‘I was speechless when I discovered this tradition back in the mid ’90s. My master watchmaker used to perform this very task for the town. He wasn’t an Edlund but he was in their inner circle, he was even a non-voting member of the golf club by the end. And now all this is my responsibility.’

‘Isn’t it secret?’ I ask.

He steps toward me and the bladders all move in the breeze he generates.

‘I would use the word discreet,’ he says. ‘Nobody visits Visberg so it’s not too complicated to keep it under the radar. Tonight I’ll finish the elk balloons, and the spraying, and the other adaptations. All ready for tomorrow night.’

‘Will I be able to attend Pan Night? As a bystander?’

He laughs and moves the rifle away from the light switch.

‘The Sheriff will close down the town sometime after seven. It’s been that way for centuries. Like a curfew. If you want in, and that’s not what I’m recommending to you, then make sure you get here well before then. You’ll need a mask, you’ll need to fit into the scene, you see, and you’ll need to stay hidden until proceedings begin.’

‘When’s that?’ I ask.

‘When all the little kiddies are tucked up safely in their beds,’ he says, smiling. ‘I can’t stop you from coming, but I will warn you. It’s not like Halloween. This is quite serious for many in the town.’

‘I need to go buy a mask,’ I say, eyeing the exit.

‘Don’t forget our bargain,’ he says. ‘I’ll let you in if you let me out. A high-profile article, Tuva. In the Gavrik Posten newspaper.’

I nod and make my excuses and bolt down the stairs.

Outside it’s dark and there’s frost in the air.

The screeching of a crow on the roof mixed with the squeaking of that rotating bee sign. The tang of fermenting fruit.

I get to the sister’s pop-up shop.

‘Clockmaker man said you’d come back to visit us tonight, girl,’ says Cornelia, opening the door. ‘Clockmaker was right.’ There’s a single three-wick candle lighting the place and all I can see of Alice is the whites of her eyes glowing in the far corner.

‘I need to buy a mask, please.’

‘Think we can help with that, don’t you say so, Alice.’

‘Yep,’ says Alice, stepping closer. She’s already wearing a goddam mask, her face concealed behind paper-thin boar hide. Like a cosmetic sheet-facemask with slits for her eyes and mouth. A semi-translucent thing with a flaccid rat’s nose.

She takes a more substantial mask from behind the counter and grins and hands it to her sister who hands it to me.

‘That boar had a tusk the size of a mink’s tail. Just one left.’