Thomas came to the inn just after breakfast.
He was carrying a small wooden box, which he placed on the table beside Nell's drawing.
"I wonder if you could help me with something," he said.
Rowan looked up from his bread.
"That depends on what it is."
"Water."
Tara, who was pouring tea, turned towards him.
"Where?"
"At the mill. It's coming in where it shouldn't, and not coming in where it should."
Rowan put down his knife.
"That sounds like water."
Thomas smiled.
"I thought you might say that."
The four of them walked to the mill after breakfast. It stood beside the river, a low stone building with a broad wooden wheel at one end. Thomas had recently set the wheel turning again, though he had not yet put the mill to any regular use.
The wheel was moving slowly when they arrived.
A narrow stream ran beneath it, but another trickle had appeared along the wall, emerging from a gap between two stones.
Tara crouched to examine it.
"This water isn't coming from the river."
"No," Thomas said. "That's what puzzles me."
She followed the trickle with her eyes. It disappeared beneath a patch of nettles and reappeared on the other side of the building.
Nell noticed that Thomas was watching the water rather than the wheel.
"Has it always done that?"
"Not since I've been here."
"How long have you been here?"
"Long enough to know that it didn't."
Rowan examined the wooden channel beside the wheel. It was dry, apart from a little water gathering at one end.
"Someone has diverted the flow."
"Perhaps," Thomas said. "But I haven't found where."
Tara stood and brushed the soil from her hands.
"Let's see where this one goes."
They followed the trickle around the back of the mill. It passed beneath an old wooden gate and entered a shallow channel that ran through the grass towards the lower fields. Much of it was overgrown, but the water had begun to clear a narrow passage for itself.
Nell stopped beside a flat stone.
There were three circles carved into its surface, overlapping one another.
She knelt.
"Rowan."
He came over and looked down.
"That's an unusual way to mark a boundary."
Tara touched the stone.
"Perhaps it isn't a boundary."
Thomas had caught up with them.
"I've seen that before," he said.
"Where?" Nell asked.
"At the old mill house. There was a stone above the doorway. My grandfather said it had been put there before the mill was built."
"What did he say it meant?"
Thomas shook his head.
"He didn't. He said it was something the mill had inherited."
Rowan looked at the water moving past the stone.
"Well, it seems to have inherited something else."
Beyond the stone, the channel divided. One branch ran towards the river, but the other continued through a narrow gap in the hedge.
Tara followed it a little way.
"It goes towards the orchard."
Nell looked back at the mill.
"Then the water from the old garden might be coming this way."
"Or the water from here might have been going there," Tara said.
Thomas stood quietly for a moment.
"My grandfather used to say that the mill had never belonged to the river alone."
Rowan glanced at him.
"Did he explain that?"
"No. He said it was better understood by watching where the water went."
They returned to the mill. Thomas opened the wooden box he had brought with him. Inside lay a small iron pin, a short length of chain and a folded piece of paper.
"I found these in the old workshop," he said. "I thought they might belong to the wheel, but they don't."
Nell unfolded the paper carefully. It showed the mill, the river and several narrow lines running away from both. There were no names, only a few marks and a small drawing of a tree.
At the bottom, in faded handwriting, were the words:
When the wheel turns, leave the lower gate open.
Thomas read them twice.
"I've never seen that gate open."
"Perhaps it hasn't been needed," Tara said.
"Perhaps," he replied.
They walked back to the channel. The lower gate was an old wooden structure set into the hedge. Its hinges were almost hidden by ivy, and the ground beneath it had risen with years of fallen leaves.
Rowan examined the fastening.
"I can free this. But I won't promise what happens afterwards."
Thomas looked at the channel.
"Neither will I."
They worked together, removing the leaves and loosening the swollen wood. At last the gate moved, slowly and with a long creak.
Water passed beneath it.
Not much, but enough to make the grass beyond it stir.
Nell watched the narrow stream disappear between the trees.
"Where does it go?"
Thomas looked towards the orchard.
"I don't know."
Tara smiled.
"Then perhaps we should find out another day."
On the way back, Nell stopped beside the carved stone. She took out her notebook and drew the three overlapping circles. Beneath them she added a line for the water, then another for the channel leading towards the orchard.
She did not join the lines.
At the mill, the wheel was turning more steadily now. Thomas stood beside it, listening to the sound.
"Will you use it?" Rowan asked.
"Yes," Thomas said. "I think I will."
"What for?"
Thomas looked towards the open gate.
"That remains to be seen."
When they reached the inn, Nell placed her drawing beside the others. The new lines crossed several of the older ones, though she could not yet tell what they connected.
Tara went into the kitchen to wash the soil from her hands.
Rowan sat down and cut another slice of bread.
Outside, somewhere beyond the orchard, a wooden gate creaked in the moving water.
For the first time in many years, the mill had somewhere else to send it.
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