The Thames Prince

by Jennifer Oliver

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she said.

“It is part of your history, too,” he said. “Even if you weren’t there. The city would be a different place if it hadn’t happened, but you should never wish for what might have been, as it is not always preferable.”

“That’s true.” Evelyn sighed. “There has to be a better way of living besides ruining all this natural beauty.” She stared at the murky river water that flowed eerily quiet before them.

“If there is,” he said softly, “I am sure you will be the one to find it.”

With the first few breaths of Spring, the days began to grow longer and lighter. Evelyn’s visits continued but she started coming earlier, and she always stayed later, well past midnight. She often brought books with her now that described the history of the river and asked the Prince to highlight inconsistencies, or point out places in the river’s metamorphosis that he had a direct hand in.

“You are removing yourself from your usual activities,” the Thames Prince said to her one night. “You rarely come here on a Thursday, but this is the third in a row.”

Evelyn gave him a wry smile. “I just felt like I needed the peace and quiet. Don’t get me wrong, I like my friends. It’s just... everything they talk about now seems so mundane. I know that’s mean” — she paused — “I wanted to understand more about the history of the river. It’s useful for my research.”

The Prince had to admit to himself that he enjoyed her company more than that of any mortal he had ever met, not that he had allowed himself to spend personal time with many of them.

“There was a young man once, a poet. He slipped into the river — an accident — and though he could not swim, I did not let him drown.”

Evelyn scooted closer and sat cross-legged, leaning her elbow on one knee and her chin in the palm of her hand. “Oh?”

“This was around the late 1700s, and the world was changing rapidly. These waters were pure and tranquil, but then they became a brew of filth and alchemical waste, dumped here because there was nowhere else for it to go. Industrial frenzy was consuming the land. The smokestacks towered above me and belched plumes of toxic smog that merged with the river mist. Then came the barges and the steamboats burdened with machinery and progress. Humans gained a lot during that time, but they also lost more than they could ever imagine.”

Evelyn nodded slowly. “I feel conflicted about it. Even when I was in school and learned about the Industrial Revolution, it seemed both incredible in a sense of progress but terrifying in a sense of how fast it changed the landscape. People must have been frightened.”

“Some people were,” the Prince said. “Those who were not at the forefront of technological innovation thought it must be some form of witchcraft.”

“You know, there are probably still some people like that today.”

“Indeed.” The prince thought back to one smog-heavy evening, and a lone figure stumbling across Old London Bridge. “But I met the young poet, who had good intentions. You remind me of him sometimes, with your passions and your desire to preserve beauty. I fear that if I had not drifted him to safety, he might never have written works that transformed the lives of those who read him and made them care for their world as much as he.”

The Thames Prince had known that young poet was different, in the same way he had known Evelyn was different:

And now I see with eye serene,
the very pulse of the machine;
a being breathing thoughtful breath;
a traveller betwixt life and death.

“Oh, that’s lovely.” Evelyn sat still with her eyes half-closed.

He wondered what she was thinking. The Prince was struck by how serene she was right then and, without thinking, he lifted one arm out of the water and reached out, touching her cheek with his fingertips.

Evelyn gasped, and her eyes opened, but she held still. They hung suspended in the moment for aeons and yet it was such a short time, such a fleeting moment before the Prince let his hand drop. Evelyn sighed, but the serenity of the night made saying anything superfluous.

The Thames Prince felt her sigh deep in his ancient bones, but for that moment, time belonged solely to them and history.

I’m still not even sure he’s real, she thought. He must be. But how can I be sure when nobody else sees him? It’s not like I can talk to my family or co-workers. But what if he’s not real? It hurts too much to entertain the idea.

Evelyn wasn’t sleeping, and she hadn’t been to work in several days. The Thames Prince didn’t have to ask her to know this was the case. The truth was in the way she avoided his questions when he asked how her clandestine environmental scheme was coming along. It was in the tangles in her hair and the dark circles beneath her eyes. It worried him that she was losing sight of her task.

And yet he could not turn her away, not when she came to him for conversations that seemed to span years, all happening in a single heartbeat. He had to steer her back on her path. It was his fault she had wandered.

“This is the last story,” he told her. “A story you might have also learned about in school. It takes place during a time of war, when bombs fell in and around my river. Of course, they were not targeted at me, but at the sites of industry, at ports and docks and bridges. My river was vital for transportation during that time, so they made terrible efforts to disrupt it as much as possible. There were many casualties. So many dead.”

“It must be horrible,” Evelyn said quietly. “To remember World War II in such detail.”

“I remember everything in detail,” the Prince told her. “I was not built to forget. There was a man who stationed close to my banks and was in charge of a battalion of barrage balloons and anti-aircraft guns. This man did not want to participate in the war, but he couldn’t stand to see his city crumble.

