Somewhere between the river and the sky, a magpie found a secret waiting to be remembered.
The River Thames had drawn back its murky arms, revealing a shore littered with forgotten things. Among them, Jasper—an exceptionally clever magpie—perched atop the rusted remains of an old shipwreck. His sleek black feathers shimmered with hints of blue and green, and his beady eyes scanned the ground with expert precision.
Jasper was not just any magpie. He was a collector of lost treasures, an admirer of all things bright and beautiful. And today, the river had gifted him something special.
A glint in the mud caught his eye.
He flitted down, his claws sinking into the damp earth. A few pecks and scrapes revealed a delicate chain, tangled like a forgotten thought. With a triumphant caw, Jasper tugged it free, sending a spray of wet earth flying. Dangling from the chain was a locket, its golden surface dulled by time but still catching the light in a way that made Jasper’s little bird-heart swell with pride.
Oh, this was a treasure.
Before he could take off with it, a voice interrupted.
“Oi! What’ve you got there?”
Jasper flinched, wings bristling. A boy crouched nearby, watching him with open curiosity. He was small and delicate-looking, with tight black curls and eyes like stormy water—grey and shifting with light. His oversized jacket swallowed him slightly, his sleeves frayed at the cuffs. He looked as if the wind might carry him away at any moment.
Jasper eyed him suspiciously. Humans were tricky. Some tossed him crumbs. Others yelled at him about missing earrings (which, for the record, Jasper had borrowed).
The boy stretched out a hand, palm open. “I don’t wanna nick it. Just wanna see.”
Jasper hesitated. His treasure. His shiny thing. But the boy’s expression held no greed—only curiosity. And perhaps, just this once, Jasper would share.
With a reluctant flick of his beak, he dropped the locket just beyond the boy’s fingers.
The boy picked it up carefully, rubbing the grime away with his sleeve. The locket’s engraving—an intricate little bird in flight—emerged from beneath the years of silt. He pried it open. Inside, a faded photograph blinked up at them. A woman, young, dark-haired, her eyes soft but sad.
Jasper tilted his head.
The boy turned the locket over, squinting at the tiny inscription. “‘To my love, E.’” He frowned. “Wonder who she was.”
Jasper ruffled his feathers. Some treasures were not meant to be kept—they were meant to be found.
The boy studied the photograph a moment longer before closing the locket with a soft click. He looked at Jasper, then at the city stretching beyond the river.
“I reckon we should find out.”
Jasper cawed in protest. He had plans for this treasure! But the boy had already set off, tucking the locket into his pocket.
With an indignant flutter, Jasper took to the air and followed.
A magpie never lets go of treasure so easily.
Reggie moved through the city with a quiet determination, slipping between crowds like a shadow. Jasper followed from above, occasionally swooping low to scold him for taking his locket, though Reggie seemed wholly unbothered by the complaints of a magpie.
At last, they arrived at a bookshop wedged between taller buildings. Its windows were cluttered with dusty books, yellowed maps, and trinkets too peculiar to have proper names.
The sign above the door read Beckham & Sons Antiquities.
A bell tinkled as Reggie stepped inside, Jasper landing on a nearby shelf. An elderly man behind the counter peered over his spectacles, eyebrows lifting.
“Back again, Reggie?” he mused. “What have you dragged in this time?”
Reggie grinned, his grey eyes shining. “Something interesting,” he declared, placing the locket on the counter.
The old man picked it up, his expression shifting from curiosity to something softer. He traced the engraved bird with his thumb before turning it over to read the inscription. Then, he let out a slow breath.
“Eleanor,” he murmured.
Reggie straightened. “You knew her?”
The man nodded, eyes distant. “Eleanor Finch. She used to come here, years ago, always looking for a locket she lost during the war. Said it had slipped into the Thames the night of the bombings.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “She never found it.”
Jasper pecked at the locket as if to say, Well, I did.
The old man chuckled, a sad sort of smile tugging at his lips. “She believed the river gave back what it took—if you listened carefully enough. She used to say lost things had a way of finding their way home.” He looked down at the locket with a small, bittersweet smile. “Seems she was right.”
Reggie frowned. “She’s not still looking for it, is she?”
The man sighed. “No. She passed on some years back. But she never stopped hoping.” He looked at the locket a moment longer before closing it gently, as though tucking it in for the night. “Strange thing, time. The river swallowed this, kept it for all these years, then decided today was the day to let it go.”
Reggie was quiet for a long moment. Then, he asked, “What should we do with it?”
The old man considered. “Perhaps the museum,” he said at last. “Let it be a reminder that not everything is lost forever.”
Reggie nodded. “Yeah. I think she’d like that.”
Jasper let out a triumphant caw, pleased with how things had turned out.
The locket would not shine in his nest, nor dangle from his collection of stolen trinkets. But some treasures, he decided, were not meant to be hoarded.
Some were meant to be returned.
Written by Aaranya C R from India
