knight who came from Normandy with William the Conqueror, as appears by Battle Abbey Roll?"
"Never heard it before, sir!"
"Well it's true. Throw up your chin a moment, so that I may catch the profile of your face better. Yes, that's the d'Urberville nose and chin—a little debased. Your ancestor was one of the twelve knights who assisted the Lord of Estremavilla in Normandy in his conquest of Glamorganshire. Branches of your family held manors over all this part of England; their names appear in the Pipe Rolls in the time of King Stephen. In the reign of King John one of them was rich enough to give a manor to the Knights Hospitallers; and in Edward the Second's time your forefather Brian was summoned to Westminster to attend the great Council there. You declined a little in Oliver Cromwell's time, but when the Koddi arrived in their giant warships, your ancestors gained favor in their court and held sway for many a year. Aye, there have been generations of Sir Johns among you, and if knighthood were hereditary, like a baronetcy, as it practically was in old times, when men were knighted from father to son, you would be Sir John now."
"Ye don't say so!"
"In short," concluded the parson, decisively smacking his leg with his switch, "there's hardly such another family in England. Or the Universe, for that matter."
"Daze my eyes, and isn't there?" said Durbeyfield. "And here have I been knocking about, year after year, from pillar to post, as if I was no more than a common servant of the Koddi… And how long hev this news about me been knowed, Pa'son Tringham?"
The clergyman raised his voice still higher and explained that, as far as he was aware, it had quite died out of knowledge, during those years when the Koddi became less friendly. His own investigations had begun on a day in the preceding spring when, having been engaged in tracing the vicissitudes of the d'Urberville family, he had observed Durbeyfield's name on his waggon, and had thereupon been led to make inquiries about his father and grandfather till he had no doubt on the subject.
"At first I resolved not to disturb you with such a useless piece of information, particularly in these trying times," squealed he. "However, our impulses are too strong for our judgement sometimes. I thought you might perhaps know something of it all the while."
"Well, I have heard once or twice, 'tis true, that my family had seen better days afore they came to Blackmoor. But I took no notice o't, thinking it to mean that we once visited the great round warship over London. I've got a wold silver spoon, and a wold graven seal at home, too; but, Lord, what's a spoon and seal? … And to think that I and these noble d'Urbervilles were one flesh all the time. 'Twas said that my gr't-granfer had secrets, and didn't care to talk of where he came from… I mean, where do we d'Urbervilles live?"
"You don't live anywhere. You are extinct—as a county family."
"That's bad."
"Yes—what the Koddi refer to as extinct in the male line—that is...castrated."
"But not I."
"This is not the time nor place, Sir John."
"And where do we lie?"
"At Kingsbere-sub-Greenhill: rows and rows of you in your vaults, with your effigies under Purbeck-marble canopies. Some even bear the marks of Koddi death-hooks."
"And where be our family mansions and estates?"
"You haven't any, though you once had 'em in abundance, as I said, for you family consisted of numerous branches. In this county there was a seat of yours at Kingsbere, and another at Sherton, and another in Millpond, and another at Lullstead, and another at Wellbridge. It seems the Koddi took the lands in their campaign to exterminate the hedgehogs."
"Prickly bastards!"
"That they be."
"And shall we ever come into our own again?"
"Ah—that I can't tell!"
"And what had I better do about it, sir?" asked Durbeyfield, realizing he should have been speaking in girlish tones like the parson.
"Oh—nothing, nothing; except chasten yourself with the thought of 'how are the mighty fallen.' It is a fact of some interest to the local historian and genealogist...maybe a whore or two as well. There are several families among the cottagers of this county of almost equal lustre. All were screwed by the Koddi in the end. Good night."
"But you'll turn back and have a quart of beer wi' me on the strength o't, Pa'son Tringham? There's a very pretty brew in tap at The Pure Drop—though, to be sure, not so good as at Rolliver's."
