Bartholomew fell into conversation with a village lad, then reported what he said to me. "Lockkeeper found him not an hour ago. Came out to open the gates for the barge, and there was Middleton, floating all peaceful. They tried fishing him out with a boat hook, but couldn't catch him. Constable said send in the barge to get him out."

The waiting canal boat was long and narrow, its flat deck filled with goods. One bargeman watched from the tiller, while the other stood on shore, his teeth working a piece of straw. He held the barge horse, a large beast, which lowered its head to crop a patch of grass.

The lock was a simple mechanism, but one that had changed England forever. Locks allowed barges to move up or down hill without having to portage. Locks on this particular canal, I'd read, were a marvel of engineering.

Sebastian the stable hand leaned to watch near me, his swarthy face wan. He wore the same garb as any stable lad, dusty breeches, boots, and shirt, but his blue-black hair, thick-lashed brown eyes, and dark skin betrayed his Romany origins.

The lockkeeper closed the pumps and cranked open the gates. The bargeman slapped the horse's side and guided the boat into the lock.

Relative peace descended, broken by the soft sound of canal water lapping at the gate. I watched while the man on the barge dragged the corpse onto its deck. I expected the boat to back out again, but the bargeman signaled for the lockkeeper to close the gates. He did so, and then rushing water drowned the silence. The water rose slowly, the pumps struggling to drag water back in from the pond.