David Clarke

The White Rat

Chapters 21-24

Chapter Twenty-One

This chapter is going to be a bit unusual – David is nowhere to be seen, because this is where we catch up with what Jordan has been doing since the start of the Summer Term. And because this is the all-new Jordan, who has found out how nice it is to do stuff with your friends as equals, there's going to be nothing (with one small exception) going on in this chapter that isn't entirely consensual. Fear not – normal service will be resumed in Chapter Twenty-Two.

Jeremy had been enthusiastic about getting together with Jordan and Charlie again, but getting the idea past Charlie's mother wasn't quite so easy: she wasn't prepared to let Charlie stay out overnight during term time, though she said it would be possible at half term, which was another couple of weeks away. However, she did agree to letting Charlie come to visit Jordan one Sunday afternoon, provided that he was home again no later than seven p.m., so they fixed it up for the afternoon of May 22nd.

Jeremy came round in the morning and stayed for lunch, and as it was Jordan's house he was coming to and not Charlie's he turned up in jeans and a tee-shirt, rather than collar and tie.

"Sorry I couldn't come last weekend," he said. "But, like I told you, it was my birthday on the thirteenth, and my parents wanted to take me out for a meal."

Jordan knew about the birthday, of course, and had given Jeremy a present, a carriage for his train set.

"That's okay. Charlie couldn't have come last week, anyway, and we really need him here – it's not the same without our baby brother."

Jeremy grinned. "Of course, now you're the only one who is still eleven," he pointed out. "Perhaps we should treat you like the baby this week."

"You could try, if you want to be spanked again."

Jeremy thought about that – actually, he liked it when Jordan stripped him and spanked him, though he'd liked it even more when Jordan had fucked him, and he wanted another go at that.

"Spanking's too easy," he said. "You'd have to give me a proper punishment if you wanted me to behave."

Jordan knew what he meant, and he liked that idea, too.

"Just watch it, or I will," he said. "I might even do it with Charlie watching."

Jeremy looked a bit less sure. "Well… I don't know. Aren't you afraid he'd react badly if he saw us doing that?"

"Well, perhaps. But I'd quite like to do it to him as well, and I think if he sees how much you enjoy it he'd be far more likely to let me."

"What, you think I enjoy being punished?" asked Jeremy, grinning.

"No, I'm sure you hate every moment. Look, Charlie says he'll be allowed to sleep over with one of us during half term, so once he gets here we'll have to find a couple of days when we're both free, because I don't want to miss a chance for the three of us to sleep together again. That was fun."

"I'm not doing anything at all at half term at the moment, so any day will be fine with me."

"I've got one or two things I need to do, but I'm sure we can find a couple of days. Now, I might decide to punish you again when Charlie gets here, but I still think you deserve a spanking right now. Unless you'd like to apologise for calling me a baby, of course."

Jeremy made a rude noise at him, so Jordan chased him round the bedroom, caught him, threw him onto the bed and pinned him down.

"So, are you going to apologise, or am I going to have to spank you?" he asked.

"Apologise to you? Certainly not!"

So Jordan began to strip him, and Jeremy resisted as best he could, laughing and trying to hang on to his clothes for as long as possible. But eventually his pants came off, and it was immediately obvious that he was enjoying this.

"Perhaps I should do something about that," said Jordan, taking hold of it and squeezing gently.

Jeremy stopped struggling and looked at him. "Go on, then," he said, softly. "I dare you!"

"What do you think I should do to it?"

"It's up to you. But perhaps you should try to find out if it still makes me feel strange when you rub it."

"Oh, I don't suppose that's changed, so I really don't need to check again."

"You never know. I'm pretty unusual – maybe that sort of thing doesn't always work on me. I think you ought to check, just to make sure."

"Well, you're right about you being strange… so, how does this feel?"

"Nice."

"Nice? But I'm supposed to be punishing you – punishments shouldn't feel nice!"

"You can punish me later. Right now you have to check that I still get interesting feelings when you rub it for me."

So Jordan went on checking, and it turned out that Jeremy did still get interesting feelings. And afterwards Jordan let him get dressed (without spanking him), and they played with Jordan's toy soldiers until lunchtime.

Charlie arrived after lunch, dressed as if he was going to church, in collar and tie, his shorts neatly pressed and his shoes shiny and clean. They waited until his mother had finally left – she seemed unsure that it would really be safe to leave her precious boy away from home all afternoon – and then took him up to Jordan's room and started to look for a change of clothes for him – "After all," Jordan pointed out, "if you go home with dirty clothes you'll never be allowed to come again, and we can't have that. Now, get those nice shiny church clothes off and I'll see what I can find for you."

So Charlie took off everything except his pants and socks and Jeremy folded the discarded clothes up neatly and put them on top of Jordan's bookcase. Jordan found a tee shirt that would probably be a little too big on Charlie, but would do the job well enough, and his school rugby shorts, which he wouldn't need again until September anyway.

"You'll have to keep your own shoes on," he said, "because mine would be too big for you. We'll clean them before your mum comes back to pick you up. But it won't matter if these things of mine get dirty, so we'll be able to go and play in the woods again, like we did at your place. So get them on and then let's go!"

Charlie pulled the borrowed clothes on, and they were a little too big, but the shorts had a draw-string, so it didn't matter too much that they were a size or two larger than his own.

Once he was ready Jordan led them off into the woods. He thought about going to see if Nigel and John were using the clearing, and maybe if it had just been him and Jeremy he might have. But he didn't want to expose Charlie to that sort of thing just yet, so he stayed away from that part of the woods, just keeping going until he found a good area with no undergrowth. And for the next couple of hours they played soldiers, or hide and seek, or climbed trees. And this time Charlie seemed to lose his inhibitions much more quickly, joining in happily, wrestling with them, climbing trees that he wouldn't have dared to try a couple of months previously, and generally enjoying himself.

"I wish I could come and play with you more often," he said when they stopped for a rest. "I'm not usually allowed to do stuff like this."

"Doesn't it bother you?" asked Jordan. "The way your mum keeps you wrapped in cotton wool all the time, I mean."

"Well… a bit, I suppose. But not too much. See, I know it's really because Mummy doesn't want me to grow up too quickly. Something went wrong when I was born, and she couldn't have any more children. That's why I haven't got any brothers or sisters. She likes me being a little boy, and I don't mind, because it makes me feel sort of safe."

"Yes, but… crumbs, Charlie, you'll be thirteen in September. You can't go on with you and your mum both pretending you're about six much longer. After all, you're bound to start growing soon, and you'll get spots, and your voice will break, and then she'll have to admit you're a teenager, not a child."

"I know. But I don't think it'll happen for a while yet – I mean, I'm pretty titchy for twelve, aren't I? Anyway, I don't want spots, or a croaky voice. I like being how I am. And if I suddenly got tall and spotty I couldn't be your little brother any more, and I like playing that game."

"Even when we tease you and make you go to bed before us?"

"Even then… in fact, big brothers are supposed to tease little brothers, so you have to do it if we're going to play the game right. I really liked it when we slept together, because then it felt to me like we really were brothers."

"Good, because we're going to do that again at half term – your mum says she'll let you sleep over with one of us."

"Yippee! Then I can be a proper baby brother, and you'll both have to look after me and show me how much…"

"What?"

"No, it doesn't matter. So, whose house are we going to stay at?"

"Well, you could both come to mine," said Jeremy. "But my sister will be around, so if we could come here it would be better."

"I expect that would be okay," said Jordan. "But we won't all be able to fit into my bed, and my parents will be using theirs… unless… hey, maybe we could camp in the garden – or even the field behind the garden? Then we could zip a couple of sleeping bags together and share that."

"That'd be fun!" agreed Jeremy.

"Yes, it would, but I'm not sure if I'd be allowed," said Charlie. "So you'd better not say anything about camping when you speak to Mummy – just tell her I'll be sleeping in your bedroom in a sleeping bag, or something."

"Okay. Now, let's see if we can find some more trees to climb…"

By the time Charlie's mum came to pick him up again after tea he had changed back into his nice clothes, and his shoes had been cleaned so that they looked as smart as they had when he arrived. Jordan and Jeremy both put on smart shirts and ties as well, Jeremy borrowing some of Jordan's clothes, so they made a good impression on Mrs Barnett, and so she was happy to confirm that Charlie could come for a couple of days at half-term, and they settled on the Monday and Tuesday. Charlie went away smiling happily.

Jordan had a few other things lined up for half term, as he had said. First he had to go and see how Philip Baxter-Cauldwell was getting on with his revision. He'd been checking up on the sixth-former every couple of weeks, and by now the older boy was more or less resigned to his situation – at least, he didn't shout and swear any longer. Once he was more or less used to the chain Jordan came to an agreement with him: every time he came round he would tie Baxter-Cauldwell's ankles and left wrist to the bed, then remove the chain and allow him to masturbate – on the strict understanding that he would then be allowed to put the chain back on afterwards.

"If you refuse, or try to fight me off, three things will happen," Jordan had warned him. "First, I'm going to whip you as hard as I can to try to get you to change your mind. If that doesn't work, and I can't get the chain back on you, then second, those photos start doing the rounds. And third, I'll get Garrett and a couple of his friends to come and help me – or maybe they'll grab you at school – and the chain will go back on, and we'll seal the lock with superglue and chuck the keys in the river. So it's up to you – play the game and you'll be fine, and I'll agree to come round and let you play with yourself every week. Don't, and you're in deep trouble."

"You know I could kill you while you're here, don't you?" Philip had asked him one day.

"Sure, but you won't, no matter how much you want to, because you'd go to prison for life. And a few more weeks' discomfort isn't worth that, is it? I mean, you're not stupid, or you wouldn't be at KEV in the first place."

And of course Philip knew he was right. So when Jordan went round on the first Saturday of half term he showed the younger boy what he had been working on (it meant very little to Jordan, of course, but he made a note of the subjects so that he could check with Garrett later) and then allowed himself to be tied to the bed, with his right arm left free. Then Jordan removed the chain and sat back to watch.

The first time he had done this Philip had asked him to at least have the decency to look the other way, but Jordan had said that he needed to keep an eye so that he could tell if Philip tried to untie his other wrist or something, and he had refused to change his mind. So every two weeks since he had been able to watch the seventeen-year-old masturbating, which he found most entertaining.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked on this occasion.

"Strangling you," replied Philip, sourly.

"No, seriously, I'd like to know."

"Well, there's a girl lives just up the road. She goes to the Ladies' College, and she is really hot. She thinks she's far too good for me, of course, but if I ever had a chance I'd like to give her one. Or more than one."

"Cool," said Jordan. "Carry on, then."

So Philip carried on.

"You can slow down, if you like," Jordan told him after a few more seconds. "I haven't got to rush off, so you can take as long as you like. Just enjoy it."

"It's hard to enjoy it with a snot-nosed kid gawking at me."

"I suppose so. Look, if you like I'll do it for you: that way if you close your eyes you can pretend it's the CLC girl doing it instead."

"No, thanks. I might be able to fool myself while you're doing it, but afterwards I'd be lying here thinking, 'Fuck, Philip, you just let a twelve-year-old boy toss you off. Are you queer now, or what?'"

"I'm eleven. But it's up to you – if you change your mind, just let me know."

"I won't. Now shut up and let me concentrate."

So Jordan kept his mouth shut and watched the older boy rubbing himself, enjoying the moment when he lost control and spurt after spurt of thick white spunk shot out of his penis and landed on his chest and stomach. When it was over he handed Philip the box of tissues from the bedside table and watched him mopping up, and then he put the chain back on, pocketed the key and turned to go.

"I can come back later in the week if you like," he said. "Thursday or Friday, perhaps? Then you won't have to wait quite so long for your next wank."

"Yes, okay – I'm not going anywhere on Friday."

"See you on Friday, then." And Jordan left him trying to untie his left wrist.

It was fun having Baxter-Cauldwell under his thumb like this, and it looked as if it was going to be pretty lucrative, too, because last time he had spoken to Garrett, the head boy had told him that Baxter-Cauldwell was definitely knuckling down to some serious work. With a bit of luck the end of term exams would show the improvement Philip's mother was looking for, and then he'd be £50 better off – and there was an awful lot of fun he'd be able to have with that sort of money in his pocket.

Jeremy came round on the Sunday afternoon, having managed to talk his parents into giving him an extra night at Jordan's house. That suited both of them perfectly: it would allow them to have some fun together on their own before Charlie came to join them. So when Jeremy suggested that they might go and play in the woods, Jordan said that this would be an excellent idea, provided that Jeremy promised to behave himself and respect his big brother. And, of course, the look on Jeremy's face suggested that this was probably not going to be what actually happened.

He behaved himself properly at first, as they explored the woods and practised advancing slowly from tree to tree, like soldiers on a reconnaissance patrol, but it wasn't too long before he made a joke about Jordan's curly hair, and that led to a wrestling match.

"Okay, so you're on top," admitted Jeremy as he ended up pinned down as usual. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"Well, I could strip you bare and make you play naked for the next hour or so."

Jeremy thought about that and decided that it sounded like fun.

"You wouldn't dare!" he said, provocatively.

Five minutes later he was stark naked and his clothes were stuffed into Jordan's bag, though after he had taken three steps and got a thorn in his foot Jordan gave him his shoes back.

"And you can stay like that until you apologise," said Jordan, hoisting his bag onto his back.

"Sorry, but it's against the law to apologise to four-eyed morons."

"Then you'd better hope it doesn't start raining, or you're going to get cold and wet. Come on."

They patrolled a little further, and then Jeremy made another reference to Jordan's curls, and that led to him being dragged over to a fallen tree trunk, pushed face down over it and getting a spanking which, since Jordan held back sufficiently, Jeremy enjoyed.

They resumed their advance, stopping to climb an inviting-looking tree, and once they were high in the branches Jeremy started getting lippy again.

"You must really enjoy getting spanked," said Jordan. "When we get down I'm going to have to beat you till your bum goes bright red."

"I'm not getting down. I like it up here."

"Okay, but once I'm down I'm heading for home, so unless you want to stay out here in the woods on your own with no clothes on, you'll have to come with me."

"I wouldn't mind staying here. I could pretend to be Tarzan."

"You'd get really cold at night, though."

"I suppose. And it is more fun sharing a bed with you than it would be trying to sleep up a tree. Okay, maybe I will come down, then."

And he did, but as soon as Jordan reached the ground after him Jeremy took off, running away into the woods. Jordan chased him, pursuing him on into the trees until Jeremy's path was blocked by a stream. He turned and ran off upstream, and Jordan caught up with him just as he reached the clearing, because this was the same stream. The clearing was unoccupied, so Jordan grabbed his friend, gave him a very light spanking and then just lay on his back watching the sky. Jeremy lay down beside him.

"It's nice here," he said. "Actually, if the weather was always like this I wouldn't mind being Tarzan. It feels good having nothing on."

"Really?" asked Jordan. "Aren't you cold?"

"No, not at all. Try it, and you'll see what I mean. I dare you."

Okay," said Jordan, and he stood up and took his own clothes off. And Jeremy was right: it did feel nice. He lay down again, and Jeremy rolled over on top of him, so that they were face to face. Jeremy still had an erection, which didn't seem to have gone down since he had been stripped almost half an hour previously, and having his naked friend lying on top of him like that soon made Jordan get one, too.

"This is nice," said Jeremy, nuzzling at his cheek.

"It is, isn't it?" agreed Jordan, putting his arms round him.

