He looked at me and chuckled, his belly trembling. “I never did tell you, did I! Well, here’s all you need to know—the Thames runs straight through the city of London, and for a long way, at that. Little remnants of history, all the way back to the Roman era, can be found right here in the mud if you go searching long enough. Long ago, mudlarkers found old coins, rings, pottery, and they’d go on to sell it. That’s what the Victorians wrote about, them poor kids trying to buy bread. But here today, we’re just searching because we love it. You keep what you find, too, that’s our rule. Look, right there,” he said, pointing at my foot. “You’re about standing on a clay pipe.” He leaned over and picked it up. It looked like a narrow stone to me, but Bachelor Alf wore a mile-wide smile. “You’ll find a thousand of these in a day. No big deal, unless it’s your first time. This would have been stuffed with tobacco leaves. See, here, the ridges running up the barrel? I’d date this sometime between 1780 and 1820.” He paused, waiting for my reaction.

I raised my eyebrows and looked closer at the clay pipe, suddenly overcome with the thrill of holding in my hands an object last touched centuries ago. Earlier, Bachelor Alf had said the tide turns over new mysteries each time it advances and recedes. What other old artifacts might be within close reach? I checked my gloves to ensure they were pulled taut around my hands, then knelt down; perhaps I would find a few more clay pipes, or a coin or bent ring, as Bachelor Alf said. Or maybe I could remove my own ring, bend it in half and toss it into the water to join all the other emblems of failed love.

Slowly, I scanned my eyes over the rocks and ran my fingertips across the glistening, rust-colored pebbles. But after a minute of doing this, I frowned; it all looked very much the same. Even if a diamond ring were buried in the silt, I doubted that I would spot it.

“Do you have any tips,” I shouted to Bachelor Alf, “or a shovel, perhaps?” He stood a few meters away, inspecting an egg-shaped thing that one of the others had found.

He laughed. “The Port of London Authority prohibits shovels, unfortunately, or any digging at all. We’re only allowed to search the surface. So it’s a bit like fate if you find something, or at least I like to think so.”