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

used it to practice with their shells, using the thick stems of seaweed⁠—thick as a man’s arm⁠—to represent the ankles of the invading force, and they were soon fairly expert at the trick which was their duty. Francis had just nipped an extra fat stalk and released it again by touching the secret spring when the word went around, “Every man to his post!”

The children proudly took up their post next to the Princess, and hardly had they done so when a faint yet growing sound knocked gently at their ears. It grew and grew and grew till it seemed to shake the ground on which they stood, and the Princess murmured, “It is the tramp of the army of the Under Folk. Now, be ready. We shall lurk among these rocks. Hold your good oyster shell in readiness, and when you see a foot near you clip it, and at the same time set down the base of the shell on the rock. The trusty shell will do the rest.”

“Yes, we know, thank you, dear Princess,” said Mavis. “Didn’t you see us practicing?”

But the Princess was not listening; she had enough to do to find cover for her troops among the limpet-studded rocks.

And now the tramp, tramp, tramp of the great army sounded nearer and more near, and through the dimly lighted water the children could see the great Deep Sea People advancing.

Very terrible they were, big beyond man-size, more stalwart and more finely knit than the Forlorn Hopers who had led the attack so happily and gloriously frustrated by the Crabs, the Narwhals and the Sea Urchins. As the advance guard drew near all the children stared, from their places of concealment, at the faces of these terrible foes of the happy Merland. Very strong the faces were, and, surprisingly, very, very sad. They looked⁠—Francis at least was able to see it⁠—like strong folk suffering proudly an almost intolerable injury⁠—bearing, bravely, an almost intolerable pain.

“But I’m on the other side,” he told himself, to check a sudden rising in his heart of⁠—well, if it was not sympathy, what was it?

And now the head of the advancing column was level with the Princess. True to the old tradition which bids a commander lead and not to follow his troops, she was the first to dart out and fix a shell to the heel of the left-rank man. The children were next. Their practice bore its fruit. There was no blunder, no mistake. Each oyster shell clipped sharp and clean the attached ankle of an enemy; each oyster shell at the same moment attached itself firmly to the rock, thus clinging to his base in the most thorough and military way. A spring of joy and triumph welled up in the children’s hearts. How easy it was to get the better of these foolish Deep Sea Folk. A faint, kindly contempt floated into the children’s minds for the Mer-people, who so dreaded and hated these stupid giants. Why, there were fifty or sixty of them tied by the leg already! It was as easy as⁠—

The pleasant nature of these reflections had kept our four rooted to the spot. In the triumphant performance of one duty they failed to remember the duty that should have followed. They stood there rejoicing in their victory, when by all the rules of the Service they should have rushed back to the armory for fresh weapons.

The omission was fatal. Even as they stood there rejoicing in their cleverness and boldness and in the helpless anger of the enemy, something thin and string-like spread itself around them⁠—their feet caught in string, their fingers caught in string, string tweaked their ears and flattened their noses⁠—string confined their elbows and confused their legs. The Lobster-guarded doorway seemed farther off⁠—and farther, and farther.⁠ ⁠… They turned their heads; they were following backward, and against their will, a retreating enemy.

“Oh, why didn’t we do what she said?” breathed Cathay. “Something’s happened!”

“I should think it had,” said Bernard. “We’re caught⁠—in a net.”

They were. And a tall Infantryman of the Under Folk was towing them away from Merland as swiftly and as easily as a running child tows a captive air balloon.

X The Under Folk

Those of us who have had the misfortune to be caught in a net in the execution of our military duty, and to be dragged away by the enemy with all the helpless buoyancy of captive balloons, will be able to appreciate the sensations of the four children to whom this gloomy catastrophe had occurred.

The net was very strong⁠—made of twisted fibrous filaments of seaweed. All efforts to break it were vain, and they had, unfortunately, nothing to cut it with. They had not even their oyster shells, the rough edges of which might have done something to help, or at least would have been useful weapons, and the discomfort of their position was extreme. They were, as Cathay put it, “all mixed up with each other’s arms and legs,” and it was very difficult and painful to sort themselves out without hurting each other.

“Let’s do it, one at a time,” said Mavis, after some minutes of severe and unsuccessful struggle. “France first. Get right away, France, and see if you can’t sit down on a piece of the net that isn’t covered with us, and then Cathay can try.”

It was excellent advice and when all four had followed it, it was found possible to sit side by side on what may be called the floor of the net, only the squeezing of the net walls tended to jerk one up from one’s place if one wasn’t very careful.

By the time the rearrangement was complete, and they were free to look about them, the whole aspect of the world had changed. The world, for one thing, was much darker, in itself that is, though the part of it where the children were was much lighter than had been the sea where they were