For at least five minutes they lay quietly. Then Jeremy asked, "So, are we going to teach Charlie about fucking tomorrow, then?"

"I think so. But I think we should just tell him how nice it feels, and not pretend it's a punishment."

"Who's pretending? It's a horrible thing to do to someone!" said Jeremy, grinning hugely.

"Yeah, of course it is. Seriously, though, I think if we tell him how much fun it is and how nice it feels, he won't mind trying. But maybe you should do it to him first."

"Me? But… I've never done it before! What if I mess it up?"

"You won't. It's just that you're a bit smaller than me, and I don't want to hurt him. If he likes you doing it to him, maybe he'll let me try, too."

"Well… okay, if you're sure. But in that case… well, if I'm going to do it to Charlie tomorrow, maybe I should practise on you first?"

Jordan thought about that. He'd never envisaged being on the receiving end: after all, when he had first been introduced to the concept of fucking, it was always something that dominant boys did to weak, pathetic, submissive boys like Larkin. But somehow doing it with Jeremy felt different: with him it was much more like sharing something nice, rather than having fun at someone else's expense. And Jeremy had really enjoyed being on the receiving end, so maybe it would be okay to try…

"Well, okay, then," he said. "As long as you don't start thinking this makes any difference to which of us is in charge."

"Oh, it won't. I've always known I'm in charge."

They wrestled for a bit, but soon relaxed back into the same position, but this time with Jordan on top. Jordan felt really good like this, naked, with his best friend holding him and idly stroking his back and bum. It was really relaxing, and he was almost on the point of falling asleep when a voice from the edge of the clearing dragged him sharply back into consciousness.

"Is that the one you told me about?" said the voice.

Jordan turned to face it and saw John Baker grinning at him.

He relaxed: for a ghastly moment he had thought they'd been caught by a total stranger.

"Yes. Jeremy, this is my friend John Baker. John, this is Jeremy."

"Hello," said John. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm supposed to be meeting Nigel here, and I wasn't sure if you'd want to get dressed before he arrives."

"I don't think we really need to," said Jordan. "After all, he's seen me like this a few times. And I don't suppose Jeremy minds, either – after all, there's nothing wrong with him. In fact, I think he looks good naked."

"Do you really? Thanks, Jordan," said Jeremy. "Still… I don't normally meet new people with nothing on…"

"Perhaps you're right. Let's get dressed, then."

So they got dressed, and they were just doing their laces up when Nigel arrived.

"Oh!" he said, finding a rather larger gathering than he had been expecting. "Hello, Jordan! I didn't know you were coming…"

"We didn't know you were, either," Jordan told him. "We'll have to stick a sign up saying 'Do not disturb', or something. This is my friend Jeremy. We'll go and leave you in peace."

"You don't have to," said John. "We said we wouldn't mind you being here while we… well, you know."

"I know, but… I'm sure you'd prefer a bit of privacy."

"Well… perhaps as there are two of you, it would be better. Still, there is something I'd like you to see first. Go on, Nigel, show him."

Nigel looked a bit reluctant, but after a moment he undid his trousers.

"No, you might as well take everything off," John told him. "After all, you'll need to as soon as they've gone, anyway."

Again Nigel hesitated, but then he nodded and started to strip. And once he was naked Jordan was immediately aware of what was different: all of Nigel's pubic hair had disappeared.

"What do you think?" John asked. "I think he looks nicer like that. It's like you said after you did it to Larkin: now I'm the only one with hair, so I'm the big boy and I do the boy stuff when we're together. And as Nigel prefers it that way anyway, we're both happy."

"It's not going to be so good when the chain goes back on, though," Jordan pointed out. "Now there's no hair to cushion it, it'll be more uncomfortable."

"I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps I'd better let him grow it again, then, because I don't want him to be uncomfortable."

"It's okay, I don't mind," said Nigel. "I know you prefer me like this, so I'll stay like it. I don't suppose the chain will be too much worse like this."

"I might not make you keep it on for long, anyway," said Jordan. "Are you still managing not to play with it?"

Nigel nodded. "It feels so much better when John does it, or when he gets me excited by… well, you know, doing it to me," he said, looking at Jeremy a bit nervously.

"It's okay, Jeremy and I do that, too," Jordan reassured him.

"Oh. Well, that's why I don't do it to myself any more, even without having the chain on."

"Great! In that case, I should think you can certainly have the chain off at the end of term. It wouldn't really be fair to make you keep wearing it right through the summer holidays, anyway. So, when is your last exam?"

"June the thirteenth."

"Okay. Wait for me after school that day and we'll sort the chain out again. And John, if you can come with him… well, I'll tell you then."

"Okay," said John, and he stepped forward and took hold of Nigel's now hairless penis and started to stroke it, and almost at once it stiffened up. Nigel put his arms round him, and Jordan noticed that the hair under his arms had disappeared, too.

"We'll leave you to it," he said, shoving a reluctant Jeremy in the direction of the stream. "Have fun."

They were kissing by now, and broke off long enough to mumble a farewell.

"I'd have liked to stay and watch that," complained Jeremy. "They said they didn't mind."

"I know, but we'd still have put them off. But if they think we've gone, they'll just carry on the way they usually do."

"'If they think we've gone'?" queried Jeremy.

"Yes. Now keep really quiet and don't step on any twigs."

Carefully Jordan circled around, finally approaching the clearing from the opposite side, where he had noticed a fallen tree. They crept up as far as this tree, and found that if they lay flat they could see underneath it into the clearing, while there was virtually no chance of either of the boys in the clearing seeing them.

John was just finishing removing his clothes, and once he was naked Nigel dropped to his knees in front of him and started sucking him.

"Eurghhh! What's he doing?" whispered Jeremy, sounding both disgusted and fascinated.

"He's sucking it for him. It feels really nice having it done, like having it rubbed, but better."

"Yes, but how can he actually do that? I don't think I could ever put another boy's thing in my mouth."

"You could if I made you."

"Oh, no! That's one punishment you're not giving me!"

"You'd better behave, then. Actually, everyone says it tastes okay: Larkin's done it for me loads of times, and he doesn't seem to mind so much now."

"I don't believe you. You're just trying to persuade me to do it to you, so you can pee in my mouth."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, I bet!"

"Honest."

"Okay, prove it: you let me put mine in your mouth first."

Jordan was silent. He knew he would never do that for anyone else – except maybe Charlie. He would certainly never do it for a boy who was old enough to have spunk come out. But Jeremy didn't have any spunk…

"Okay," he whispered. "I'll do it when we get back home."

"Really?"

"Really. Now shut up and watch."

After a bit Nigel stopped sucking and got down on his hands and knees, and very slowly John started to fuck him. By now Jordan was painfully stiff, so he turned carefully onto his side, undid his jeans and pushed them and his pants down a bit so that he could get hold of himself. He started to squeeze his erection gently, but then his hand was pushed away and Jeremy took over.

"Let me do that," whispered Jeremy. "You can play with mine. It'll be nicer that way."

Jeremy had also lowered his jeans and pants to his knees, so Jordan took hold of him and started to caress it, and they spent the next ten minutes or so fondling each other while watching John fucking Nigel.

Nigel had his climax first, crying out and moving his body, and Jordan saw the older boy ejaculating onto the ground. It took John another minute or so to reach his own orgasm, but it seemed to be a good one. Eventually they separated, cleaned themselves up and then lay down together for a cuddle.

"That's what we were doing," said Jeremy. "Shall we do it again?"

"Well… maybe not here. Let's go back home – I think those two have pretty much finished now, anyway."

So they got dressed and crept away until they were out of earshot, and then they ran back to Jordan's house, went to his bedroom and shut the door.

"Are you really going to put mine in your mouth?" asked Jeremy as they got undressed.

"If you want. I mean, okay, I'm supposed to be the older brother, but that doesn't mean I can't do stuff to make my little brothers feel nice, does it?"

"Great – so what do I have to do?"

"Nothing. You just lie on the bed and I'll do it for you. But if you pee in my mouth I'll kill you, okay? And I'm not joking, either."

So Jeremy reclined on the bed and Jordan lay down between his legs and started to suck, trying to do all the things that Larkin and Nigel had done when he had been on the receiving end. And Jeremy loved it, wriggling about and pushing Jordan's head down against him, and before too long he had a brilliant climax.

"Oh, wow, Jordan, that was amazing," he said. "Thanks. So, swap places and I'll do it to you."

"I thought you'd never let a boy do that to you?"

"I wouldn't – at least, I wouldn't let any other boy do it. But we're brothers, and best friends, so it's different. Now you'll have to tell me how to do it…"

So Jordan did, and it was wonderful.

They spent that night sharing Jordan's bed. Jeremy teased Jordan on and off for most of the evening, and at bedtime Jordan told him that as a punishment he wasn't going to be allowed to wear his pyjamas, but would have to sleep naked.

"Okay," said Jeremy at once. "Actually, I've been sleeping naked at home since that night at Charlie's – I think it feels a lot nicer than getting all tangled up in pyjamas. Why don't you sleep naked, too? Then you'll see how much better it feels."

So Jordan did, and he had to admit that it did feel nice, especially when you had a friend to wrestle with and to do other stuff with. And when they were both finally tired enough to go to sleep they settled down cuddled up together, and that felt nicer still.

***

"So," said Jordan, when they woke up the following morning, "do you want to try putting it up my bum? Only it seems to be really hard this morning."

"It's really hard most mornings. But… well, if you're really sure about this, I might as well give it a try."

So Jordan got out of bed long enough to find his jar of Vaseline and box of tissues, and then he got back into bed and started applying the Vaseline to both of them in the places where it would do most good. Then he pushed the blankets back and knelt up, spreading his legs.

It took a while, and a few changes of position, but eventually they found that when Jordan knelt on the floor and bent over the bed Jeremy was able to get it in. His penis was a bit shorter than Jordan's, and so he had to be careful not to pull back too much, but in the end he worked out the best way to do it, and they settled into a rhythm.

"So?" Jordan asked, after a couple of minutes of this, "What do you think?"

"It's nice. I'm not sure that it's really a lot better than when you put it in your mouth yesterday, but I still like it. It's not hurting you, is it?"

"No, it's fine… mind you, nobody has ever done this to me before, so I've got nothing to compare it to, but it feels good to me. I wonder if Charlie will agree to us trying this with him?"

"I should think so – I reckon we could talk him into almost anything."

"Maybe not – I don't think we ought to do what we did yesterday with him. After all, he's got this thing about having germs all over his cock, so if we start talking about sucking, I think it'll make him feel sick. But I think we might be able to do this with him… don't stop, Jeremy, that feels nice."

"Just taking a little break – I don't want to get excited too quickly."

"Okay, but we'll have to go down to breakfast before too long."

"Right. We'd better not let your mum come in and catch us like this."

"The door's locked, but still…"

So Jeremy started moving again. Jordan thought it did feel nice, but he didn't actually get excited: Jeremy reached his climax before that ever looked likely. But Jordan still thought he wouldn't mind doing this again if Jeremy wanted to.

Charlie arrived in time for lunch, and once they had eaten they took the tent Jordan's dad had found for them (actually he'd borrowed it from a friend at his office) and got it set up at the bottom of the garden. There was just about enough room in it for a double sleeping bag, but since they didn't need anything else – they would be eating and washing indoors – that was all they cared about.

Today Charlie had brought some old clothes to change into (he'd smuggled them out of his house at the bottom of the bag that held his clean clothes, towel and washing kit), so when they went to chase each other through the woods that afternoon he was able to roll about on the ground and scramble up trees without worrying about getting his clothes dirty. And today he joined in everything enthusiastically: he seemed to have completely escaped from his mother's influence for once.

After they had been in the woods for a couple of hours he told them that he needed to pee.

"Shouldn't have had that third glass of lemonade at lunch time," Jordan told him.

"I know. But… well, now I need to go."

"What would you do if we weren't here?"

"I'd just go behind a tree, pull my shorts and pants down and do it, I suppose. I mean, I can't really sit down to do it out here."

"Yes, you can," said Jordan, looking around. "There's a tree stump over there. Come on."

He led Charlie over to the stump, and Jeremy followed them.

"Now, you can perch on the edge of the stump," Jordan said. "Except it would probably be best if you took your shorts and pants right off, because otherwise you might pee on them."

"What, out here?" asked Charlie, nervously.

"Don't worry, there's nobody about. Yesterday Jeremy was cheeky to me, so I stripped him bare and made him play completely naked for almost an hour."

"Wow! Really? No clothes at all?"

"Just my shoes," Jeremy confirmed. "I shouldn't have been allowed those really, but there were too many brambles about on the path. Actually, it was sort of fun, having nothing on outdoors."

"Well… okay, then," said Charlie, demonstrating that he really had come a long way since the first time Jordan had visited him. Jordan decided to see how far.

"You'd better take off your shoes and socks, too," he said. "There's a bit of a breeze, and it might blow your pee onto your foot, and you don't want to be stuck in wet socks all afternoon."

"I suppose not," agreed Charlie, and he stood on the stump and removed everything except his watch and his tee shirt. Then he perched on the edge of the stump and spread his legs.

"Hold on a moment," said Jeremy. "Yesterday I went bare – let's see if you're brave enough to do the same. I dare you to take your shirt off, too."

"Okay, but if I do, you've both to strip some time before I go home."

"Fair enough," agreed Jeremy, and Jordan nodded, so Charlie pulled the shirt over his head and handed it to Jordan, who was already holding his other clothes.

Charlie spread his legs again and started to pee, and when he had finished Jordan took a tissue from his pocket and dried the tip of Charlie's penis with it.

"I don't know, Jordan," said Jeremy. "Do you think he deserves to get his clothes back? I think we ought to hang on to them for a bit – until he's climbed a tree, say."

"Well… perhaps you're right. Let's keep him bare until we find a good tree for him to try."

A month ago Charlie would have gone berserk at that suggestion, but now he just grinned at them. Jordan gave him his shoes back and they walked a little further into the wood until they came to a suitably climbable tree, and then Charlie scrambled up into it, getting quite a long way up.

"We could just go home now and leave him here, couldn't we?" suggested Jeremy, loudly.

"I suppose we could. Do you think we should?" replied Jordan. But Charlie wouldn't bite: he stayed where he was for a few seconds longer, and then climbed back down, slowly and unconcernedly.

"How did you know we wouldn't?" Jeremy asked him.

"Because you're my friends, and my brothers. I trust you. Don't you know that by now?"

"One day I might just run off with your clothes anyway, just to see your face," said Jeremy. "But not today. You can get dressed again."

"I don't mind staying bare a bit longer. You were right – it is fun. It feels sort of interesting when the breeze blows round my willy…"

"Aren't you afraid we're going to tease you about having a small one?" asked Jeremy.

"Not really. Okay, I got all embarrassed the first couple of times you saw me undressed, but now I don't really mind any more. Brothers are allowed to tease each other, so you can both tease me as much as you like. As long as you don't mind me making jokes about your glasses."

"That depends whether or not you mind getting spanked," Jeremy said, advancing on him. Charlie gave a mock squeal of terror and ran away, but Jeremy caught him fairly quickly, dragged him back as far as the path and spanked him lightly.

They walked on into the wood, and after a bit Charlie did get dressed again, but only because he was being bothered by flies: at least with his clothes on there were less bits of him they could get at. But after a bit longer they decided that it would be better to go back, because the flies were becoming a nuisance to all of them.

"How did it feel, having to pee with no clothes on?" Jordan asked, as they headed back towards his house.

