She nodded quietly.³Greg is being talked to.´ He smiled. ³Come on, this will help stop them doing thingslike that to you I promise.´He led her to a shabby looking green pavilion at the edge of the school field. Hewalked up the metal grated ramp to the door and Amelia followed quietly.³Before we go in Amelia,´ he said as he fumbled with some jangly keys in the lockthat he'd brought out of his grey satchel bag a moment before, ³you need to promise thateverything I tell you in here is kept a secret. Do you think you can do that?´She didn't know whether to be offended by this patronising tone or to run away now.The pavilions were a place that every student was banned from going to, and to her all of this seemed a little suspicious. But there was something about this teacher that hadalways seemed mysterious to her. He wasn't like the others, who'd shout and whine attheir students to get on with the work. He acted calmer, and was more approachable. Whatharm could he really do?³I promise.´ she answered.It became apparent the moment they stepped inside why the Pavilions had alwaysbeen off limits, but instead of it being an 'art studio' as the students rumoured, it wasinstead what looked like a control room.It smelt like oil and metal. Blackened paper and scraps of old torn material shieldedthe windows, barricading any light that may stream through. Underneath the windows weretables, their surfaces covered in odd devices and parts that looked as though theybelonged on the inside of a clock. The tables led up to the back of the room where asubstantial television shaped switchboard was placed. There was a screen in the middle of it, surrounded by dials, buttons and flickering coloured lights that looked like they belongedon a disco ball.