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"It went into the river here," the bearded gentleman said, nervously peering out over the sunlit Cherwell through his spectacles. "Not fifteen minutes ago. I've never seen anything like it."
"It's a rare species of ..." Nikola began, and then seemed to run out of creative energy. "Very scientifically interesting."
"Amphibian," Helen supplied. "But perfectly harmless, I assure you."
"We just need to get it into a salt-water tank," James said.
"You can take the punt," the man said, gesturing to where it was drawn up on the bank. He retrieved a book and a picnic basket from it, and tucked the book protectively under his arm. "You were at Oxford yourselves, you said, you must be used to punts."
Helen and James exchanged glances. Helen had indeed spent many pleasant hours on the river at Oxford, but John had been the one doing the punting, and that had been over a decade ago. As far as she knew, James hadn't voluntarily set foot in a boat in his entire Oxford career.
Down the river, there was an odd ripple, and then the bishop-fish they were pursuing stuck its oddly human-like head out of the water and peered at them before splashing back into the stream.
"Yes, of course," Helen said, at the same time that James said "Certainly."
"I'll leave it in your hands, then," the man said gratefully, and trotted off with his book and his lunch, with the air of someone who really didn't want to be involved further in these events.
"Neither of you knows the first thing about boats," Nikola said.
"Nonsense, I've been in boats many times," Helen said.
"I think I'll walk."
"You're supposed to be helping," James said.
"I'm supposed to be your guest. Out of the goodness of my heart, I agreed that it would be fun to spend the afternoon looking for your weird fish. But I draw the line at falling in the river."
"No one is falling in the river," Helen said. She pushed the punt off the bank and held out her hand to Nikola, who rolled his eyes but helped her to sit. James stepped aboard and brandished the pole with an optimistic air.
"I'll just stroll along the bank," Nikola said. "It's such a nice day for not falling in the river."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Helen said, but James was already firmly poling them away from the bank. "You know what you're doing in a punt, of course?"
"I've had many opportunities to observe the process," James said.
"From the bank, you mean," Helen said, as they drifted into the middle of the river and rotated, sliding lazily down the river in a decidedly unorthodox sideways fashion.
"It's clearly visible from the bank," James said, stabbing firmly at the bottom. They rotated further, and began moving downriver in a more ordinary way.
"I could punt and you could keep an eye out for the bishop-fish," Helen said.
"I can't let you do that."
"Don't tell me that your sense of chivalry requires that you punt even if I'm more skilled at it."
"I suppose not. Are you more skilled at it?"
"No, not really," Helen said.
"Then will you keep an eye out for the fish?"
"I am," Helen said. She was watching the river, and trying to ignore the prickings of painful nostalgia. Being in Oxford was never comfortable anymore, but this was far worse, drifting along the river that had stubbornly refused to change anywhere near as much as she had in ten years.
It was hard not to remember sitting in another punt, her skirts a bright rose rather than stern gray, John steering them toward some quiet anchorage where they could break open their own picnic basket and eat in the shade, and then she could recline while he read to her, poetry if it was his choice of book or science if it was hers, his voice rising and falling on the words, his fingers roaming up her ankle under her skirts.
He'd been a reasonably good punter, although on their first venture onto the river, he'd been so distracted by her presence that he'd gotten the pole stuck in the mud but neglected to let go of it in time to avoid stumbling off the end of the punt and being left clinging to the pole. Her attempts to maneuver the punt back to him using the paddle had been hampered by being unable to stop laughing, and he'd taken his inevitable tumble into the water with good grace.
She shook her head firmly and told herself that punting had been more of a trial than anything else. There had been the time they had both ended the afternoon sunburned and drenched in sweat, and the time that it had begun to rain torrents and they had abandoned the river in fear of being struck by lightning, sheltering under a nearby tree. Which had been probably by far the worst thing they could have done from a practical safety point of view, but at the time she'd been distracted by John's arms wrapping warm around her drenched bodice, her head against his sodden chest and his delighted laughter in her ear--
"Helen," James said, and she startled. "Any sign of it?"
She refocused on the river with an effort. "There it is!" The bishop-fish was watching them again, its cowled head out of the water, its eyes flickering back and forth between them. "It's all right," she said, holding out her hand. "We won't hurt you." They were salt-water creatures, and while they could spend some considerable time out of the water, this one had little chance of making its way back to the ocean without assistance.
It spoke, a rapid chatter in what had to be its own language, and then more haltingly in what sounded very much like a variant of Latin, a fervent if rather garbled plea for help.
"Yes, we can help you," Helen said. "Don't be afraid--"
"Damn," James said suddenly, and Helen glanced back to see him wrestling with the pole. It had stuck fast, and the punt was drifting forwards with determined speed. For a moment, Helen anticipated history repeating itself, and winced at the idea; she suspected James wouldn't take it with nearly as good grace. He'd always been better at sizing up situations quickly, though, and he let go the pole with resignation, leaving them drifting downstream.
"Quick, the paddle," Helen said.
James investigated the bottom of the punt. "I don't think there is a paddle."
"I see," Helen said after a moment, which was as much as she trusted herself to say without swearing.