Charlie shrugged. "It was okay," he said. "Actually, it felt sort of interesting. I've never done anything like that before – not outdoors, anyway. Obviously I sometimes pee indoors without any clothes on, like if I'm about to have a bath, or something. But…I don't know, I sort of liked doing it out here in the woods like that."

"You'd never have done anything like that before the Easter holidays."

"I know. But you've changed me a bit. I don't feel quite so shy now – at least, not with you two. I wouldn't want anyone else to see me, though."

After tea they watched TV for a while until it was time for bed, and then they went and got washed, collected their pyjamas and went out to the tent.

"The good news is that Mum's going shopping in the morning," Jordan told them. "That means we don't have to get up until we feel like it. Of course, if we stay here too long we'll have to get our own breakfast, but I don't mind that too much. So: we already know that Jeremy isn't allowed to wear anything in bed, because he's too cheeky. So the question, is, are we going to let Charlie wear his pyjamas, or not?"

"Not," said Jeremy, firmly.

Charlie looked a bit uncertain. "Well…" he said, "okay, I won't wear any, either. But only if Jordan sleeps bare as well. That way it'll be fair for all of us."

"That seems fair," said Jeremy, before Jordan could argue – though in fact Jordan had no intention of arguing: he thought it would be fun if they all slept naked. So they all got undressed and had a three-way wrestle on top of the sleeping bag. Charlie seemed a bit nervous at first, flinching away when either of the other two touched him with their genitals, but Jordan said that they could all have a bath the following morning, and that he really shouldn't worry too much about a few germs when the bath would safely wipe them all out within a few hours.

Once they were sufficiently tired they opened the sleeping bag.

"Charlie's turn in the middle, I think," said Jordan, and Jeremy backed him up, so they installed Charlie in the middle and climbed in on either side of him, pulling the sleeping bag over them and cuddling up to him.

"This feels really cosy," said Charlie. "I bet we could even do this in the winter, because we'd keep each other nice and warm like this."

"I think we might need a thicker sleeping bag. Still, it's certainly warm enough for this time of year," Jordan told him.

"I should have brought my book, so you could read me a bedtime story before we go to sleep," said Charlie.

"I'm sure you'll manage without for once. Or I could tell you a story about a boy who had two cheeky little brothers, and when they wouldn't go to sleep he had to spank them until they were too sore to stay awake."

"And then one day the two younger brothers rebelled and spanked the nasty bullying big brother so hard that he couldn't sleep for a month," said Jeremy.

"Try it and see what happens."

"No, I can't be bothered right now. Maybe tomorrow."

"And maybe not. Let's just go to sleep."

But an hour or so later he was woken up by a terrific thunderstorm: the rain was beating on the canvas and there were occasional flashes of lightning and cracks of thunder. Jordan didn't mind thunderstorms, but he wondered if Charlie would be scared. But Charlie just lay on his back looking completely unconcerned.

"This feels really good," he said. "It's raining really hard out there, but we're cosy and warm and dry. I don't think I'd like it quite so much if I was on my own, but with you two here it feels good."

"What do you think, Jeremy?" asked Jordan, but somehow Jeremy was still asleep: the thunder hadn't woken him up at all.

"That proves how much he trusts us," said Charlie. "If he can relax enough to sleep through all that noise he must be really sure we'll look after him."

"Well, he's right, but he must be deaf, as well as relaxed. I don't see how anyone could sleep thorough all that racket."

They lay together listening to the rain on the canvas. Charlie snuggled up close and put his arm round Jordan's shoulders, and soon he was asleep again. It took Jordan a little longer to drop off, but eventually, with the storm dying away, he too fell asleep.

He was woken up the following morning by Jeremy tickling him, though as soon as Jordan opened his eyes Jeremy immediately stopped and tried to look angelically innocent. Jordan thought about starting a wrestling match, but he decided that it could wait, so instead he rolled over onto his back. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining – at least, it seemed pretty bright outside to judge from the roof of the tent.

"So, what are we going to do today?" Jeremy asked him.

"Apart from beating you up, you mean?

"Apart from you wasting your time trying to catch me, yes."

"Well… I think maybe we should teach Charlie a bit more about sex."

"Goodee!" said Charlie, who was obviously also wide awake. "What am I going to learn?"

"We'll show you once we get indoors. There's a bit more room in my bedroom than there is here."

So once they had eaten breakfast and Jordan's mother had left to go shopping they went up to Jordan's bedroom and got undressed once more.

"So, what are you going to teach me?" Charlie asked again.

"Well, you remember last time, how I told you a bit about fucking? Well, me and Jeremy have tried it a couple of times, and we've found that it doesn't hurt – in fact, it feels really nice. And we thought maybe you'd like to find out what it's like."

"Oh. Well… I'm not sure if I do," said Charlie, doubtfully.

"Obviously you don't have to if you don't want, but… well, we like it, and we thought it would be nice to share what it feels like with you."

"Well… okay, then. But you have to stop if I tell you to. So which of you is going to… you know… do it?"

"We thought perhaps you'd prefer Jeremy first, because he's not quite as big as me, and obviously he's your best friend, so it should be him really."

"Okay, then. What do I have to do?"

"Well, you kneel down over the edge of the bed. We'll need to get you ready first…"

Jordan got out his tissues and his Vaseline, and once Charlie was in position he started running his finger gently round Charlie's hole, then very carefully penetrating it a little, then pushing it as far in as it would go. Charlie didn't mind any of this and in fact he said it felt quite nice, though when Jordan added a second finger it did hurt a bit and he said so. So Jordan withdrew it and kept working with one finger for a bit longer, and only when he was sure Charlie was ready did he try the second finger once more. And this time Charlie said it didn't hurt so much.

Eventually Jordan thought he was ready, so he applied a little more Vaseline and told Jeremy to try doing it for real – and once it was inside Charlie said it didn't hurt at all.

Jeremy fucked him steadily for five or six minutes before reaching his orgasm, and once it was over he withdrew.

"That was okay," said Charlie. "I quite liked it – and it's made me go hard, look. Can you do it for a bit longer?"

"Sorry. I'll need to wait for a bit before I can do it again. But I expect Jordan could take over, if you like."

Charlie looked Jordan's erection a little doubtfully.

"Well… I suppose so, if he's careful," he said.

"Brilliant!" said Jordan, reaching for the Vaseline and starting to rub some onto his penis.

Jeremy took a couple of tissues and wiped himself, and then nipped to the toilet, telling them to wait until he got back, and when he did he found Jordan carefully anointing Charlie's bum with the lubricant.

"Can we try doing this a bit differently?" Jeremy asked. "Suppose I lie on my back, and Charlie lies on top of me facing me, and then Jordan can lie on top of Charlie and do it to him. That way I can hold Charlie and make sure he's okay while it's happening."

"Okay," said Jordan. "We can try it like that if you like."

So Jeremy lay on his back on the bed, and Charlie lay down on top of him, facing him. For a moment he seemed a little nervous about having Jeremy's penis touching his balls, but then he remembered that he would be having a bath straight after this, and after that he was able to relax.

Jordan got him to spread his legs, so that his knees were on either side of Jeremy's thighs, and then he rubbed a little more Vaseline onto Charlie's entrance and got onto the bed himself. It was hard to get into position at first, but after a bit of manoeuvring he managed to get where he needed to be.

"Okay, Charlie, try to push back a bit, as if you were trying to have a shit," he said.

Charlie got the idea, and Jordan pushed, and Charlie let out a sort of muffled squeak.

"Okay?" asked Jordan, pausing.

"Yes – you're just a bit bigger than Jeremy, that's all. Carry on."

So Jordan carried on, and eventually it was all the way in and he was able to start moving.

"Oh, wow!" said Charlie, as Jordan's penis began to massage his prostate. "That feels really nice!"

"What about you, Jeremy – we're not too heavy, are we?"

Jeremy shook his head. "Charlie's pretty light, and anyway, I'm super-strong."

"Yeah, right. That's why I always win our fights."

"Only because I let you."

"Maybe we'll see later on. Charlie, you're not getting too squashed, are you?"

"No, it feels sort of cosy. It's nice having you on both sides of me."

"We're a Charlie sandwich," said Jeremy, which made Jordan laugh so much that his penis slipped out and he had to go through the business of getting it in once more.

He got back into his rhythm, and soon Charlie was wriggling about.

"I'm getting that funny feeling again," he said. "Like last time, when I thought I was going to pee but didn't."

"You'd better not, not while I'm underneath you," said Jeremy.

"You'd better be nice to me, then," said Charlie.

His wriggling about and gasping got more pronounced, and suddenly he gave a cry and stopped moving. Jordan kept thrusting, but slowly, wanting Charlie to get the most out of this, and only when he felt Charlie relax beneath him did he speed up again.

"Is it okay if I keep going?" he asked, pausing. "I mean, if it feels uncomfortable now it's happened to you, I'll stop."

"No, it's okay. It still feels nice."

"Great! Thanks, Charlie." And Jordan started up again, keeping going steadily until he felt the moment approaching. He slowed down a little, wanting to make it last, but soon he couldn't hold it back any longer.

Charlie gave a gasp as Jordan's last couple of thrusts were harder and deeper than most of what had gone before – and then it was over, and Jordan relaxed on top of him, breathing heavily.

"You can do it some more if you want," Charlie told him. "It still feels nice – in fact, I think if you do it a little bit more I'll get that weird feeling again."

"Sorry, Charlie," said Jordan, pushing himself up and out. "I can't do it any more. But maybe Jeremy could rub it for you while I get cleaned up."

Jeremy thought that was a good idea, and so he rolled Charlie off him, pushed him onto his back and started to rub the little penis. Jordan wiped himself down and went to the bathroom for a pee, after which he started running the bath.

He got back just as Charlie was experiencing another orgasm, giving a series of little high cries as it happened to him.

"Okay," he said when it was over, "it's bath time. Youngest first – come on, Charlie."

They followed him into the bathroom. Charlie had a pee first, letting Jeremy wipe his penis afterwards, and then got into the bath and let them wash him thoroughly, making sure that his bottom in particular was clean. Then, while Jordan was drying Charlie off, Jeremy got into the bath and just sat there.

"Come on, big brother," he said. "You're supposed to be washing me, too."

So Jordan washed him, making sure he was suitably rough around Jeremy's sensitive areas, but Jeremy didn't seem to mind at all, continuing to insult Jordan throughout, no matter how sharply Jordan twisted his erection.

Finally Jordan ran a little more hot water and got into the bath himself, and that of course gave Jeremy a chance for revenge, though he did make sure Jordan was thoroughly washed at the same time.

When Jordan's mother got home from the shops she found them all wearing clean clothes and looking sweet and innocent, playing Monopoly round the dining room table. Appearances can be so deceptive…

Okay, so everything in Jordan's world is sweetness and light. But after this side expedition into the world of happy, consensual activity we need to return to the main thread of the narrative, and that means that we'll have to get back to David, who is about to discover that Dhif isn't going to let him off after all. On the contrary…

Chapter Twenty-Two

Okay, back to the Rat. In this chapter he finds himself sharing his mattress in the attic in rather unexpected circumstances and he makes a decision about what to do regarding his relationship with Michael. And then something else happens that completely changes the way he views his future – if he still has one…

It was Friday June 24^th, and the end of term was almost in sight: another three and a half weeks, and school would be over. David didn't know what he would be doing during the summer holidays, of course: he supposed it would depend on what the Devlins had planned. But he imagined that they would be going away on holiday at some point, and since Mrs Devlin couldn't leave him at home on his own she would have to make some arrangements for him.

That might mean sending him to London to stay with his mother for a week or two, he thought. That might be okay – he was sure his mother would be too busy to spend a lot of time with him, but it would be nice to be able to ride round the London Underground on his own for a couple of weeks, visiting the tourist attractions and generally doing whatever he felt like. And it would also give him a chance to tell his mother how he had been treated since she left.

He thought about that. He didn't think he'd complain quite so much as he would have done at Easter, because to be honest his situation at home was a lot better than it had been then: now he had a bed to sleep in, and Tim allowed him to watch TV once his homework was finished, and he'd got used to sharing in the household duties. But, still… maybe Mrs Devlin would prefer to keep him away from his mother, just in case he started talking out of turn.

So, what were the alternatives? Maybe they would make him go on holiday with them. He thought he could probably cope with that: he was getting on fairly well with Tim, Molly didn't tease him half as much now when she was bathing him, and Joe… Joe had almost become a friend. No, that was stretching it: not a friend, more like a real brother whom you get on okay with most of the time but occasionally get into fights and arguments with. But he thought going on holiday with them might not be too bad.

Or… maybe he could ask if he could stay with Michael while the Devlins were away. He was sure the Devlin boys would have no objection to that, and he thought he would quite enjoy spending a week or two with Michael – as long as Michael didn't try to make him do anything he shouldn't. Except maybe even that wouldn't be so bad…

"Stop that!" he told himself. He had to face it: even though his punishments were now over (unless Dhif decided to do something after all, which was looking less and less likely as the term went by), he was still looking at Michael in a way that a decent, well-brought up, normal boy wouldn't. It was getting harder and harder not to succumb to his perverted feelings. Perhaps being with Michael every day for two weeks wouldn't be such a good idea after all…

After school he walked round to the Devlins' house to get ready for cubs, and once he and Joe were changed they walked round to the school as usual. Since the half-term camp things had been different: the whole pack was now friendly, treating him like a proper member (which, of course, he now was, in their eyes at least). Jason, Tommy and Pete always came and said hello when he arrived, and nobody teased him or laughed at him at all. He actually looked forward to the meetings.

And the Red Six gatherings at the Devlins' house afterwards had gone well, too: since the camp he hadn't been made to strip, or to suck, and nobody had wanted to fuck him. They'd had a few rough-and-tumble fights, which of course he always lost, but although he'd been teased for that it was always in a friendly way: the boys' initial hostility had almost disappeared. Only Roger still tried to needle him about his immaturity, but even he was okay most of the time.

But this evening turned out to be a little different. Once they got back to the house he was ordered to go and get undressed and then wait in the bedroom, and once he'd been sitting there naked for a couple of minutes Joe came in and used David's neckerchief to blindfold him. Then he led him carefully back downstairs.

David was feeling nervous by the time they got back into the living room: he was afraid the 'old' Reds were about to reappear and subject him to another night of sex and beatings. But when Joe took off his blindfold he saw the rest of his six grinning at him, and on the table in front of them were some cakes and buns, a couple of bottles of Coke – and a birthday cake.

"Happy birthday, Gerbil," said Benedict. "Okay, I know it isn't your birthday until tomorrow, but we thought we'd have a little party for you tonight."

David stared at him.

"How did you know it's my birthday tomorrow?" he asked.

"You told us, remember? That first evening after we stripped you off for the first time, Joe made you admit to us that you were nearly fifteen, and then he asked you when your birthday was. And you said June 25^th. So we got you a cake."

"There is one little snag," said Joe. "We haven't made you do any sex stuff with us since camp, because we reckoned you'd deserved some time off. But tonight we want to feel nice to help you celebrate, so you're going to have to give us that nice feeling. You won't be allowed any cake until you've done that.

"You don't have to do anything for me or Roger, but the other four need to feel nice. So it's up to you: you can suck them all, or let them fuck you, or you can do two at a time, which will mean you get to the cake that much faster. So, you decide: how do you want to do it?"

"I don't want to do it at all, to be honest."

