Wet Magic by E. Nesbit (read 50 shades of grey txt) 📕

“Now,” said the soft voice, “go⁠—quickly.”

It was all very well to say go quickly. It was as much as the two children could do, with that barrow-load of dripping Mermaid, to go at all. And very, very slowly they crept up the waste space. In the lane, under cover of the tall hedges, they paused.

“Go on,” said the Mermaid.

“We can’t till we’ve rested a bit,” said Mavis, panting. “How did you manage to get that canvas cut?”

“My shell knife, of course,” said the person in the wheelbarrow. “We always carry one in our hair, in case of sharks.”

“I see,” said Francis, breathing heavily.

“You had much better go on,” said the barrow’s occupant. “This chariot is excessively uncomfortable and much too small. Besides, delays are dangerous.”

“We’ll go in half a sec,” said Francis, and Mavis added kindly:

“You’re really quite safe now, you know.”

“You aren’t,” said the Mermaid. “I don’t know whether you realize that I’m stolen property and that it will be extremely awkward for you if you are caught with me.”

“But we shan’t be caught with you,” said Mavis hopefully.

“Everybody’s sound asleep,” said Francis. It was wonderful how brave and confident they felt now that the deed was done. “It’s perfectly safe⁠—Oh, what’s that! Oh!”

A hand had shot from the black shadow of the hedge and caught him by the arm.

“What is it, France? What is it?” said Mavis, who could not see what was happening.

“What is it⁠—now what is it?” asked the Mermaid more crossly than she had yet spoken.

“Who is it? Oh, who is it?” gasped Francis, writhing in the grip of his invisible assailant. And from the dark shadow of the hedge came the simple and terrible reply:

“The police!”

It is hardly possible to imagine a situation less attractive than that of Mavis and Francis⁠—even the position of the Mermaid curled up in a dry barrow and far from her native element was not exactly luxurious. Still, she was no worse off than she had been when the lariat first curled itself about her fishy extremity. But the children! They had braved the terrors of night in an adventure of singular courage and daring, they had carried out their desperate enterprise, the Mermaid was rescued, and success seemed near⁠—no further off than the sea indeed, and that, in point of fact, was about a quarter of a mile away. To be within a quarter of a mile of achievement, and then to have the cup of victory dashed from your lips, the crown of victory torn from your brow by⁠—the police!

It was indeed hard. And what was more, it was dangerous.

“We shall pass the night in the cells,” thought Mavis, in agony; “and whatever will Mother do when she finds we’re gone?” In her mind “the cells” were underground dungeons, dark and damp and vaulted, where toads and lizards crawled, and no daylight ever penetrated. That is how dungeons are described in books about the Inquisition.

When the voice from the bush had said “The police,” a stricken silence followed. The mouth of Francis felt dry inside, just as if he had been eating cracknels, he explained afterward, and he had to swallow nothing before he could say:

“What for?”

“Let go his arm,” said Mavis to the hidden foe. “We won’t run away. Really we won’t.”

“You can’t,” said the Mermaid. “You can’t leave me.”

“Leave go,” said Francis, wriggling. And then suddenly Mavis made a dart at the clutching hand and caught it by the wrist and whispered savagely:

“It’s not a policeman at all. Come out of that bush⁠—come out,” and dragged. And something did come out of the bush. Something that certainly was not a policeman. It was small and thin, whereas policemen are almost always tall and stout. It did not wear the blue coats our Roberts wear, but velveteen knickerbockers and a tweed jacket. It was, in fact, a very small boy.

Francis broke into a cackle of relief.

“You little⁠—animal,” he said. “What a fright you gave me.”

“Animal yourself, if you come to that, let alone her and her tail,” the boy answered; and Mavis thought his voice didn’t sound unfriendly. “My! But I did take a rise out of you that time, eh? Ain’t she bit you yet, nor yet strook you with that there mackerel-end of hers?”

And then they recognized him. It was the little Spangled Boy. Only now, of course, being off duty he was no more spangled than you and I are.

“Whatever did you do it for?” Mavis asked crossly. “It was horrid of you.”

“It wasn’t only just a lark,” said the boy. “I cut around and listened this afternoon when you was jawing, and I thought why not be in it? Only I do sleep that heavy, what with the riding and the tumbling and all. So I didn’t wake till you’d got her out and then I cut up along ahind the hedge to be beforehand with you. An’ I was. It was a fair cop, matey, eh?”

“What are you going to do about it?” Francis asked flatly; “tell your father?” But Mavis reflected that he didn’t seem to have told his father yet, and perhaps wouldn’t.

“Ain’t got no father,” said the Spangled Boy, “nor yet mother.”

“If you are rested enough you’d better go on,” said the Mermaid. “I’m getting dry through.”

And Mavis understood that to her that was as bad as getting wet through would be to us.

“I’m so sorry,” she said gently, “but⁠—”

“I must say I think it’s very inconsiderate of you to keep me all this time in the dry,” the Mermaid went on. “I really should have thought that even you⁠—”

But Francis interrupted her.

“What are you going to do?” he asked the Spangled Boy. And that surprising child answered, spitting on his hands and rubbing them:

“Do? Why, give a ’and with the barrer.”

The Mermaid put out a white arm and touched him.

“You are a hero,” she said. “I can recognize true nobility even under a once-spangled exterior. You may kiss