‘There’s summat up with the dam,’ the man said. ‘We got a warning off Ibbotson, who was told by Fountain’s lad, and we’re off up to higher ground.’

‘What were you told?’ said Craven.

‘I told thee. We got a warning, from up yonder. A crack in the dam.’

The younger of the two women spoke up. ‘I said to Billy here that there’s no cause for all o’ this, but he won’t be told. Is that where you’re heading? To the dam?’

‘Yes,’ said Gunson. ‘We’ve been called out to inspect it.’

‘At this time o’night?’ she said. ‘So there is summat up?’

Gunson hesitated. By all logic, he should be telling these people to turn around and go back to their beds. He should be telling them he himself was not concerned, that there had been heavy weather of late and the new reservoir was filling rather more quickly than had been anticipated, that his dam was sound and any crack in it would be settlement. Go home, he should say, there is nothing to fear. But he could not form the words. Had this afternoon’s inspection been thorough enough? It was true he made swift work of it, and had spent most of his time in the valve house admiring the gleam and shine of the pristine machinery that would soon be put to work. He had climbed the embankment and it was solid as a churchman’s faith beneath his feet.

He became aware the people on the road were all looking up at him.

‘The dam will hold,’ he said. ‘It’s preposterous to think otherwise. But you people must do what you think best. I cannot command you.’

The man grunted. ‘Reight then.’ He took up the handles of the barrow. ‘I’ve got to get this lot up the hill an’ come back for me cows. The pig’s being a stubborn git, an’ all. I’d rather have him in the barrow than her. He’s worth more.’

Craven sat back under the canopy so it would conceal his grin.

The family continued to argue as the gig drove on, their voices quickly fading into the night. Gunson leaned forwards. A hulking shadow gradually materialised, slicing the valley. A hundred-foot-high behemoth.

His embankment.

Chapter 7

Lamps flashed and bobbed like fireflies against the black slope Gunson and Craven were now hurrying towards on foot. A face loomed from the murk directly in front of them, eerily lit by the lamp carried in the man’s hand. His stubbled face seemed to float, leering.

‘The builder and the engineer! They’ve sent the big guns out then.’

Gunson recognised Sheffield Harry’s nasal tones. He stopped. ‘I was told of a crack in the dam.’

‘It’s nowt.’

‘Have you seen it, then?’

‘Aye. It were Billy Horsfield spotted it on his way ’ome. He reckoned he could just about slide the blade o’ his penknife in. Anyhow, the usual suspects ’av come out to have a gander. Self-appointed experts, the lot o’ them. A few o’ the locals have already taken to the hills.’ Sheffield Harry shook his head in sorrow at their foolishness.