"Well, obviously you don't. You're not a pervert, Gerbil, we know that. But if you do it tonight we won't make you do it again at all – at least, not until we go on the summer camp. For the rest of term you'll be a proper member of the six, and we won't even make you undress again. That seems fair to me, especially considering what you were like when you started here."

"Well… I suppose if it's up to me I'd prefer to suck to… having the other thing done."

"Okay. So – this time we'll do it in alphabetical order. You can start with Benny, then George…"

"F comes before G," protested Philip.

"Yes, but your real name is Philip, not Flip. So, Benny, George, Mike, Philip. Off you go, Gerbil: the sooner you start, the sooner you get to the cake. We're going to start the party without you, but I promise we'll leave you plenty. And we won't touch the birthday cake until you're ready to blow out the candles."

So Benedict undressed and David knelt in front of the armchair and got on with it. He was getting used to this by now: it no longer filled him with quite the same level of disgust as it had at first, though of course it helped that none of these boys had any sperm yet.

Benny finished quite quickly, and George took his place, taunting him and pulling his hair to make him do it properly. Mike just sat there and let him get on with it, and Flip actually held his head gently and stroked his hair while it was happening to him, which almost felt nice – at least, compared to the treatment George had given him, it did.

When he had finished with Flip he stood up – and was promptly grabbed by the entire six, who gave him the bumps, fifteen of them, followed by one for luck. At least they did it on the rug, so it wasn't quite as painful as it would have been on the wooden floor.

"That's it," said Joe. "Now come and blow your candles out."

Roger lit the little candles on the cake with a pocket lighter and David took a deep breath and blew them all out in one go.

"Now you can make a wish," Benedict told him.

"But if you wish anything nasty about us it won't work," added Roger. "We bought the cake, so it can't be used against us."

David wasn't really sure what to wish for. He'd have liked to have his old life back, but that didn't seem likely. And he needed to sort out his thinking about… well, things. Michael, mostly. But he didn't think that was likely while he was stuck here, seeing him every day – every time he thought he was getting his head back together Michael would smile at him again and his thinking would collapse into chaos again. What he really needed…

"I wish," he said, under his breath, "for a nice long holiday away from all this, away from Michael, away from the Devlins, and away from Cheltenham. Maybe then I'll get a chance to think straight and get rid of all these disgusting thoughts. Somewhere warm and sunny would be nice."

"Okay," he said. "Now I suppose I should cut the cake."

So he did, and everyone took a slice, and David grabbed a couple of buns that hadn't yet been claimed, and a glass of Coke, and sat on the sofa next to Benedict and Mike and started to eat.

"You can go and get dressed if you want," Joe told him.

"There's not much point: you lot all know what I look like by now. And if I leave the room, Roger will probably steal my piece of the cake."

"I could do that anyway if I wanted," Roger reminded him. "We know I can make you submit inside five seconds."

"That's true," David admitted. "Besides, there's still some cake left, so you don't need to steal my bit. But somehow I don't care about you lot looking at me so much now."

"We can't see it properly without magnifying glasses, anyway," said Joe.

"That's true, but you'd better make the most of laughing at me: now I'm fifteen it's sure to start growing soon. By this time next year I'll probably be bigger than all of you – except Benny, of course, but he's just a freak."

"Jealous!" said Benedict, elbowing him in the ribs and making him spill his Coke in his lap.

"See, it's a good thing I didn't get dressed," said David, standing up to stop it dripping onto the sofa.

One by one the boys said goodnight and went home, until just Joe, Roger and David were left.

"Roger's coming home to spend the night," said Joe, answering David's unspoken question. "That's why you didn't have to suck him earlier: you can do it when we get home."

"Oh," said David, unenthusiastically: if he had been able to choose which of the six to spend an evening with, Roger's name would have been at the bottom of the list.

They tidied up, and then David got dressed and Joe got changed back into his school uniform and they went to catch the bus home. Roger hadn't seen David's house before, of course, and it was obvious that he was impressed.

"Bloody hell, Joe, I never thought you'd get to live in a huge place like this," he said. "I bet you've got your own bedroom here, too."

"No, actually I share one with Gerbil, as long as he behaves. If he doesn't I can make him go back to the attic again."

"Attic?"

"Yes, we'll show you later."

They went to the kitchen, where Mrs Devlin had some supper for them (and of course none of them told her about the birthday party and the food they had already eaten) and then went and watched TV until it was Joe's bedtime. Then the three of them went up to Joe's room. Molly was watching TV and as they left the room she said, "I'll be up in a minute, Gerbil, okay?"

"What's she talking about?" Roger asked.

"Oh, Molly's in charge of Gerbil's wardrobe, and she has to make sure he has a proper wash and brushes his teeth. He can't be trusted to do it on his own. You'll see what I mean in a minute."

They reached Joe's room.

"That's my bed," said Joe, pointing, "and that's Gerbil's."

"So where am I going to sleep?" asked Roger.

"Well, you could sleep on the floor. But it would be better if we send Gerbil back up to his attic," and Joe indicated the ladder in the corner.

Roger climbed it far enough to stick his head into the attic.

"What, you mean he had to sleep up there?"

"Yes. Once he was up there we turned his light out so that he had to go straight to sleep, and we bolted the hatch and took the ladder away, too, so that he couldn't get out."

"Wow! What if he needed a pee in the night?"

"There's a potty up there just in case. Of course, he'd have had to find it by touch, but he'd have managed, because if he peed on the floor by mistake we'd have whipped him for it."

"Blimey… you know, I think it would be sort of exciting to sleep up there."

"Maybe for an odd night, if the light was available and the hatch wasn't bolted," said David. "But when you're up there in the dark and you know you can't get out it really isn't fun at all."

"Well, that's where you're going tonight," said Joe. "Though… maybe if we pushed the beds together we could all sleep in them."

"That'd be fun," said Roger. "Then we could take it in turns to fuck him all night long."

Molly put her head round the door. "Come on, Gerbil," she said. "Let's get you ready for bed."

"Come and watch this," said Joe to Roger. "This is what happens to Gerbil every night. And we'll put him in the attic afterwards, so you can see how he had to go to bed when we first moved in."

David followed Molly through to her room with Joe and Roger following. He undressed, handing her all his clothes, and she put his school uniform away in the wardrobe and then took him to the bathroom, dropping his shirt, socks and pants in the laundry basket on the way past.

"You'd better make sure he washes his balls," Joe advised his sister. "He spilled Coke in his lap earlier."

"Okay. So, do you need the toilet, Gerbil?"

David nodded and went to the toilet. Molly stayed by the washbasin, as she usually did these days, but Joe and Roger came and stood each side of him, staring at him and giggling as he urinated. Then they watched as Molly supervised his washing, including a proper application of a soapy flannel to his groin area.

"You'd better have a bath in the morning," she said. "We don't want your little wee-wee getting all sticky, do we?"

David didn't answer that. Instead he finished washing, brushed his teeth and led the two boys back to Joe's bedroom. Joe closed the door behind them.

"Oh, my God, how embarrassing!" gasped Roger, as soon as the door was closed. "You mean, he has to strip naked in front of your sister every single day – and even pee in front of her? I'd die of shame if a girl saw me doing that."

"I think Gerbil nearly did the first couple of times," said Joe. "Now let's put him to bed, so you can see how it used to work before I let him come and sleep down here. Up you go, Gerbil."

So David climbed up the ladder to the attic and lay down on the mattress.

"Doesn't he get any pyjamas?" asked Roger.

"Of course not! He's got nothing worth hiding, so he doesn't need any. Now we'll go and shut the hatch, so Roger can see what it feels like from my point of view. We'll come and let you out in a couple of minutes – if we decide we're all going to sleep down in my room, of course."

He turned and went back to the hatch.

"Hang on," said Roger. "What does he need a table for?"

"Oh, that's for when we whip him," said Joe. "We tie him to it and beat him with the riding crop. He has to be tied down because it hurts really badly. We usually take the table down into the bedroom for that – we just keep it up here so it's out of the way."

"Bloody hell!"

Joe and Roger went back down the ladder, Joe stopping to bolt the hatch on the way. Then he took away the ladder and laid it on the floor beside David's bed. Finally he went to the wall socket where the lead from the attic light was plugged in and switched it off.

"Now his light doesn't work, so he's stuck in the dark until I go and wake him up in the morning," he explained. "I always used to make him come straight down here as soon as he woke up, because most mornings he wakes up with an erection, and he looks really funny – it's hardly any bigger than it is normally, and he gets all embarrassed about it. I don't do that now that he sleeps down here, though."

"And did you really tie him to that table and whip him?"

"We only did it a couple of times when he was really stroppy, soon after we moved in. He's been pretty well-behaved since. But I've still got the whip, just in case." And Joe went to his wardrobe and produced the riding-crop.

Roger didn't say anything, so Joe went and switched the attic light back on, and then put the ladder back into position, climbed up it and opened the hatch.

"Okay, Gerbil, you can come down," he said.

David climbed back down the ladder.

"So, are we going to push the beds together, or is one of you going to sleep on the floor?" asked Joe.

"No," said Roger. "I still think it might be sort of fun to sleep in the attic. I'd like to find out what it was like for Gerbil. Let's pretend that I'm Gerbil's brother, or something, and that I've been behaving badly, too. So you have to punish me and make me sleep up there in the dark. Of course, he'll have to sleep up there with me, so I can make him suck all night if I want…"

David didn't like that idea at all: he wasn't worried about having to sleep with Roger as long as Joe was with them, because by now he was sure he could trust Joe to keep his friend in check. But being locked into the attic with him was a completely different situation.

"I don't think that's fair," he said. "I've been really good lately, and I shouldn't be punished just because he's been bad – even if he is pretending to be my brother."

"I don't know, I reckon it could be sort of funny, having two bad boys to punish," said Joe. "Okay, Roger: what exactly do you think I should do to you?"

"You should treat me just like Gerbil – except that I'm not stripping off in front of your sister, or letting her watch me using the toilet. But apart from that you should treat me the way you did him when he was bad. Maybe you should even beat me – I'd sort of like to know what that feels like."

"No you wouldn't," David told him. "It hurts like mad. You'd hate it."

"I can take it," said Roger. "I'm not a wimp like you."

"Okay," said Joe, who thought this might be entertaining. "From now on you're Gerbil's naughty brother. Gerbil, go up to the attic and bring the table down. Roger, get your clothes off."

So David went and brought the table down into the bedroom, with a bit of help from Joe, and Roger took everything off and piled his clothes on the chest of drawers.

"Right, then," said Joe. "First you need to go to the bathroom and clean your teeth. Gerbil, pop outside and make sure Molly's gone back downstairs."

David checked and found that Molly was nowhere in sight, so he went and reported this to Joe.

"Gerbil can wait here," said Roger. "I don't want him staring at me."

"No, the whole point about this is that it's supposed to make you a bit embarrassed," said Joe. "That's why Molly does it for him. It won't embarrass you if I come, because I've seen you naked loads of times, but if Gerbil watches you it'll make you feel a bit like he does with Molly. So he's coming."

So David went and stood beside Roger while he was urinating, and he was glad to see that Roger obviously wasn't happy about being watched. Now you know how I feel, thought David.

Roger cleaned his teeth and they went back to the bedroom, where Roger lay down over the table.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Joe, getting out the short lengths of rope they had used to tie David down.

"Yes, I want you to do it properly. It won't bother me: I'm not a little baby, like some people we know." And he grinned at David.

So Joe tied him down firmly and picked up the riding crop.

"How many are you getting?" he asked.

"How many did you give Gerbil?"

"Six each."

"Then that's what I'm having."

"Fair enough," said Joe, and he handed the riding crop to David. "You can go first, Gerbil. Give him six good ones, as hard as you can."

Brilliant, thought David, looking at Roger's fat bum. He's been riding me since I joined the cubs, so now it's payback time. And he drew his arm back… and paused.

"Go on," said Joe. "This is your chance."

A month ago David wouldn't have hesitated for a moment: he'd have lashed Roger's arse as hard as he could. But he knew what it felt like, and Roger had absolutely no idea of what he had laid himself open to – and, however much Roger had teased him and taunted him, it wasn't enough to deserve this.

"I can't," he said, lowering the whip.

"Why not?" asked Joe.

"Because I know what it feels like, and this is only a game. He hasn't done anything to deserve this."

"Oh, come on! He bullies you all the time at cubs!"

"No, he doesn't, not really. He teases me, yes, and occasionally he pushes me about, but it doesn't deserve a proper whipping."

"Give me the riding crop, then," said Joe.

"Look, Roger, you don't have to do this," said David. "It's going to hurt – you have no idea how much. Just tell him to forget it and untie you."

"I told you, I can take it," said Roger. "Go on, Joe – and do it properly, like you did to Gerbil."

"Okay, but once I start I'm not going to stop until you've had all six of mine. And if Gerbil still doesn't want his turn then I'll have to give you his six myself, too."

"Yes, okay, just get on with it."

So Joe drew back his arm and delivered a full-strength blow, and Roger shrieked and convulsed: nothing had prepared him for this. He had expected it to feel like a light swat on the buttocks, but this felt like a red-hot wire biting into him.

Joe hit him again, and Roger began to beg him to stop, but Joe just delivered a third blow. Roger's pleas increased in volume.

"Come on, Joe, now he knows what it's like you can stop," said David. He felt strange: he'd expected to enjoy watching Roger suffering, but instead it made him feel uncomfortable, in the same way that thinking about what had happened to Osterley made him feel uneasy now. He had no reason to like Roger, but watching another boy suffering what he had gone through himself just made him feel sorry for the victim.

But Joe was having fun, even though Roger was his friend – perhaps, David thought, Roger sometimes pushed Joe about when they were alone together. But, whatever the reason, Joe delivered two more stinging blows, and Roger's howls got even louder.

"This was your idea, remember," said Joe, drawing back his arm yet again. "We both offered you a chance to change your mind, but no, you wanted to show us how hard you are. So, how hard do you feel now?" And he landed a sixth blow, as hard as he could manage.

"That's enough," said David, grabbing his arm. "Come on, Joe, this isn't right. It's only a game. And you're not a bully – when you whipped me it was because I deserved it. Roger doesn't."

"He whipped you for the film, remember?"

"Yes, but… look, that doesn't matter. Come on, Joe, let him go – please?"

Joe looked at him and seemed to come to his senses. "Okay, Gerbil – you're right, he doesn't deserve it. But… when you've got someone helpless like this and there's a whip in your hand you sort of lose control a bit, I think."

He put down the whip and untied Roger's wrists and ankles, but he still wanted to carry on with the game.

"Now get yourselves up into the attic, both of you," he said. "The light goes out in one minute, and if you're still making a noise after that you'll both get beaten in the morning."

David wasn't sure if he meant that or not, but he went straight up the ladder just in case, and helped Roger, who was having trouble moving, up into the attic after him. The hatch closed behind them and David heard the bolt slide into place.

"Come on," he said, helping Roger as far as the mattress. "Lie down on your side – it'll hurt if you try lying on your back."

He lay down beside the sobbing boy and pulled the sleeping bag over them, and a few seconds later the light went out and they were plunged into darkness. Gradually Roger's sobs subsided.

"I bet you wish you'd never suggested this now," said David.

Roger still seemed unable to speak. David still felt really sympathetic, remembering how he had felt lying here on his own in the dark after being beaten, so he wriggled a bit closer and put his arm round Roger's shoulders.

"It'll be okay," he said. "It stops hurting soon, I promise."

