He twisted the can round, pressed it again. “But I can hazard a guess at what your mayor’s game is. Came across it once before, in a different town. Half deserted and miles from anywhere, just like this one. Handful of corrupt officials who just can’t give up on the eldest edict. They get too much from it, see? And the rest of the country’s too busy trying to keep itself alive to take any real notice.”

Pop. The Cleercan flicked back into shape.

He was lying. This was just another dirty lie from a deceitful wanderer.

“That’s not true,” I said. “We chant for peace in every school assembly. Why would we do that, if the war was over? And we pull the blackouts down every night – because of the war. And why would we send our eldests away, if they didn’t need to go?”

He handed the Cleercan to me. “Would you fill it up? Brook’s just over there.” He pointed through the trees.

“You’re talking rubbish,” I said.

He fixed me in the eye.

“Now, listen to me, Maggie. Your mayor. Does she ever bring things back from wherever she goes? Things for the town? Nice things for herself? For her friends? For you, even?”

Gas.

Sunglasses.

Bananas.

“Sometimes,” I said.

“Too right she does. If she keeps the eldests coming, she can trade them in. Maybe up at the city, maybe through a middleman. Then they get traded on as labour, overseas maybe. Mayor gets hold of goods she’d never be able to lay her hands on otherwise. And she kids herself it’s OK to be selling fourteen-year-olds because she’s supplying her town with gas and petrol and imported food and new clothes.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re lying. Mayor Anderson would never do anything like that. She looks after us. You’re a dirty, deceitful wanderer. I bet you even set fire to Mr Wetheral’s house too, didn’t you? I bet it was you.”

Mr Opal grabbed my wrist again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know who Mr Wetheral is. But that’s OK. You can believe what you want about the war and you can believe what you want about me. I don’t care.” His grip tightened. “Look, all I want – all I’ve ever wanted – is to stay away from this madness and to keep my family safe. Una’s the only one left now. She’s all I’ve got. And even if the war was still on, she’s not an eldest. This is the evidence right here.” He stabbed his finger at the photograph. “It’s an official eldest photo. Look, there, in the corner. That’s proof my boy went to camp.”

There was some tiny writing, right near the edge.

“I can’t read that,” I said. “It could say anything.”