Amy nervously raised her hand. ‘Sir? Mr Armstrong?’

‘What is it?’ he barked.

‘Doesn’t everyone have identification tags?’

He drew himself up, looming over her in an almost sinister fashion. ‘That’s what makes their kind so insidious! And where you come in. One of your tasks will be keep track of those tags. You will frequently be approached by crew members who have misplaced their badges. I have already sent out an email to everyone. If your ID tag is lost, then so are you.’ He glared at her as if she’d already dared to forget her own. ‘Got that? There will be no duplications or replacements. I will not have my set sullied by anyone not of the industry who might have stolen a tag for their own ends.’

He wagged a finger at her in further admonishment. ‘Keep a particularly close eye out for anyone who might be a journalist. The last thing we want is their kind here revealing all our secrets to the world before we are ready to broadcast them.’

This time it was Moonbeam who dared to speak up. ‘What about the murder?’

‘What murder?’ Armstrong snapped with such ferocity that Mazza took a step backwards, colliding with me.

‘Er… the contestant who was…’

‘I know who you mean!’ Armstrong bellowed contrarily. ‘But what happened to him is nothing to do with us. Nothing, do you hear me? His death was unfortunate but completely unrelated to Enchantment. There will be no further discussion on this matter. Get out of my sight!’ For a moment we all just stood there. ‘Get out!’ Armstrong roared.

I twisted round and made for the door while I still had my eardrums intact.

‘Not you, Number Four! You will stay here.’

Uh-oh. I guessed I’d not managed to slide by after all. Maybe I should be grateful that I’d be fired out of earshot of the others.

I sighed and moved to the side to let them leave. Amy looked especially worried on my behalf. I gave her a small reassuring smile as she left, with Mazza biting his lip and Moonbeam blithely unconcerned. The door banged shut behind them and I tilted up my chin. Morris Armstrong might be shouty but I wasn’t intimidated. Not much, anyway.

He sank down into a chair, his heavy frame making it a tight squeeze. ‘Moonbeam,’ he muttered. ‘Where on earth do they dig these idiots up?’

I licked my lips, wondering whether I was supposed to answer him or not. Fortunately, he didn’t give me much chance. He raised his head and looked at me with suddenly tired eyes. In a flash of insight it occurred to me that, with the contestant’s death and his new role as director, he was under a great deal of pressure. If this new and supposedly improved version of Enchantment went tits up, there was no doubt that the blame would be laid firmly at his door. The revelation didn’t make me feel much sympathy for him but I did understand his violent swings between enthusiastic encouragement and terrifying rage a little bit more.