Roger put his own arm round David's waist and sobbed against his shoulder for a couple of minutes, and then he sniffed.

"Thanks," he said. "For trying to warn me, I mean. I should have listened. But I don't understand why you didn't beat me yourself. I'd have thought you'd have enjoyed doing that."

"Not really. I might have spanked you, I suppose, to make up for you pushing me about at cubs, but a proper whipping like that would have been too much. I've sort of found out lately that doing stuff to people who don't deserve it makes you feel bad in the end."

"Well… okay, thanks. And I'm sorry I pushed you about. I won't do it any more."

"Does that mean you're not going to make me suck all night, then?"

"I did say that, didn't I? Well… not right away, anyway. I don't feel like it."

"Good. Then let's try going to sleep instead."

He woke up next morning to find Roger asleep beside him and Joe standing over them: he had just pulled the sleeping bag away.

"Come on, it's time to get up," said Joe. "Look at you, you dirty boys – you're both stiff. I'll have to punish you for that. Get down to the bedroom."

David didn't argue: he just went straight down to the bedroom and waited. Roger and Joe followed a minute or so later, and Joe was right: Roger did have an erection.

"Look, Joe, can we stop playing this game now?" Roger asked.

"In about half an hour," said Joe. "You have to see what Gerbil's Saturday mornings are like first. How's your bum? It's got some interesting patterns on, hasn't it, Gerbil?"

David looked at the red lines across Roger's buttocks. He knew from experience that it wouldn't be hurting anything like so much now, but that if he was beaten again in the next day or so it would feel ten times worse than it had the first time.

"It's okay," said Roger, trying to hold his hands over his groin. "Can I get dressed now?"

"Not yet. First I think Gerbil needs a nice Saturday morning fuck. Go and kneel beside my bed."

David did so unenthusiastically, and Joe picked up his jar of hand cream, applied some to himself and pushed his way inside. He took it fairly slowly, though, and when David saw the clock beside the bed he understood why: it was only half-past six. Nobody else in the house would be up for another hour or so.

Roger came and sat down gingerly on the bed beside them so that he could watch, and slowly Joe went on thrusting against David's bum – and once again it was starting to have an effect: David's erection, which had gone down once he was properly awake, was back, and he was starting to feel a pleasurable warmth in his groin. Fortunately Joe reached his orgasm before David could suffer the ultimate disgrace of being brought to climax through being fucked by a boy who still wasn't yet ten years old, but he was sure that if it had gone on for another thirty seconds or so it would have happened to him again. And the worst of it was, he felt disappointed: he'd actually wanted an orgasm, even like this.

"My turn," said Roger, as Joe withdrew and reached for the tissues.

"No, it isn't," said Joe. "You're still being punished. And, besides, your cock's too small."

"No, it isn't!"

"Yes, it is. You've got the smallest one in the six, apart from Gerbil. Isn't that true, Gerbil?"

"I'm bigger than Flip!" protested Roger.

"Well… I don't think you are, to be honest," said David. "You're about the same length, but his is thicker than yours."

"See?" said Joe. "You've got a little one, Roger, just like Gerbil, even though you are the oldest boy in the six after Benny."

"You've got big balls, though," said David. "They're even bigger than Benny's."

"Big balls and tiny cock," said Joe, grinning at him. "So you can't fuck Gerbil."

"Okay, then he can suck me!"

"Not today, he can't. Today I should make you suck him."

"Fuck, no!" shouted Roger. "I'm not a queer, Joe – I'm not doing that. I'm not playing this game any more."

"Gerbil's not a queer, either, but we make him suck all the time. Being forced to do something doesn't mean you like doing it. But I wouldn't make you do that really. That would be even worse than whipping you. Okay, we can stop playing this game now if you want. So, you're not Gerbil's brother any more."

"In that case he can suck me, can't he?"

"I suppose so. But do you think you should make him, seeing the way he stuck up for you last night?"

"Well… I suppose not," admitted Roger.

"Good. In that case… it's still a bit too early to get up, so we might as well go back to bed for a bit. Roger, you can have Gerbil's bed; Gerbil, you can share with me."

So they got into bed and Joe turned the light out. After a few minutes Roger seemed to go back to sleep, to judge from the steady breathing that wasn't quite a snore.

"Are you okay?" asked Joe. "He didn't do anything to you up there, did he?"

"No."

"Good. I thought he'd be too sore… see, Gerbil, it just proves what I keep saying about how much you've changed. You'd never have stuck up for Roger when you first joined the cubs."

"I suppose you're right. So, do you like the changed me more than the old one?"

"Of course I do. The old you was horrible – you were a nasty, rude, stuck-up little bastard who only thought about yourself. I like the new you a lot. You're much nicer now."

"Liking me doesn't stop you fucking me, though."

"Well, of course not – that feels brilliant, and I don't want to give that up. But I do it gently now, don't I? I was being careful not to hurt you just now. And I won't do it too often, just at the weekends, perhaps – and if you really, really hate it and don't want me to… Well, perhaps I'll just let you suck it instead."

David didn't answer that, because he knew that actually being fucked was starting to feel better than having to suck. But he thought he couldn't possibly admit it without sounding like a total pervert, so he said nothing.

Joe reached down and took hold of David's little penis, caressing it until it was stiff.

"I'm going to make you feel good," he said, starting to rub it slowly. "I know you said you didn't want me to do this, but I think you deserve a nice feeling this morning – it is your birthday, after all. And if you close your eyes you can pretend it's someone else doing it instead – a girl, maybe."

David didn't think arguing would do any good, so he let Joe get on with it. But he was unable to imagine a girl doing this to him – in fact, when he tried to think about someone other than Joe touching him like this, the first person who came to mind was Michael. And he knew it was disgusting to imagine being wanked by a boy, but he couldn't shake the image off. And as Joe continued to rub him steadily he kept imagining Michael doing it instead: he could almost see Michael's smiling face, with its liberal splash of freckles across his nose and that shining red hair, leaning across as he played with David's hard little cock… and David bucked and gasped in orgasm, desperately trying to wrench himself free of a horrible, twisted, irredeemably queer vision of Michael actually kissing him as he climaxed.

"Nice?" asked Joe, bringing him back to earth.

"Yes," he managed to say. "Thanks, Joe."

Joe let go and settled down to sleep, while David lay awake next to him wondering what was happening to him: how could he possibly imagine letting Michael masturbate him – and as for kissing him… My God, he thought, that idea really is sick. But somehow he couldn't shake it off…

***

He almost told Michael he wouldn't be able to go home with him after school on Monday, but in the end he succumbed to temptation and went. After all, he told himself, there's no danger of him really wanting to wank me – or kiss me, come to that. They did their homework together as usual – there wasn't much, now that the end of the summer term was only three weeks away – and then sat down to watch television together as usual. But David found himself constantly wanting to look at his friend, and when they went up to bed he couldn't take his eyes off Michael's body while his friend was changing into his shorts.

Michael didn't seem to notice, just getting into bed beside him and turning the light off as usual, but tonight David wriggled close to him and put his arm round him.

"Thanks," he said. "For being a good friend, I mean. You've been brilliant about letting me keep coming round here, even though sharing the bed with me must be difficult."

"I don't mind there not being a lot of room," said Michael. "As long as we both manage to sleep, that's all that really matters."

"I didn't just mean that. I know how much you liked it when we… when … you know, when we… had sex that time, and I know you've wanted to do it again. But you've never tried to talk me into it or anything like that: every night you just say 'Goodnight' and go to sleep, even though it must be frustrating for you to be lying right beside me."

"Well… okay, if I'm honest, that's true. Sometimes just having you so close has given me erections, and I've wanted to try doing it again… but I know you don't really want to. And I don't mind, honestly: it would be nice if we could do it again, sure, but I'm happy with us just being friends. I'd never make you do something you didn't want, you know that."

"I know. But… well…"

David had been thinking about this since Saturday morning, when he'd caught himself fantasising about Michael while Joe was wanking him, and he'd decided that the best thing to do would be to try to get this perverted idea out of his system once and for all. He thought the best way to do that would be to try it again, because he was sure that only then would he truly realise how sick the whole concept was: once it had happened again he'd realise that he hadn't actually enjoyed it the first time at all, it had simply been his brain playing tricks on him. Once he'd had a proper chance to experience how disgusting it was, he was sure he'd be able to forget about it completely and just settle back into a nice, normal, straight existence.

"I've been thinking," he went on. "Maybe we should do it one more time, so we can be sure we realise what's happening to us. So, if you still want to, perhaps we can do it again next time I'm here, on Wednesday. What do you think?"

"Bloody hell, yes! But… are you sure, David? I mean, I'd love to be able to do that with you again, but only if you're sure it's what you want."

"I want to do it again. Just once more, just… to be sure…"

"Wow, thanks, David!" said Michael, hugging him fiercely. "I swear I'll be really gentle: I want you to enjoy it as much as you can, too…"

"Okay," said David, who sincerely hoped he wouldn't enjoy it at all, since then he would know he was finally free of these awful, filthy feelings. "We'll do it on Wednesday, then."

He wondered if he was fooling himself: after all, lying close to Michael like this with their arms round each other felt really nice, despite him knowing in his head that boys shouldn't do this sort of thing together. He wondered if being fucked again would really get it out of his system, or if instead it might confuse him even more: he didn't know what he would do if he found that he actually enjoyed it. But he felt that he simply had to try, as otherwise his head seemed likely to remain messed up for ever.

***

After school on Tuesday David headed for the bus stop as usual, not thinking about anything in particular: now that he'd decided to have sex again with Michael the following night he'd just put the whole concept of sex out of his head for the time being: he'd worry about it after tomorrow night, he thought. He still hadn't talked about the summer holidays with Mrs Devlin, but he thought that maybe if he could get Michael properly out of his system the following evening he would ask her if he could go on holiday with her and the children this year. The idea of a holiday with Joe – and even with Tim and Molly – was starting to look quite attractive.

He was still thinking idly about this when a car pulled into the kerb a few yards ahead of him and Brahim Dhif got out of the back door.

"Come here, Rat," said Dhif. "It's time."

"Huh?" said David, shaken out of his reverie. "Time for what?"

"Your punishment. Get in the car so I can talk to you in private."

He hadn't been expecting any punishment at this late stage… but perhaps Dhif just wanted to explain that there wasn't going to be a punishment. So David got into the car, and found himself sitting next to a tall, light-brown skinned individual. He knew it wasn't Dhif's father, because he had met him, and he wondered who it was – and there was another man behind the steering wheel, so this wasn't exactly his idea of 'in private'.

"It's okay," said Dhif, getting in beside him and closing the door. "They don't speak English." He said something in a foreign language, which David thought was probably Arabic – it certainly wasn't any European language he had ever heard – and the driver put the car in gear and drove off.

"Take off your blazer," said Dhif.

"What for?"

"Just do it. You're supposed to do what I tell you, remember?"

Shrugging, David removed his blazer – and Dhif grabbed him and said something else in Arabic, and the man next to him grabbed his right arm, pulled the sleeve up, ripping the button off in the process, and then produced a hypodermic syringe.

"What the hell…" began David, but that was as far as he got before whatever was in the syringe did its job and he passed out.

***

Jordan had been a short distance behind David when the car had pulled up – in fact he'd been trying to catch up. He hadn't had a chance to speak to David lately and he wanted to see if everything was okay with him. He recognised Dhif, of course, since he'd been there during David's abortive attempt to get Dhif expelled for bringing alcohol into the school (not to mention during – and after – the end of term prefects' meal), and he knew that Blackman had allowed Dhif to issue his own punishment for being set up. He supposed that Dhif had decided to take David home with him so as to be able to beat him, or whatever he had decided to do, undisturbed. Jordan decided to ask David what had happened next day.

But David wasn't in school the following day, or the day after that. On the Thursday Julian Stagg, whom he knew vaguely, came up and asked him if he knew where David was.

"Not really, no. Why?" replied Jordan.

"Well, I know you were friends with him a while back and so I wondered if you knew where he was. Only my brother's worried about him."

"Your brother?"

"Yes, he's in Villiers-Gore's form, and they're friends, sort of – and Villiers-Gore was supposed to be coming round to stay over last night, but he didn't turn up, and Mikey says he hasn't been at school since Tuesday. And when he wasn't there yesterday he got Mark Sherwood – he's in my form, and he knows the people Villiers-Gore lives with – to phone them up to see if he's ill, or something, and they said he never came home on Tuesday and they haven't seen him since."

"Oh. Well, when I last saw him on Tuesday night he was talking to a second-year kid called Dhif. Maybe we should ask him if he knows anything."

But when they went to 2B's form room they found out that Dhif hadn't been in school since Tuesday, either, though in his case it was expected: he'd said something about going to visit some relative or other for a few days, and the school had given permission for him to be away until the following week. Jordan and Julian decided they'd just have to wait until Dhif came back, and if David hadn't reappeared in the meantime they'd go and demand to know what had happened.

***

David had absolutely no idea how long he had been unconscious, or where he was when he woke up. He had a splitting headache and his mouth felt dry, and a bright sun was shining in through the window and doing his headache no favours at all. He looked at his wrist and saw that his watch had disappeared, and when he checked his trouser pockets he found them empty. His blazer and tie had disappeared, but otherwise he was still in school uniform.

He pulled himself to his feet and looked around. He was in a small, unfurnished room with a stone floor and plain white walls, and the only window was a narrow, arched, unglazed one high up on one wall. The door was wooden and looked very solid, and when he tried the handle he found that it was locked. He banged on it a couple of times, but that didn't seem to have any effect, so he went and sat on the floor opposite the door. It was hot in the room and he felt extremely thirsty, and his head was throbbing…

A short while later the door opened and Brahim Dhif came in, carrying a jug and a plastic mug.

"Good, you're awake," he said. "Have some water – but not too much, or it'll make you puke up. And here are a couple of headache pills, too. Take them and you'll feel a bit better."

"Where am I?" asked David.

"Later. Pills, and water, a bit at a time, okay? I'll come back in an hour or so."

So David took the pills and drank a little water, and gradually the headache seemed to fade. And when Dhif came back he was feeling a lot livelier and also a lot angrier.

"What the hell's going on, Dhif?" he demanded when the second-year boy returned. "Where am I?"

"A long way from home," Dhif told him, grinning. "My uncle owns this place, but actually this part of the palace is my cousin's. You'd better come and meet him, and then I can tell you what's going to happen to you. But I can tell you now that you're going to be sorry you ever tried to get me into trouble. You're going to have a long time to think about it, too – the rest of your life, in fact."

"WHAT! What the hell are you talking about, Dhif? I hardly did anything to you!"

"That's what you think, is it? You stupid bastard, you ruined my life, and now you're going to pay for it!"

"I ruined your life?? How? You didn't get expelled – all that happened was that Garrett beat you three times."

"I'm not talking about that – I'm talking about what happened after the prefects' meal."

"What, so you got a first-former's cock up the arse. How has that ruined your life?"

"That wasn't it, either. Up to then I'd been a normal, decent Muslim boy. But then you made me abase myself with Paul Southgate: you forced me to act like a prostitute with him, and you made us do filthy, unnatural things together. And…"

"And what?"

"And… and I liked it. I liked holding him, and even kissing him, and having him handle my manhood… and I've wanted to do it again… and every time he looks at me I want to be naked with him and to do those things again. And it's foul, and filthy… and forbidden. Because of you I won't see Paradise. And that's why you have to be punished."

