Ellis shrugged. ‘He’s inside. I can get you to him; I’ve worked this setup before. But you’ll have to get dressed into your costume. You won’t get anywhere without it.’

‘Why?’

‘Each costume is tagged. Doors open, lighting changes, sound, atmospherics – it all works on precise location data. You need it to make your way through the set.’

‘But then they’ll know where I am. They’ll try to stop me getting to Vincent, won’t they?’

He laughed. ‘I suppose someone might be interested in micromanaging your movements, but in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a show going on. A highly complex and technical performance. They probably won’t be interested in stopping you from seeing him. And I repeat – nothing you say is going to stop him. Come with me. It’ll be quicker through the back.’

Queueing with the rest of the audience might be the safer way, but she didn’t want to waste any time. She didn’t know if she could trust Ellis, but still, going with him was her best shot at getting in and out as quickly as possible. She nodded: lead the way.

Ellis led her out of the storage pen and hurried her to a back entrance. Petra could hear the rising thrum of the waiting audience around the front of the building, but didn’t dare look back as she scurried around behind him in case she caught someone’s eye. Here, away from the gaudy light of the public face of the venue, the brewery building loomed heavily, its callused, stained outgrowths reaching up to pull at the sky. A chill wind channelled through cold-brick alleys to the delivery bay at the rear, where headless trailers lined up, waiting.

After pushing open a low door in a vast metal shutter, Ellis gestured Petra in. For a split second she hesitated before stepping over the steel threshold, but she was relieved when Ellis stepped in after her and quietly closed the door instead of slamming it and locking her in.