Wet Magic by E. Nesbit (read 50 shades of grey txt) 📕
Description
Wet Magic was the last novel for children published by E. Nesbit. It was originally serialized in The Strand Magazine in 1912, with a book version published in 1913.
In the book, four brothers and sisters are on their way to a holiday at the beach. While traveling on a train, they’re excited to read about the purported sighting of a mermaid near the coastal town where they’ll be staying, and agree among themselves to join the hunt for this mythical creature. But when they arrive, they discover that the mermaid has been captured and put on show at a circus at the local fairground. After the older children encounter another mermaid in the sea, who implores them to help, they agree they must do what they can to free the captured one. This leads them on to strange adventures.
While Wet Magic has much of Nesbit’s characteristic charm and humor, it doesn’t appear to have been received as well as her other books, nor has it been as frequently reprinted.
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- Author: E. Nesbit
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“It is important,” said Princess Freia, “that our men should be on the spot in case they are needed, and the same with the dinner. I shall go down with the provisions and keep their hearts up.”
“Yes, dear, do,” said the Princess Maia; “but don’t do anything rash. No sorties now. You Lobsters are so terribly brave. But you know Mother said you weren’t to. Ah me! War is a terrible thing! What a state the rivers will get into with all this water going on, and the winds all loose and doing as they like. It’s horrible to think about. It will take ages to get things straight again.”
(Her fears were only too well founded. All this happened last year—and you know what a wet summer that was.)
“I know, dear,” said Freia; “but I know now who broke the sky, and it is very, very sorry—so we won’t rub it in, will we?”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Maia, smiling kindly at the children, and went off to encourage her Lobsters.
“And now,” said Francis, when the meal was over, “what are we going to do next?”
“We can’t do anything but wait for news,” said the Princess. “Our Scouts will let us know soon enough. I only hope the Book People won’t attack us at the same time as the Under Folk. That’s always the danger.”
“How could they get in?” Mavis asked.
“Through the golden door,” said the Princess. “Of course they couldn’t do anything if we hadn’t read the books they’re in. That’s the worst of Education. We’ve all read such an awful lot, and that unlocks the books and they can come out if anyone calls them. Even our fish are intolerably well read—except the Porpoises, dear things, who never could read anything. That’s why the golden door is guarded by them, of course.”
“If not having read things is useful,” said Mavis, “we’ve read almost nothing. Couldn’t we help guard the door?”
“The very thing,” said the Princess joyously; “for you possess the only weapon that can be used against these people or against the authors who created them. If you can truthfully say to them, ‘I never heard of you,’ your words become a deadly sword that strikes at their most sensitive spot.”
“What spot?” asked Bernard. And the Princess answered, “Their vanity.”
So the little party went toward the golden door and found it behind a thick wall of Porpoises. Incessant cries came from beyond the gates, and to every cry they answered like one Porpoise, “We never heard of you. You can’t come in. You can’t come in. We never heard of you.”
“We shan’t be any good here,” said Bernard, among the thick, rich voices of the Porpoises. “They can keep anyone back.”
“Yes,” said the Princess; “but if the Book Folk look through the gate and see that they’re only Porpoises their wounded vanity will heal, and they’ll come on as strongly as ever. Whereas if they did find human beings who have never heard of them the wounds ought to be mortal. As long as you are able truthfully to say that you don’t know them they can’t get in.”
“Reuben would be the person for this,” said Francis. “I don’t believe he’s read anything!”
“Well, we haven’t read much,” said Cathay comfortably; “at least, not about nasty people.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” sighed the Princess through the noise of the voices outside the gate. “I know them all. You hear that cold squeak? That’s Mrs. Fairchild. And that short, sharp, barking sound—that’s Aunt Fortune. The sort of growl that goes on all the time is Mr. Murdstone, and that icy voice is Rosamund’s mother—the one who was so hateful about the purple jar.”
“I’m afraid we know some of those,” said Mavis.
“Then be careful not to say you don’t. There are heaps you don’t know—John Knox and Machiavelli and Don Diego and Tippoo Sahib and Sally Brass and—I must go back. If anything should happen, fling your arms round the nearest Porpoise and trust to luck. These Book People can’t kill—they can only stupefy.”
“But how do you know them all?” Mavis asked. “Do they often attack you?”
“No, only when the sky falls. But they always howl outside the gate at the full moon.”
So saying she turned away and disappeared in the crowd of faithful Porpoises.
And outside the noise grew louder and the words more definite.
“I am Mrs. Randolph. Let me in!”
“I am good Mrs. Brown. Let me in!”
“I am Eric, or Little by Little. I will come in!”
“I am Elsie, or Like a Little Candle. Let me in—let me in!”
“I am Mrs. Markham.”
“I am Mrs. Squeers.”
“I am Uriah Heep.”
“I am Montdidier.”
“I am King John.”
“I am Caliban.”
“I am the Giant Blunderbore.”
“I am the Dragon of Wantley.”
And they all cried, again and again: “Let us in! Let me in! Let me in!”
The strain of listening for the names and calling out “I don’t know you!” when they didn’t, and saying nothing when they did, became almost unbearable. It was like that horrid game with the corners of the handkerchief, “Hold fast” and “Let loose,” and you have to remember to do the opposite. Sooner or later an accident is bound to happen, and the children felt a growing conviction that it would be sooner.
“What will happen if they do get in?” Cathay asked a neighboring Porpoise.
“Can’t say, miss, I’m sure,” it answered.
“But what will you do?”
“Obstruct them in the execution of our duty,” it answered. “You see, miss, they can’t kill; they can only stupefy, and they can’t stupefy us, ’cause why? We’re that stupid already we can’t hold no more. That’s why they trust us to defend the golden gate,” it added proudly.
The babel of voices outside grew louder and thicker, and the task of knowing when to say “I don’t know you,” and so wound the vanity of the invaders, grew more and more difficult. At last the disaster, foreseen for some time, with a growing plainness, came upon them.
“I am the Great Seal,” said a
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