The crowd howled again, three hundred voices railing out in grief. Albert stood there, feeling a deep welling grief, like something had broken inside him that could never be fixed. Around him were people—children, women and grown men alike—just standing there, weeping. He could feel a prickling at his eyes, and a moment later, a wetness on his cheeks. And then he wept with them.

The voice reached out to him again. ‘And so next week Rita’s friends will not visit her home. She will not get the treats or the dress or the shoes. Instead she will get a grave. And her parents will have an occasion to observe, but it will not be a celebration. They will get to bury their daughter.’

Albert stood there, feeling the fury and the sadness coursing through him. He wanted to get up, to go find the monster who had done this, to smash his face in, to do to him what Bosco had done to his opponent earlier tonight, and then some. He looked around and, from their faces, he could tell that many others felt the same way too.

Vail spoke on, each word hitting home like a sabre sheathed in velvet. ‘And we feel anger, hatred, for the one who did this, and that is good, because it is anger that will give us strength, hatred that will give us perseverance. But who will we strike at? Some barely conscious teenager who won’t even remember what he did? Or the people really responsible for this? For let us make no mistake—the hand that struck down little Rita was not the hand responsible. That honour and glory go to our leaders, who protect the ones spreading filth in our valley.’

Albert roared his agreement with the crowd. It all made perfect sense. It was they, the fools who had allowed this to happen, they and only they who were responsible for the grief, the rage he felt now.

‘And I say our valley because that is what it is, ours and of our parents who bequeathed it to us—we, who took this abandoned patch of rock and on it built this great place. Sanctuary we named it—our sanctuary from the evil above and the shadow it has cast across the world. But that shadow has followed us here. And instead of protecting us from it, our leaders opened our gates and welcomed it in with open arms. They let it in, let in every lowlife and beggar and vagabond who wandered this way, let them all in! Not once, not twice, but every single time! And they will continue to do so—they tell us this, with pride in their voices and smiles on their faces, they tell us this! They will continue to let in the beggars—and there is nothing we can do about it!’