The bishop-fish bobbed up alongside the boat, spreading its fins like a robe that ended in the water. It chattered to her curiously in its own language.
"I'm not sure it understands English," Helen said. James addressed it fervently in Latin, on the theme of how useful it would be to them if it had some way of stopping the punt. It considered this, and then bobbed up at the prow of the boat, holding on with its robe-like front fins and thrashing its rear fins in the water.
It did nothing to stop their progress down the river, but the bishop-fish seemed to enjoy the ride, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like "whee!" It was a remarkably conspicuous way to proceed down the Cherwell, especially as they were beginning to drift sideways again.
"There's nothing for it," Helen said. "You're going to have to jump in and try to stop us." She was tempted to offer to do so herself, out of a desire to combat James's reflexive chivalry, but her ability to shove boats around in the water while wearing a corset and full skirts was limited, and James was taller than she was and had a better chance of reaching the bottom.
"I see that I am," James said. For a moment his expression was stiff and unhappy, and then he smiled like the sun coming out, and she was reminded how much she liked him. "No harm in a dip in the river, I suppose, although I would have preferred not to be wearing this suit. It's practically new."
"You could take off the jacket, at least," Helen said.
"If you don't object," James said, and shed it awkwardly. He hesitated, and then removed his waistcoat as well before preparing to climb over the side. Helen was abruptly reminded of the time that she and John had absentmindedly missed the signs instructing ladies to disembark before the punt reached Parson's Pleasure, and had been treated to the sight of Oxford dons bathing naked in the river.
She maintained later that it was the fact that the bishop-fish chose that moment to fling itself cheerfully into the boat, its heavy fins flapping, and not contemplation of what James Watson would look like while bathing unclothed that distracted her enough to prevent her from counterbalancing the punt effectively as James left it for the water. It tipped sideways, and she felt herself tipping with it.
"Bloody hell," she said, a moment before the water closed over her head.
They were sitting on the bank when Nikola strolled up, a basket over his arm, whistling cheerfully. "A fine day for a swim, isn't it?"
"The bishop-fish upset the punt," James said with dignity. In the shallows by the bank, the creature was turning playful circles, bobbing up and down in the water and chattering at them as if they were the best entertainment it had seen in years.
"Yes, blame it on the bishop-fish." Nikola knelt by the bank and opened the basket. "I thought you might want some way of actually carrying the creature back, given that bringing it back in the punt seems out."
It was entirely tempting to put out her foot and topple him into the water. Ten years ago she would have done it. But ten years ago she'd been so much younger than she was now.
Nikola dipped the basket into the water, enticing the creature into it. It dipped into the water, and then launched itself enthusiastically toward the basket and over it, catching Nikola full in the chest and sending him splashing into the water.
Nikola swore, at colorful length, as the creature splashed around him, making a noise that Helen strongly suspected was laughter.
"Language, old boy," James said, smirking. "There's a lady present."
"If she were a lady, she'd be helping me," Nikola said, and then sputtered as he got a faceful of river water. "Not watching while the great Nikola Tesla ends his life drowned by a fish."
"Don't be silly, Nikola," Helen said, splashing out into the shallows and coaxing the bishop-fish into the basket with some difficulty. "It's a fine day for a swim."
Nikola finally managed to sit up, baring a considerable number of pointed teeth for a moment before his smile returned to a more normal expression. "Very funny."
Helen handed the basket to James, and realized a moment later that had been a tactical error. "Nikola, you wouldn't."
He kicked her feet neatly out from under her, and she sat down abruptly in the shallow water, yelping.
"Tesla!" James said, sounding appalled.
"My foot slipped," Nikola said, unrepentantly. "It was an accident, I swear."
"I'm sure," Helen said, shaking her head. Nikola scrambled to his feet and held out his hand to her with mock gallantry, and she let him pull her up, not protesting as his hand rested firmly on the small of her back on their way back up the bank.
"I can't believe you did that," James said.
"I'm perfectly fine," Helen said. "I couldn't get wetter." And in fact she was smiling, in answer to both Nikola's infectious grin and James's state of undress and soggy indignation, and she hadn't been sure she'd be able to go boating on the Cherwell and feel like smiling ever again.
It was strange to suspect that if her heart was still bruised from all that had happened since then, it might not actually still be broken. She hated to think about the question too much, afraid to shatter the mood. Instead she put one hand on each of the gentlemen's arms, and shook her wet hair out across her shoulders to dry in the sun.
"It's a fine day for a stroll," she said.
"Even if we do look like silly undergraduates who don't know how to punt," James said wearily.
The corner of Nikola's mouth twitched. "Think of all that time you spent reading sciences at Oxford. Wasted hours you could have spent improving your skills on the river. Isn't that right, Helen?"
Ten years ago she would have blushed at the insinuation. Instead she only smiled. "Entirely right," she said.
"Perhaps it's not too late to learn," James said, and she smiled up at him and linked her arm through his, at least partly for the pleasure of seeing Nikola's expression.
"You never know," she said, and Nikola shook his head at both of them and resignedly shouldered the basket.