"But… look, surely just thinking about it won't stop you getting to… whatever you people call Heaven? Okay, if you actually do things like that, maybe, but…"

"But I am going to do things like that. I can't help it. I've tried so hard not to think about it, but I can't stop myself. And I even dream about him and about doing disgraceful things with him. There's nothing I can do to stop it, so I've decided there's no point in fighting it: when I get back to England I'm going to ask Paul to come round for the weekend, and we're going to do everything he wants. And… and everything I want, too. I know I'll hate myself afterwards, and I might even end up killing myself – though that's forbidden, too… but I just can't hold out any longer. So my life is destroyed, and that's why yours has to be, too, because if you hadn't made me do those things in the first place I would never have thought about doing them."

"But that's not… hang on – you said 'when you get back to England'? Where the hell are we?"

"In North Africa. My uncle is a rich man – he deals in various items, but especially in weapons. That brings in lots of money – and it's legal, too. Mostly. Anyway, he owns this place outright – well, he has an arrangement with the national government, but they don't take a lot of notice of what goes on out here, so really my uncle is virtually king of his own kingdom. Which I suppose makes me a prince of some sort, at least while I'm here.

"Anyway, you were flown out here in one of his small aircraft. It's easy enough at the English end – there aren't a lot of custom checks on small private aircraft flights leaving the country, and of course there are none at all at this end. He likes me, for some reason, so when I asked him for help he arranged everything, including supplying the plane, the pilot and the two men in the car. My father doesn't even know about it – he'd want to know why, and I don't want to tell him what his son has become, thanks to you. Right now my father thinks I'm away on a school trip. My uncle didn't ask why, he just asked when. So here you are, and here you're going to stay. Come on."

He left the room and David ran after him. In the corridor two young black boys, who were wearing only a sort of linen kilt and each carrying a short spear, fell in behind them and followed them along the corridor. David barely glanced at them.

"But… fucking hell, Dhif! If you're going back to England, why aren't I coming with you?"

"You think I want to look at your disgusting face? Once I leave here I never want to see you again. No, it's going to be my cousin that has the pleasure of dealing with you. See, my uncle has the idea that the best way to train his son into running a business and controlling people is to give him absolute authority to run his own household. This part of the palace is completely separate from the rest, and my cousin is entirely responsible for what happens here. My uncle hardly ever comes here, nor do any other adults, except on very rare occasions. My cousin has his own servants and slaves, and they do all the work. He's a bit of a perfectionist, though: if his orders aren't obeyed exactly and promptly he tends to be a bit heavy with the punishments. Of course, slaves are cheap, so if he has a couple killed there are always plenty of replacements available."

"Killed?" said David, screeching to a halt. He was sure Dhif was only winding him up, but even so, he didn't like the sound of any of this.

"Yes, obviously – you don't keep wasting food and shelter on those who don't merit it." He added something else in what David supposed was Arabic, and one of the black boys jabbed the butt of his spear against David's back, forcing him to start walking again.

"So, you're going to spend the rest of your life as my cousin's slave… well, not his, exactly, though I expect he'll find a use for you himself from time to time. Ah, here we are. How good's your French, by the way?"

"Well… not too bad, I suppose," David told him as they entered a larger room.

"Good. Of course, you'll have to learn Arabic before too long, but my cousin speaks French – most educated boys in North Africa do – so to start with he'll probably use it to give you your orders. Here he is."

Reclining on a pile of cushions in the middle of the room and reading a comic book was a young boy who looked not unlike Dhif: same light brown skin, same curly black hair, though this boy was a little younger and a little heavier, though he was by no means fat. Dhif spoke to him in Arabic, and the boy looked at David and grinned, replying in the same language.

"I've told him how much you dislike non-white people," Dhif said. "He thinks that's pretty funny, because you'll probably never see a white person again. And I've also told him how disgusting you think sex is, and that's pretty funny, too, because you'll spend most of your time being used for sex from now on. And because you dislike coloured people so much, Ali – that's my cousin, though you'd better to remember to call him 'Master' or 'Lord' unless you want to be whipped – has decided to give you as a present to the twins."

"Who are the twins?"

"They are," said Dhif, indicating the two coal-black boys who had escorted them here. David looked at them properly for the first time, and saw that they were identical – at least, he thought so, but then he thought all black people looked the same – and about twelve years old. They were quite tall, and slim, and they had good muscle definition for boys of that age.

"They're Ali's personal bodyguard… well, they will be when he gets a bit older. For now they're more or less in training. And they don't speak French, and their Arabic is still a bit ropey, too, so I suppose you're going to have to try learning their tribal language, because that's what you'll get most of your orders in.

"Once you've been here for a while you'll discover that there are other slaves here, but because none of them are white you'll be the lowest slave in the place, and that means that absolutely everyone you meet is senior to you, even the smallest stable-boys or kitchen-slaves, and you'll have to do whatever they tell you. Absolutely anything they want, in fact. They're going to love having a snooty white kid to boss about. So that's the rest of your life, Rat: you're going to be a plaything to a pair of black boys, and a slave to all the other slaves."

David stared at him, convinced that this was just an elaborate joke. But Dhif wasn't laughing, and in fact he looked deadly serious.

"But… Christ, Dhif, you can't be serious!" he cried. "It's ridiculous – people will come looking for me – you'll get into so much trouble…"

"Do you really think anyone back in England cares about you? Everyone hates you – they'll just be glad you've disappeared. Nobody cares about you enough to look for you. Besides, nobody knows where you are, and even if there was anyone who cared they'd never think to look for you two thousand miles away. No, Rat, you're here for life."

David saw that he meant it, and with a cry of fury he hurled himself at his tormentor. And five seconds later he was pinned down under the combined weight of the twins, one of whom said something in heavily accented Arabic.

"He says you'll be whipped for that later," Dhif translated. "And when he says 'whipped', he means it, not just a little slap. You'll bleed. Quite a lot, probably. Okay, that's probably about all you need to know for now. I'll be around for a few more days, just to watch you settle in, and I'll help to interpret for you until your Arabic gets off the ground, but you'd better be a quick learner, because not understanding the order is no excuse for disobedience."

The twins pulled David to his feet, and Ali gave them a sharp order in Arabic. And one of the twins pulled a long knife from his belt and started cutting away at David's clothes, until he was wearing only his pants and the rest of his clothing was in shreds round his feet. He was pushed over so that his shoes and socks could be removed and then dragged to his feet again. Ali gave a one-word order and the twin with the knife cut David's pants off; and everyone in the room – Ali, the twins and four or five other boys who were presumably servants or slaves – took one look and fell about laughing. David blushed deeply, and was at least grateful that he couldn't understand the filthy comments that were flying about the room. Finally Ali clapped his hands and the room fell silent once more.

Ali started to speak, and Dhif translated for him.

"You will never wear clothing again," he said. "You will remain naked for the rest of your life, so that every boy in the palace can see you and laugh at your pathetic body. You will obey everyone in the palace instantly, whatever they tell you to do. If there is a conflict of orders, you will obey first Ali, your owner, then the twins, your masters, then servants by age, then slaves by age. Disobedience will be punished by beating, and if it continues by more painful and damaging punishments. My cousin enjoys using scorpions," Dhif added. "Their sting can be really painful, especially in, well, tender places.

"When the first signs of puberty appear on your body – that is, when your hair starts to grow – or on your sixteenth birthday, which might come first, looking at what you've got, you will be castrated. Publicly, without anaesthetic, one ball at a time. You are never to be allowed to experience the pleasures of sex. You will also have to be circumcised, because this is an Islamic household. That will probably be done when the twins reach their own manhood ceremony, which I believe is in a month or so. Again, in public, without anaesthetic, and very, very slowly. So that's something for you to look forward to.

"Right, now you have to kneel, kiss my cousin's feet and pledge obedience to him. You'd better do it in French, so that he can understand you. And for God's sake take this seriously, Rat: you have absolutely no idea how badly you will be hurt if you don't obey, instantly, any order you are given. You're a slave now, and if Ali decides to have you killed, nobody is going to argue with him. Now kneel."

David was in a state of shock at this horrifying explanation of his future, and Dhif had to shove him forwards to get him moving. In a semi-trance he fell to his knees, mumbled a promise to obey in his schoolboy French and then kissed Ali's slippers.

Ali said something and the twins pulled David to his feet and pushed him towards the door.

"Go with them," Dhif said. "They'll show you where you're going to live from now on. And you'd better make a start at trying to learn their language – if they think you're trying, they'll go easy on you for a couple of days at least. I'll come by and see you in an hour or so, so if you have any questions they can wait until then. But there's no need for questions, really: all you have to know is that you have to do what you're told, at once. Nothing else matters. See you later."

The twins marched David out of the room and along a corridor, up some stairs, along another corridor and then into a much smaller room. There were a couple of thin mattresses on the floor, and some cupboards and other furniture, and a number of spears, knives and a pair of light oval-shaped shields on one side of the room; David guessed that this was the twins' own room. But they marched him straight across the room to another door on the far side, which led to a small, windowless closet about six feet deep by four feet [1½ x 1¼ m] wide. There was nothing in it except another thin mattress.

The twins pushed him inside and closed the door, and he heard a lock turning: once more he was left alone in a darkened room with no furniture but a mattress. But his situation here, and the future Dhif had described to him, made the attic at home seem like a lost Paradise.

Now David is really and truly in deep, deep trouble: there seems no way out of this, and all he has to look forward to is circumcision, castration and a lifetime of being used as a sex toy by the sort of boys he considers to be racially inferior to him. Is there any hope at all for him? It seems unlikely that Dhif is going to change his mind on this and escape seems impossible: he doesn't even know where he is, just that it's a very long way from home. So where does the Rat go from here?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Okay, so the Rat is in deep doo-doo, and in this chapter we'll start to see just how deep it really is. And if he thinks he wasn't all that popular at school, just wait until he finds out how this collection of Africans is going to treat someone who has been described to them as an arrogant white racist…

David sat in his cupboard trying to think. He was more scared than he had ever been in his life, but he knew that if he was going to survive he had to start thinking clearly. He tried to sort out in his head what he knew about his situation.

First, it was real. He had no choice but to accept this: he was certain that Dhif would not have had him flown all this way just to scare him. And he had no doubt that he really was in Africa – the temperature, and the strong sunlight, and the view from the windows in Ali's room of harsh stone mountains visible beyond an ornate wall – were enough on their own, without taking into account the cast of blacks and North Africans he had seen in the palace so far.

Second, he was on his own here: once Dhif had left he would be alone in a foreign country, one in which he couldn't speak the language. Well, in a way that wasn't so bad: he was, after all, used to being a loner and to relying on nobody except himself.

And third, his position here couldn't be worse: he was utterly at the mercy of a ten- or eleven-year-old boy with the power of life and death over him, and of two black boys whose entire existence and manner of thinking were totally alien to him.

He reviewed what he had learned over the past two or three months. First, arguing, shouting and being rude would get him absolutely nowhere: that hadn't worked with the Devlins, and it certainly wouldn't work here, where his punishment would be appreciably worse than being made to sleep in an attic. Second, complaining to the authorities was a non-starter, too: here Ali was the authority, and even if he somehow managed to speak to Ali's father, it looked as if it would make no difference, because apparently Ali had total freedom to run his household in the way he wanted.

Okay, so those reactions were out of the question. That left escape, which he discarded immediately: even if he could steal some clothes and get out of the palace and over the wall, where could he go? He had no money, he couldn't speak the language, and he didn't even know for certain which country he was in. Okay, probably it was Algeria – he'd looked up Dhif's father's home town in the atlas months ago – but he couldn't be sure, and in any case, Algeria was a huge country.

Rescue? That seemed unlikely, too: as Dhif had said, nobody knew where he was, or even where to start looking. He thought that maybe now he had a couple more friends than Dhif gave him credit for: Michael certainly qualified now, and Joe, and of course Jordan had been his friend throughout – and probably Garrett would stand up and be counted if it came to the crunch. But according to what Dhif had said they were all two thousand miles away… no, he was definitely on his own.

He had found out with the Devlins, and with the cubs, that co-operation was the route that got the best results. The same was true of both Sherwood and Osterley, and Pope, too: when he did what he was told without arguing or trying to resist, they had treated him fairly. This would be harder: he would have to set aside his innermost feelings about race. In this place he had been put in a position of inferiority to blacks and North Africans, and he knew that if he failed to accept that he would be severely punished. And now that Dhif had told Ali about his racial beliefs he knew that everyone here would be looking to make him suffer for them. In this place, he was in the position that Dhif had been in at KEV: the one who doesn't belong. Except, of course, that at KEV most people hadn't felt the way he did about non-whites, whereas here it was a certainty that everyone would be out to treat him like dirt.

He knew he would have to accept that and not try to fight against it. Instead he would have to do the work he was given without argument, treat everyone in the palace politely, and submit to whatever appalling sexual mistreatment they had lined up for him – although he was convinced that if he was forced to take Ali or any of his servants in his mouth, he would puke. And as for the twins… well, that didn't bear thinking about. Being violated by a black penis was the worst thing he could imagine – except, perhaps, for being castrated…

He put that thought away: Dhif had said it wouldn't happen until his sixteenth birthday, unless puberty finally reached him first, which he thought unlikely. And that gave him a whole year to try to win Ali and the twins over: if he showed them that he was a good, obedient and willing slave, maybe they would change their minds about… doing that to him.

Yes, he decided: the only way to survive here is going to be obedience and politeness. If I can be a good slave, maybe they won't hurt me…

He had no idea how long he had been sitting in the dark when the door opened once more and one of the twins gestured for him to come out. He already had a strategy planned here, so as soon as he was out in the room with them he dropped to his knees and bowed until his head hit the floor. Then he raised his head again, but remained on his knees waiting for orders.

The twins grinned at him, their teeth looking very white, but they didn't say anything. Okay, thought David, I'll go first. He pointed to his chest and said, clearly, "David." And then he pointed to the first twin and raised his eyebrows.

The twin simply laughed, pointed at him and said something that sounded like 'Kikem'.

"My name is David," said David, pointing at himself again.

The twin waggled a finger at him. "Kikem-mm-u-w," he said.

David looked at him, and after a moment the twin raised a hand to indicate that he should wait, and then left the room. The other one just stared at him without speaking.

A couple of minutes later the first one came back. He was carrying something in his hand, and when he put it on the floor and it skittered away David saw that it was some sort of beetle – a cockroach, he thought.

"Kikem," said the twin, pointing at the departing cockroach. And "Kikem" he said again, pointing to David and grinning.

Well, that was clear enough: apparently he was still shrinking, from Rat to Gerbil to Cockroach. At least there wasn't anything lower he could be compared to next… and there was no point in arguing: he'd already decided not to argue or protest at anything. So he pointed at himself again and said "Kikem," trying to get the intonation the same as the twin had. Both boys burst out laughing and nodding: yes, apparently David was now called 'Cockroach'.

Okay, he thought, that's my name sorted out. He pointed at the nearest twin and raised his eyebrows.

"Kuyo," said the first one, and then pointed at his brother and added "Yeyne".

David repeated the names, trying to get the intonation right, and accepted a correction from the first one, who then added a longer phrase, of which David obviously didn't understand a single word. He gave an apologetic shrug.

"You can see how much fun you're going to have once I've left now, can't you?" said a voice from the doorway, and there was Dhif grinning at him.

Dhif spoke to the twins in Arabic and got a hesitant reply.