“He loved a young woman, whom he married. They had a house nearby. It was caught in the blast, and she died. So he doubled his efforts, rarely taking time to sleep. He lost so much, and yet he still fought to save what he could. Isn’t that noble? Isn’t that an amazing feat of human will?”

Evelyn’s cheeks glistened. “What did you mean when you said this is the last story?” she asked. The Prince sighed, water trickling from the corners of his mouth. This was the hardest part, and would be especially hard with Evelyn. Deep down, in the swirling tsunami in his stomach, he did not want to do this.

“You must stop coming here,” he said, his own voice sounding like rushing water in his ears.

A mix of anger and frustration crossed her face. “You’re banishing me? You can’t stop me coming here.”

“No, I cannot. But I can stop coming to meet you. I’m afraid that’s what I must do.”

“Why would you... I don’t understand.”

The Thames Prince lowered his head. “Why do you think I approached you last year? I saw what you were doing. I knew you had a plan in mind, and getting in the way of that is not something I’m willing to do. For the sake of my river and this city.”

“But that’s ridiculous. I can still work on the project, I don’t need...” But she broke off. They both knew she had been neglecting her work. And it had meant so much to her and to him, as well.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn.” In a moment of wild recklessness, the Prince dragged himself onto the bank and leant in close, his face almost touching hers. “This pains me more than you know.” With that, he dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, her lips dry and hot and so very human.

He did not give her the chance to say anything more. The Thames Prince turned and darted back into the water, jetting downwards and leaving no trace of his existence behind.

He hadn’t noticed Evelyn pluck a tiny coin-shaped piece of glass from his arm when he had kissed her. It was accidental — she reached up to grip him, to ground herself through that dizzyingly cold and river-wet kiss that tasted of silt and ancient things, and it had just gently slid away from his skin.

The worst part is, she knew he was right. For the first time in her life, Evelyn started hedging phone calls from her parents, not wanting them to ask what she was working on. What could she tell them? That she had abandoned her passion for a passion of another kind, one they would never believe?

Well, what did it matter? The Thames Prince stopped appearing when she went to the river, and although it tore her apart inside, she knew she had to correct her recent mistakes if she ever had a hope of meeting him again.

From that moment on, she refused to mourn the loss of her prince and focused her efforts on work. She even started to go out to the pub with her co-workers again on a Thursday, though she never quite laughed as hard as they and never quite enjoyed the taste of the wine.

After many months, she was finally ready. Evelyn made her way back to the spot that she frequented when the Thames Prince met her, buzzing with excitement and the news that she had to tell him. She was sure he’d be pleased and maybe he would agree to see her again. Finally, after many late nights, she had secured a grant and a task force comprised of fellow engineers, activists and policymakers, some of the smartest and most capable people she knew.

She clutched the glass pebble tight in her hand and traversed the darkened bank. It was steeper at this part, so she tried going down at an angle. As she moved, her foot snagged on something she couldn’t see on the ground, and she stumbled forward, landing headfirst and rolling painfully down, down, down.

Disoriented, Evelyn tried to get up immediately, but a wave of dizziness gripped her, and she fell forward again, this time tumbling headfirst into the murky cold water. She almost opened her mouth to scream but knew, far back in her mind, that it was a terrible idea. Instead she grappled wildly for something, anything to help her hoist herself back up and out of the pitch black coldness.

Strong, cold arms encircled her beneath the water and seemed to draw her in deeper. Evelyn struggled momentarily, until she realised what it was.

“Evelyn.” She heard his voice as clear as if he was above the water, impossibly calm and cool like crystal-clear water. “What on earth are you doing?”

Feeling weightless as a feather and yet anchored to his powerful body, Evelyn clung to him, wondering how long she could stand this before she ran out of breath.

I wanted to tell you, she thought furiously. I wanted to let you know that my project has been approved, but they don’t need me. They can do it all without me. I gave them the blueprint to carry out the work.

The darkness all around them closed in, becoming blacker and blacker as they drifted away from the bank and down. In the final slither of streetlight from above, Evelyn thought she saw his eyes sparkle like coins of glass, reflecting her face.

It would be so simple; all he had to do was hold her steady until she drowned. Hold her here with him forever.

But Evelyn’s bones did not belong on his riverbed with all the lost and lonely souls and the centuries of history and memory that he kept preserved.

The Thames Prince swam back up and broke the surface. “It is not my decision to make for you,” he whispered in her ear, letting his lips rest against her neck as he floated her back to the riverbank. “But, if it suits you, I would like you to start visiting me again. I’ve grown quite fond of you, you know.”

He felt Evelyn sputter and cough up a huge mouthful of water. “Oh... now you tell me.”

The Thames Prince smiled against her neck and pressed the little coin of glass back into her palm.