A raven shook the branch of a nearby tree and croaked loudly. In a distant field a cow mooed. Then silence reigned. Gunson sighed and turned back to Webster, who was standing at the foot of a slope of rubble three times his height.

‘Will this form part of the embankment, John?’

‘Yes. You see the rails here,’ he pointed, ‘that run along the base of it. They’ll be used for infill when they’ve served their purpose. It’s ugly sight now, during construction…’

‘Of course.’

‘… but Agden will blend into the valleyscape, and in years to come, visitors will not question why or how, they will simply enjoy the tranquil beauty of it, on the very doorstep of the town.’

He’d driven Webster out to the site hoping that the man would be as dismayed as he to see it laying idle. Agden was a mile from the gorge that had been Dale Dyke reservoir and the journey here had taken them through some of the altered landscape. They had skirted a wrecked mill, its crumbled walls jutting into the sky as useless as rotting teeth in an old crone’s mouth, and passed near the home of George Swinden, the site foreman who had pulled Gunson from the path of the deluge. Were it not for George, he would have been crushed to death in the valve house, another victim to add to the chief constable’s tally.

He shuddered. He’d escaped the deluge only to be swept up in political machinations that had him swirling out of his depth.

Webster was picking his way carefully over the rails. ‘A feat of engineering, indeed.’

One of his peers had even gone so far as to describe his dam as lamentably defective. Lamentably defective. A wave of loneliness engulfed Gunson.

‘… never thought I should become so knowledgeable about the efficacy, or otherwise, of puddle walls. John?’

Gunson grunted.

‘You were in a world of your own there.’

‘It merely disconcerts me to see the place deserted,’ he said. ‘The inquiry is now complete and we are eager to resume work here.’

‘I have enjoyed learning about your business. Recently, I’ve been reading about Toxteth, the new Liverpool reservoir that has been built underground. I have seen illustrations. It is most impressive.’

‘Yes.’ Gunson smiled. ‘I am cognisant with Toxteth.’

‘At least that type of reservoir does not hang dangerously over one’s town.’

Gunson hid his impatience. ‘The one cannot be compared against the other.’

Webster nodded. ‘There is beauty and power combined in our reservoirs, I can appreciate that. I suppose we would lose the majesty if they were buried away, though it is a shame when that majesty turns savage.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I am not trying to rile you, John. I do enjoy the architecture as much as the lake, the turrets and balustrading, the careful thought that goes into the design to make it more than workmanlike. Perhaps that is where an underground reservoir fails to please.’