"You have to swear obedience to them," Dhif translated. "Apparently they need you to do that to formalise the relationship."

"Well, I'll swear, but I can't do it in any language they'll be able to understand."

Dhif spoke to the twins, and the first one – Kuyo – replied to him. David had noticed that Kuyo had a scar on the outside of his left knee, which at least meant that he could tell which of them was which.

"Okay, all you have to do is to repeat exactly what he says," Dhif told David. "You won't understand it, but that doesn't matter as you're going to have to do exactly what they tell you anyway. It's just a formality."

So, three or four words at a time, David repeated the oath. He caught the name 'Kikem' in the early part of it, but that was the only thing he understood.

"That's it," said Dhif, when he'd finished. "You are now officially their property. They'll find you a collar later. Now, in a minute I'm going to explain your duties to you, so you'd better listen carefully, because you won't get another chance to hear this in English."

He had a conversation with the twins, both of them contributing to the discussion. This was shorter than David had expected.

"Okay, this is fairly simple," said Dhif. "Your main duty is to keep this room clean, and to fetch and carry for the twins. That won't take long, so the rest of the time you'll be loaned out around the palace to help the lower grade slaves with their work. Your work can be interrupted at any time if a servant or slave wants you to suck his penis – you'll do that for everyone on demand. The good news is that only the twins are allowed to fuck you, but the bad news is they'll probably want to do it quite often.

"My cousin has the right to demand you to attend him whenever he wants, of course. One of the twins is generally with him a lot of the time, except when he's in school or at his prayers, so most of the time you'll stay with the other one, unless you're working elsewhere in the palace. We'll work out a full timetable for you over the next couple of days. On Fridays you'll probably be kept in here all day – Friday is the day of prayer, but the twins are not Muslim and so they generally stay here for most of the day.

"That's probably all you need to know for now – unless you have any questions?"

"Well… they've told me their names, but probably I should call them 'Sir' or 'Master', or something. Can you ask them how to say that in their language?"

"I see you're learning to grovel already," said Dhif, grinning. "Good."

He spoke to the twins, who grinned at him, and Kuyo gave a short reply.

"Actually," said Dhif, "they haven't told you their names – not their real ones, anyway. Those are secret except within their own village. The names they've given you simply mean 'One' and 'Two', but they'll be enough for you – they're all anyone here knows, including my cousin. And the word for 'Master' is 'Kpey', so if you call them that it'll help you to remember that they're in charge, even though they have nasty, horrid, dark-coloured skin. Now, we're going for a little walk: they want to beat you for attacking me earlier, and they don't want blood all over their floor, so we're taking you to the punishment room. Come on."

The twins led them back along the corridor, down the stairs, along a further passage and down some more stairs into what was obviously a basement room.

"Uro-asoro," announced Yeyne, opening a door.

Dhif asked a question and told David, "That means, roughly, 'the house of wrongdoing'. You'd better remember the name, because I'm sure you'll be coming here a lot."

It wasn't quite the medieval torture chamber David had been expecting, but it was bad enough: along one wall was a row of hooks from which hung several different whips, and in the centre of the room was an A-frame, to which the victim could be tied.

"Get in position against the frame, and we'll sort out which set of straps to use," Dhif said. "You'll probably be coming here every day, so you might as well learn how to get yourself ready. Stand with your legs spread and your feet against the foot of the frame – yes, like that – and strap your ankles into position. Okay, now your knees – you can't reach? You can remove the waist bar if you pull it towards you… okay, good. Use the second set of straps, I think, the ones just above the knee… right. Now put the bar back and lean forward against it, so it's pressing against your stomach. Perfect. And now if you stretch your arms up towards the apex of the frame… Good. Okay, one of the twins will need to tighten the wrist straps…"

One of the twins reached up and did just that, and David found himself immobilised, his feet about twenty-four inches [60 cm] apart and his arms stretched above his head, with the bar across his stomach stopping him from moving forwards. He was very much aware of how exposed he was like this, with both his genitals and his bottom completely unprotected, but there was nothing he could do about it. He swore to himself that he would take this punishment without begging for mercy: his future might well depend on showing the twins that he wasn't a pathetic little baby.

The twins wandered down the rack of whips, apparently discussing which one to use. Eventually they picked one they both liked and came and showed it to David.

"Bulahla," said Kuyo, holding it in front of his face. David said nothing, and the black boy repeated the word, holding the whip even closer to him.

This seemed hardly the time for a language lesson, but David supposed he had to learn the name of the instrument, so he repeated "Bulahla," and Kuyo seemed satisfied. So now David knew that a 'bulahla' was a fairly short whip – like a larger version of the Devlins' riding crop – maybe two and a half feet [75 cm] long, that looked very flexible, and that was made out of some sort of leather.

"How many?" he asked Dhif, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

"Six. I've told them that's the traditional number where you come from – which is lucky for you, because apparently nine is more usual here, for some reason. Of course, if all of us took three each… but I'm just going to let them do it. I expect I'll enjoy watching, though."

The first twin took aim and delivered the first blow, and it hurt – oh, God, it hurt. But David had been beaten before, and this was no harder than Sherwood had done it using the riding crop at home, so he managed to do no more than gasp. Blows two and three were no worse. But when the other twin took over his blows started landing on top of the earlier ones, and that was far worse. David cried out in agony as each one landed, and after the third one he felt as if his bum was on fire. And he couldn't move, which made it worse: he couldn't hold his buttocks, or jump about, or do any of the other things that make the pain more bearable.

And then they released him, and he was able to hold his bottom – and he was surprised to discover that it wasn't bleeding.

"That was far lighter than usual," Dhif told him. "They're trying to break you in gently. Kuyo says the next one will be a lot harder, and you'll get a double ration, too, so you'd better not do anything to annoy them. Now, it'll be time for evening prayers soon, so you need to get back to the twins' room."

Kuyo handed David the whip, which surprised him.

"You have to keep this in the twins' room," Dhif told him. "They might not bother coming down here every time. Okay, go – see if you can remember the way."

David stumbled up the stairs – his bottom was really sore, which made walking difficult – and then back through the palace to the twins' room. Dhif left them at the door, presumably to go and get ready for prayers, and the twins simply took the whip from him, hung it on a hook behind the door, and ushered him into his closet.

"Na!" said Kuyo, pointing at the mattress.

David wasn't sure if that meant 'There' or 'Lie down' or 'Bed', and nor did he care. He lay down on his side and curled up into a foetal position. Kuyo closed the door and David heard the lock turn.

The mattress was thin enough that he was able to roll the top over to make a pillow, but he had no blanket, so he hoped it wasn't going to get cold in the night. And there was another problem: he hadn't been able to pee at any time since he had woken up in the store room. He wondered if he should knock on the door and ask permission to go to the toilet, wherever the nearest one was, but he thought that disturbing the twins would be a bad idea. He held it in as long as he could, but in the end he had to just pee against the wall in the far corner of the room. He hoped he wouldn't be punished for it the next day…

***

He woke up next morning when one of the twins opened his door and beckoned him out into the room. He had no idea what the time was, but there was bright sunshine coming in through the window, which suggested that he had slept through the night. And that was good, because it demonstrated that the night temperature didn't fall low enough to be uncomfortable.

He felt a bit better this morning: at least the headache had gone, and he could think more clearly than when he had woken up the previous day still fuzzy from whatever drugs he had been given. But he was hungry: he hadn't eaten anything since lunchtime on the Tuesday. He didn't know what day it was, but he guessed it was probably Thursday.

He knelt in front of the twins and bowed, as he had the previous day. And then one of them sniffed and went into the closet, and came out again looking angry. He rattled off a sentence of which David understood not a word, though it was fairly clear that he was being berated for urinating in the closet.

"Sorry," he said, knowing that they couldn't understand him. "I had to go."

They scowled at him. "Bulahla," said Yeyne.

"Oh, please, no…" David caught himself and stopped: he had promised himself not to beg. He stood up, fetched the whip from the hook behind the door and presented it to Yeyne, kneeling as he did so.

"Bulahla, Kpey Yeyne," he said. "Uro-asoro?"

"Hon," said Yeyne, waggling a finger at him. He pointed to the table at the side of the room. "Gunggu-yu."

Did that mean fetch it, or lie across it, or what? David walked across to the table and hesitated.

"Gunggu-yu," repeated Yeyne, and when David still dithered he came and demonstrated by bending over the edge of the table, his legs slightly apart and his hands gripping the far edge. He stood up and David assumed the same position, and Yeyne whipped him three times, though no harder than he had the previous night. But because each blow landed on the previous day's bruises it still hurt like hell, and David couldn't stop himself screaming, or hopping about holding his buttocks afterwards.

The twins watched him, grinning at each other and apparently commenting on his performance, and then they marched him back through the palace towards the punishment room. But before they got there Yeyne opened a door and pushed him into what was a very basic toilet, with three holes on the floor. A young brown-skinned boy with a light chain around his neck was squatting over one, his robe bunched around his waist, and he stared at David in surprise: probably, David though, he had never seen a white boy before, and certainly not a stark naked one. Not trusting himself to hit the target standing up he knelt in front of the hole furthest from the other boy and urinated, uncomfortably conscious of the other boy's eyes on him.

He finished and stood up. There was no visible flush mechanism and nowhere to wash his hands. There was another door in the far wall, but he didn't know whether it went to a washroom or somewhere else where he wouldn't be welcome, so instead he went back the way he had come in.

"Diyahsu," said Yeyne, pointing at the room he had just used. David filed the word away, thinking that he was going to have to work hard at remembering everything the twins taught him: he didn't think they'd be happy if they had to repeat the lesson.

He was good at languages: he'd been learning Latin and French for five years now, and Ancient Greek for two, and while the twins' language was obviously completely unrelated to any of these, at least he had some idea of basic grammar and how sentences are constructed. And he knew that if he could at least manage some basic communication with the twins his situation might improve, which was a far better incentive to learn than avoiding his teachers' red pens at school.

He was nonetheless happy when Dhif appeared in the corridor: at this stage an interpreter was still essential.

"I'm glad to see you're not lounging around in bed," Dhif greeted him. "First thing you have to do each day is collect the twins' breakfast. They don't eat with the rest of the servants – at least, not at this time of day. Come with me and I'll show you where you get their food."

He led David along the corridor and into a room that had a large hatch in the wall.

"That's the kitchen, through there," Dhif said. "It's in my uncle's part of the palace, but they do the cooking for this side as well. You have to go to the hatch each morning and ask for the twins' rice – that's all they eat for breakfast. I'll show you."

He went to the hatch and said something in Arabic, and someone on the other side handed him two bowls of rice.

"Remember that sentence," Dhif told him. "You'll need it every morning. Now you take these back to the twins' room, wait until they've finished, and then bring the empty bowls back here. Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Well… am I going to get anything to eat? Only I haven't eaten anything for ages…"

"Depends if the twins think you've earned it. If you like I'll come with you and ask them."

"Yes, please, Dhif. Look…"

"What?"

"Nothing," said David, though it was taking all his self-control not to fall on his knees and plead to be taken home. But he was sure that if he did that Dhif would just laugh at him.

They went back to the twins' room and they took the bowls, squatted down on their mattresses and started to scoop rice out of the bowls and eat it using their fingers. Dhif spoke to them in Arabic, and Kuyo beckoned David over, scooped out a bit of rice and held it out to him. David held out his hand and Kuyo dumped the rice into it, and David stuffed it into his mouth, and then held his hand out again. Yeyne gave him a little too.

"How do I say 'Thank you'?" David asked.

"Surely you don't have to thank niggers for anything, Rat?" said Dhif, sarcastically. "I mean, they're scarcely human, are they?"

He spoke to the twins.

"The word you want is 'albarka'," he relayed. "I'd use it a lot if I were you."

David duly used it, twice, and the twins ignored him.

When they had finished eating David took the bowls back to the kitchen hatch and was then given a guided tour of the whole palace, so that he would know where to go if the twins sent him anywhere. The upper floor held the servants' quarters and dining area and Ali's bedroom, office, bathroom and toilet (which David was strictly forbidden to enter except on a direct order from Ali). The ground floor contained the slave quarters, the school room – although apparently Ali also sometimes studied in his uncle's part of the palace – and Ali's dining room and day-room (which was where David had first met him).

They took him out into the garden, which was a lot greener than David had expected, with palm trees of various sorts and beds of grasses and flowers.

"We'll be very careful how long you spend out here to start with," Dhif told him. "It might be funny watching you screaming with sunburn, but you won't be able to work like that, and that's what you're here to do. So I've told the twins to break you in gently and gradually increase the time you spend out here until you're properly acclimatised."

At one side of the garden was the stable block, where Ali's horses were kept.

"You'll probably be working here quite a lot," Dhif told him. "Shovelling horse-shit is about what you're best suited for."

The basement held only the punishment room and some storage rooms, and that was the tour over. Dhif showed David where the cleaning materials were stored, and he spent the rest of the morning cleaning the twins' room and scrubbing away at the corner of his closet where he had urinated the previous night.

As they had moved through the palace they had seen a number of other boys at work, but although the boys had stared at David, they hadn't stopped to speak to any of them. But while the twins were eating their midday meal Dhif took David to the slave quarters. There were a dozen boys there between the ages of about eight or nine and around fourteen, sitting on benches and eating, and Dhif called for their attention and spoke to them for a minute or so. David couldn't understand what was being said, of course, but whatever it was seemed to amuse the slave boys no end. He was then taken upstairs to the servant quarters, and the six boys there were given the same explanation. Here Dhif told David the boys' names, though he wasn't sure that he'd be able to remember all these foreign names for very long.

"Now everyone in the palace knows all about you," Dhif told him. "And I'm sure they'll all enjoy showing you what they think of snooty white racists before too long."

David had noticed something about the household, and so he asked, "How come all the slaves are… well, how come none of them are black?"

"There have been black slaves here in the past, and my uncle has a couple now. But slavery is still a culture here, especially among the nomadic tribes of the desert. Some of these boys were born slaves; others were paid for, one way or another."

"And why aren't there any girls here? I'd have thought… well, a boy who can do anything he wants… well, you know."

"Ali will probably start taking female slaves in a year or two, but he's not interested in girls yet. Once he reaches puberty he'll start to find out about them, though: my uncle will arrange some sort of introduction for him, I expect. But until then girls are not allowed here: it would distract the older servants and slaves."

"Oh. Well, about that… look, Dhif, are you sure that… you know, about you and Southgate? I mean, couldn't your uncle find you a girl to… well, try things with? I'm sure if you did, you'd find it more… well… better than…"

"Oh, you're sure, are you? And the Great Rat is never wrong, of course. Except I can't think about girls since… look, just keep your stinking mouth shut, okay?"

"Sorry. But I know how you feel, because…"

"You don't know how I feel! You're nothing like me, Rat! And I told you to shut up, so shut up, or I'll have you flogged all afternoon."

He marched David back to the twins' room, where he was just in time to take their empty bowls back to the kitchen hatch. And then he was simply put back into his cupboard and left there until the time came for the evening meal. Dhif came and fetched him, telling him that the twins usually ate with Ali at supper time, and that he would therefore have to eat with the other slaves. Dhif took him to the slave quarters, where he was given a bowl of mutton stew and a piece of flat bread to eat it with, but the other slaves wouldn't let him sit on the benches: instead he was made to eat sitting on the floor. But he didn't care: it was food, and he was starving, and he ate it greedily.