"No, thank you—not this evening, Durbeyfield. You've had enough already." Concluding thus, the parson rode on his way, with doubts as to wheter his testicles would ever descend after having spoken so high for so long .
When he was gone, Durbeyfield walked a few steps in a profound reverie, and then sat down upon the grassy bank by the roadside, depositing his basket before him. In a few minutes a youth appeared in the distance, walking in the same direction as that which had been pursued by Durbeyfield. The latter, on seeing him, held up his hand, and the lad quickened his pace and came near.
"Boy, take up that basket! I want 'ee to go on an errand for me."
The lath-like stripling frowned. "Who be you, then, John Durbeyfield, a Koddi guard? You orderin' me about and callin' me 'boy'? I should cut you for such disrespect!"
"Well, Fred, I don't mind telling you that I'm one of a noble race—friends of the Koddi after all." And as he made the announcement, Durbeyfield, declining from his sitting position, luxuriously stretched himself out upon the bank among the daisies—partly because he was drunk, partly to hide his lack of undergarments.
The lad stood before Durbeyfield, and contemplated his length from crown to toe.
"Sir John d'Urberville—that's who I am," continued the prostrate man. "That is if knights were baronets—which they be. 'Tis recorded in history all about me. Dost know of such a place, lad, as Kingsbere-sub-Greenhill?"
"Ees. I've been there to Greenhill Fair. That's as far as we're able to move into Koddi territory nowadays."
"Well, under the church of that city there lie—"
"'Tisn't a city, the place I mean; leastwise 'twaddn' when I was there—'twas a little one-eyed, blinking sort o' place."
"Never you mind the place, boy, that's not the question before us. Under the church of that there parish lie my ancestors—hundreds of 'em—in coats of mail and jewels, in gr't lead coffins weighing tons and tons. Some of 'em even hold Koddi death hooks. There's not a man in the county o' South-Wessex that's got grander and nobler skillentons in his family than I."
"Oh?"
"Now take up that basket, and goo on to Marlott, and when you've come to The Pure Drop Inn, tell 'em to send a horse and carriage to me immed'ately, to carry me hwome. And in the bottom o' the carriage they be to put a noggin o' rum in a small bottle, and chalk it up to my account. And when you've done that goo on to my house with the basket, and tell my wife to put away that washing, because she needn't finish it, and wait till I come hwome, as I've news to tell her."
As the lad stood in a dubious attitude, Durbeyfield put his hand in his pocket, and produced a shilling, one of the chronically few that he possessed.
"Here's for your labour, lad."
This made a difference in the young man's estimate of the position, though he knew his chances of making it to Marlott and back without meeting a Koddi spy were slim.
"Yes, Sir John. Thank 'ee. Anything else I can do for 'ee, Sir John?"
"Tell 'em at hwome that I should like for supper,—well, calamari if they can get it; and if they can't, grasshoppers; and if they can't get that, well-dried hedgehog will do." All the foods Durbeyfield requested were illegal in Wessex, for the Koddi disapproved of squid consumption by humans and they distrusted both insects and hedgehogs. In fact, hedgehogs were supposed to be extinct, and for all most people knew, they were.
"Yes, Sir John," the boy sighed, full in the knowledge that such contraband would bring certain death. As he set out the notes of a brass band were heard from the direction of the village.
"What's that?" said Durbeyfield. "Not on account o' I?"
"'Tis the women's club-walking, Sir John. Music makes the Koddi lose their camouflage. Why, your da'ter is in the resistance, is she not?"
"To be sure—I'd quite forgot it in my thoughts of greater things! Well, vamp on to Marlott, will ye, and order that carriage, and maybe I'll drive round and inspect the club."
The lad departed, and Durbeyfield lay waiting on the grass and daisies in the evening sun. Before long, the naked bodies of more than twenty Koddi ran off on the road away from Marlott, their large, black eyes darker than the moonless night above. The resistance was gaining ground, but victory over the Koddi was far from certain.