“Ah, your curiosity has finally been piqued. I knew it wouldn’t be long. I’ll tell you what happened, gladly – I have no secrets from my people, and I would still like to believe that you are one of us, Leora. But first, a little background.” He is quiet for a minute while we walk past people in the passageway and all we hear are their hushed voices and our footsteps. We turn a corner and he resumes.

“It’s one thing knowing one’s destiny. It’s quite another to live it.” I think of all the times I have been told that I was born for this moment – that I am a symbol, a sign, a bridge. “I had only ever trusted Jack here with my deepest thoughts and, as good a listener as you are, Jack, I could see that the sceptic within you won every time.” He smiles. “I forgive you that, of course. It is not easy to accept change.”

He stops to look at a painting that is hung on the wall and Jack shuffles to a halt, pulling me back before I bump into the mayor. The painting shows Saint, our saviour, whose likeness is at the centre of our town. It shows him walking, back turned to the viewer, along a long path. The ground beneath his feet is as red as a carpet welcoming royalty. It is red with the blood that seeps from his body with every step – for, of course, he is walking home to Saintstone, away from the blanks whose wicked leader skinned him as punishment for bringing them his good message of hope. The story I grew up with, the story I heard so often it was embedded in my bones.

I know a different story now.

“It’s a great story,” Mayor Longsight says as he gazes at the image. “The thing not many people ask, though, is ‘What happened next?’ What happened after Saint reached Saintstone?”

“Well, that’s because we know,” I reply. “He arrived back home, wrapped in his skin like a kingly robe, and he was welcomed as a hero. He is the reason our dead are flayed.” My voice is dangerously bored. Minnow’s fingers squeeze painfully on my wrists. A warning. But Longsight just gives a small smile – humouring me.

“I’m glad you’ve not forgotten. But that’s not what I mean. What happened after that?”

I shrug. “Don’t tell me – they made him mayor and he was just like you?” Longsight loves to proclaim himself as the new Saint and so, I fling all the hate I have into the word, mayor.

Longsight glances at Minnow and nods minutely and Jack twists his grip until the pain is so great that my knees give way.

“Don’t test my patience,” Longsight says, in a tone that is light and sweet, as though he is talking to a puppy. I get back to my feet, my eyes smarting with pain.

“I imagine he would have been a fine mayor, Leora,” Longsight carries on. “But he never got the chance. He lived long enough to hear the people’s applause and to tell his tale … but then he died. We don’t tell that bit, because we all prefer a hero to a human.” Mayor Longsight sets off walking again. “It’s a useful storyteller’s device – if you leave someone alive at the end of your story, your listener doesn’t have to think about their death. It’s in good taste, but it’s not the whole truth.”