He was left in the slaves' quarters for about an hour after the meal, and then Dhif came and collected him, taking him, and all the slaves, to Ali's day room. All the servants were there, too, as well as Ali himself, reclining on his pile of cushions once again.

"And now you're going to get the payback for the other thing that happened to me after that damned meal," Dhif told him. "You're going to find out what it's like to have your manhood taken from you, except you've got a much bigger audience, and the twins are much bigger than your friend Fielding."

David was tied down over a low table, his legs spread wide. He knew what was going to happen, and if it had never have happened to him before he'd have been terrified. But of course by now he'd been fucked several times, even though Dhif obviously didn't know that.

But when Kuyo removed his kilt and displayed his erection in front of David's face, he knew this was going to hurt. It was hairless, but very hard, curving a little upwards, uncircumcised and over five inches [13 cm] long – and, of course, very, very black, which made this seem even worse to David. He began to beg them to leave him alone, which of course just made everyone laugh at him.

And Kuyo didn't seem to believe in lubricant, either: he simply spat on David's anus and then lined up and rammed it in, and David screamed with the pain of it. Two or three thrusts and it was all the way in, and David was gasping and crying out with every thrust. At that moment he was incredibly grateful to Joe and the cubs, and to Benedict in particular: this hurt like hell, but if he hadn't already had this done to him by Benedict he was certain it would have hurt a lot more, because at least he had accommodated one this big before.

Kuyo tormented him by drawing it out, stopping frequently and giving an extra big thrust every so often to see how loudly he could make David cry out, but eventually he simply got on with it, thrusting away steadily until he climaxed. And then his brother took his place and David had to go through it all again – though at least it hurt so much that he didn't go hard or get excited. He hoped this proved that he wasn't a pervert after all, but he had to admit to himself that this was nothing like the gentle, careful way Michael had done it to him… and being raped in front of a sea of jeering brown faces probably wasn't likely to get him excited, either.

At last it was over and he was untied.

"This will be part of your life from now on," Ali told him in French. "And in a day or so you can pleasure me with your mouth – and if you do not please me more than the last slave who did it for me, I will place a live scorpion inside your anus. It may not kill you, but afterwards it will make the twins' fuckings feel like the deepest pit in hell." And he grinned at David and waved him away.

The twins took him back to their room and opened the closet door, but David wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

"Diyahsu?" he asked, as politely as he could.

"Diyahsu, lo," said Kuyo, opening the outer door once more.

David made his way, unescorted this time, back to the slaves' toilet. There was nobody here this time, so he was able to squat over one of the holes and have a shit unobserved… and then he discovered that there was no toilet paper, or anything he could use instead. All he could do was to hope that it had all dropped away cleanly.

He peed and stood up, and then he tried the other door – and found it was a washroom – at least, there was a tap with a bucket beneath it. There was no soap, but even just rubbing his hands together under the cold water made him feel a little cleaner.

He went back to the twins' room and went straight to the closet, though before he went in he knelt down and bowed to the twins. They grinned at him.

He went into the closet and closed the door. He didn't hear the lock turn, and indeed he didn't see the point of locking him in: there was nowhere he could go, and he couldn't imagine how severely he would be punished if he was caught trying to escape. So he settled down, trying to ignore the soreness in his bottom, and attempted to go to sleep.

The next day was Friday, and so after breakfast (and today a third bowl of rice was supplied, which the twins indicated was for him) the twins just stayed in their room. To start with they practiced wrestling together, and then they played some sort of a game using pebbles, and finally they went out into the garden and practiced fighting with long sticks, which were presumably less lethal than using proper spears. David was allowed to sit under a tree watching them.

Dhif came and joined him in late morning.

"How's your arse?" he asked. "Sore, I hope. Still, you'll get used to it once they've done it every day for a month or so. Maybe we should make it more interesting for you: I'll have to suggest they find a way to torture you while you're being fucked – crushing your pathetic little prick in a vice, perhaps, or making you lie on a carpet of thorns. I hope you're starting to learn the language, because I'll be going home next week."

"No! I mean… no, I'm not learning very much."

"Strange, for a moment there I thought you didn't want me to leave you. I'm touched."

"Look, Dhif, can you get me a small notebook and a pencil? I need to make myself a dictionary – well, two, really, one for the twins and one for everyone else."

"Slaves aren't allowed possessions, you know that. You can ask my cousin, though: maybe he'll allow it, as long as the twins look after it for you. You can come and ask him now if you like. Don't forget to grovel – us racially inferior boys like being grovelled to by our white overlords."

So David went and knelt in front of Ali and pleaded to be allowed a notebook and pencil, explaining that he would be a much more efficient slave if he could learn a little Arabic, as well as… whatever the twins' language was called.

"I'll allow it," said Ali, "but only if you pleasure me now and I consider it a good enough performance. Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Well… I need you to take your robe off."

"I never take my robe off in front of servants and slaves. You crawl up under it and get on with your work."

So David wriggled up between Ali's legs. This was a very loose-fitting robe or it would have been impossible, and he wondered if this was why that particular robe had been chosen.

He found that Ali was wearing nothing under his robe, and that his penis was already erect. It was perhaps a little over three inches [8 cm] long, not particularly thick, and of course it was circumcised. The balls were a bit bigger than his own, but there was as yet no hair. He slipped it into his mouth and set to work.

By now he knew how to do this, though the fact that Ali was… well, brown, made it a little more difficult for him. But then he closed his eyes and got on with it, realising that the organ in his mouth tasted the same as Joe's or Pope's or Osterley's, and he'd sucked all of them in the past few weeks without difficulty.

He did everything he had learned to do: he fondled the balls, caressed the inner thighs, squeezed the buttocks and even pressed his finger against Ali's hole, which he was a bit nervous about but which Ali seemed to like, at least if the groan he gave was anything to judge by. He stroked the younger boy's chest and tickled his hard little nipples, he sucked on the balls, he licked the tip of the penis, and then he started sucking again in earnest, wanting to get this over and done with. And Ali loved it, gasping, thrusting and bucking beneath him until finally the orgasm swept over him… and David wondered if he could actually taste something, or if it was just his imagination. Three months ago that would have been enough to make him puke all over his master, which could well have been enough to get him executed, but by now he was a lot better equipped to handle this situation.

"You may withdraw," said Ali's breathless voice, so David let the organ slip from his mouth and burrowed his way back to the outside world.

"You have earned your notebook," Ali told him. "I have never experienced a pleasure like it. If I use your mouth as a reward for good service among my slaves I will have the most obedient and efficient household in Africa… We must make sure that every boy in the house has a chance to experience that before too long. And I will want more of that myself – much more. You have done well."

He spoke to his personal servant, a fifteen-year-old whose name David remembered was Rafik, and Rafik left the room, returning a few minutes later with a school-type exercise book, a cheap ballpoint pen and a pencil, all of which he handed to Dhif.

"I'm sure my cousin has told you that slaves are not allowed personal possessions," said Ali, "but I am giving these to the twins for you to use. You may carry them with you when you are working, but you must not let it interfere with your duties." He spoke to Dhif, who nodded, escorted David back to the twins' room and told him to wait there, leaving the book, pen and pencil on the table while he went to find the twins. And when the twins came back with him Dhif explained to them that David was allowed to use the material to help him learn their language. The twins were of course illiterate, but they didn't object, and so over the course of the afternoon David played a game with them, pointing it various items in the room and, later, around the palace and writing their names in his book. The twins entered into this game happily, later testing him by pointing to something to see if he could remember what it was called, but their enjoyment of the game didn't prevent them from fucking him over the table before bedtime. He went to sleep with a sore arse again.

On the Saturday he started his work around the palace, first being sent to help the youngest slave, an eight-year-old whose name was Abdelkader, scrubbing the floors in the upper storey corridors. In practice this meant that he did most of the scrubbing while Abdelkader stood over him demanding more effort and hitting David's bottom with his sandal if he wasn't working hard enough for the younger boy's liking. And that set the pattern for most of his work: instead of helping the other slaves, he found himself doing their work for them while they berated and beat him. And soon he was made to start sucking them, too, and some of the older ones had hair and spunk, and the first time one of them shot in his mouth he puked up. After being forced to clean up his own mess he was taken to the Punishment Room and the slave who had made him puke was commanded to whip him, which he did, enthusiastically.

On the Monday the twins fitted him with a collar. David had seen that the servants and slaves dressed similarly in the same sort of robe, but that the slaves wore a loose, fairly thin metal chain around their necks. This was more like a badge than a proper slave chain, but it had been decided that he needed something more, so a proper steel collar had been procured, about half an inch [15 mm] wide, and this was put around his neck and fastened with a small padlock. It wasn't too tight and didn't prevent him from sleeping, though it did get hot when he was out in the sun for more than a few minutes, and it was a clear indication that he was truly a slave.

And on Tuesday morning Dhif came to say goodbye.

"I'm going home," he said. "Probably nobody has even missed you yet, or if they have they're probably throwing a party to celebrate your disappearance. And I'm sure KEV will be a much nicer place without you. Now, you be a good little boy and maybe you won't be whipped to death too soon, okay? Oh, one other thing: in four weeks' time the twins are going back over the border to their own village for their manhood ceremony, and they want to take you with them – probably they want to share your arse with all their cousins, or something. Anyway, Ali has said you can go. Do what the twins tell you and you'll be okay, I think, but you'd better work really hard on the language, because they'll be away for almost a month, and there won't be anyone there who can speak anything but their language. And Ali has arranged for you to be circumcised once you get back, because the twins will be having it done as part of their ceremonies, and so really you should be, too.

"I'll probably pop back around Christmas, just to see if you're still alive – and of course I have a standing invitation from my cousin to come and watch you being castrated next year. And I wouldn't miss that for the world."

David stared at him – until now he'd been desperately hoping that this was all a wind-up, and that Dhif would take him with him when he went back to England, but now he realised that it wasn't, that Dhif really was going to leave him here…

"Please," he said, barely able to control the trembling in his voice. "Please, Dhif… don't leave me here."

"Sorry, Rat. Nobody wants you in England. But I think you're going to be in great demand here – your mouth, especially. Of course, the slaves don't always wash very thoroughly, so there's a good chance you'll catch some nasty disease or other before too long… but maybe you'll get lucky. And every time I feel bad about what's going to happen between me and Southgate I'll think of you with one of the twins ramming you up the arse and it'll make me feel a whole lot better. So at least you'll be good for something." And he turned and walked away, while David stood watching him go with tears in his eyes, until Mohamed the eleven-year-old junior stable slave kicked his bottom and ordered him by gestures to get back to sweeping out the stalls.

And when he finally got to bed that night, his bottom aching and his throat sore from sucking two of the older servants, he knew that his last connection to England had gone and he was truly on his own.

Well, it looks as if David has a ghastly, hopeless future ahead of him. But in the next chapter we'll find out what happens when Dhif gets back to school. Will Jordan be able to persuade him to give David another chance? Based on what we've seen so far, that seems pretty unlikely…

Chapter Twenty-Four

In this chapter we'll go back to Cheltenham and watch Jordan and his friends attempting to persuade Dhif to change his mind about David. And Dhif has something else to think about, too: we're also going to see what happens when he finally surrenders to his inner desires and invites Paul Southgate over for a visit.

Brahim Dhif went back to school on the morning of Wednesday July 6^th feeling thoroughly satisfied with the way his visit to his cousin's palace had gone: he'd dealt with the obnoxious Rat in a way that was entirely fitting. Of course, he'd left himself the possibility of changing his mind, but he didn't think it was remotely likely that he'd use it.

Now, though, he had something else to deal with. As he'd told David, he had been struggling for weeks against his feelings for Paul Southgate, and nothing he had tried had managed to distract him from them for any length of time. He'd come to the conclusion that only submitting to his desires could possibly solve the problem, even though he recognised that this might bring with it feelings of guilt… so as soon as he got to his form room that morning he went and sat next to Southgate.

"Hello," said Southgate, pleasantly surprised: Brahim had apparently been trying to avoid him for the whole of the summer term. "Did you have a nice holiday?"

"Yes, thanks. Actually it was fun. Look, Paul… are you doing anything at the weekend?"

"I don't think so. Why?"

"Well… do you want to come over to my house?"

"Wow, yes! Thanks, Brahim… what are we going to do?"

"What would you like to do?"

"Well…" Paul blushed: he knew what he would like to do, but he couldn't believe that was what Brahim was thinking about. "I don't mind. It'll just be nice if we can do stuff together."

"Okay. Do you know where I live?"

Paul didn't, so Dhif gave him the address and told him to come round at any time after nine o'clock, which Paul agreed enthusiastically to do.

At lunchtime Dhif was leaning on a wall in the yard when he was surprised to be approached by a couple of first-year boys. He recognised Jordan Fielding, of course, and he wasn't pleased to see him: he really didn't want a reminder of what had happened that evening at the end of the Spring Term.

"What do you want?" he asked, in an unfriendly voice.

"We want to know if you know why Villiers-Gore hasn't been in school since last Tuesday," Jordan said.

"How the hell would I know? If I never see that bastard again it'll be too soon."

"Yes, but… well, the last time I saw him he was getting into a car with you."

"Oh," said Dhif, who hadn't realised that anyone had seen him lifting the Rat from the street. "Well, okay, yes, I did talk to him last week. Why do you care?"

"Because… well, he's my friend, and I'm worried about him."

"And he's my brother's friend, too… sort of," added Julian, who of course was the other first-year. "And he's worried about him, too."

"Worried? About the Rat? I'd have thought everyone would just be happy that the bastard's not around any more."

"He's not… well, okay, I suppose he was a bit of a bastard, especially to you. But he's still my friend," said Jordan. "Look, I know Blackman said you could punish him, and after what he did… okay, what we did to you last term, I suppose that's fair enough. So it's okay if you've taken him somewhere to teach him a lesson – though really it was me who… well, you know. Anyway, I just want to know when he's coming back."

"He isn't. Look, Fielding, nobody wants him here, except you two, apparently. This will be a much better school without him. So I've fixed it so he won't come back."

"Oh, God… you don't mean… you haven't… killed him, have you?"

"No, of course not," said Dhif, though he supposed it was quite possible that Ali would do the world that favour at some point.

"Oh. For a moment I was worried there… but, look, you have to let him come back to school. People are worried about him."

"What, two first years are worried, and that's supposed to persuade me to inflict his disgusting personality on the whole school again?"

"It's not just us. Quite a few people are worried."

"Crap! Everyone hates him – at least, I've never met anyone who doesn't, apart from you two."

"I think he's changed," said Julian. "I mean, you're right, he used to be a total bastard, always sneaking around Garrett and trying to get kids into trouble, and sneering about people who live on council estates… but he's not like that any more. I've seen him lots of times, and he really likes my brother, even though we live where we do. And a lot of other kids on the estate seem to have started liking him, too."

"Oh, come on! Do you really expect me to believe that people like that actually like that snooty, superior bastard? Pull the other one!"

"It's true. If you want I can probably get some of them to meet you and tell you so themselves."

"You're bluffing!"

"I'm not! It's true!"

"Okay, prove it. I'm willing to bet you can't find five people apart from you two who have a single good thing to say about Villiers-Gore."

"Okay, but if we can, you have to arrange to get him home, alright?" said Jordan.

"No! I don't want him back – he's a complete shit!"

"No, he isn't. Okay, ten people, then."

Dhif stared at him. He couldn't believe for a moment that these two kids could find anyone to speak up for the Rat, never mind ten people.

"Well… look, I did say to my… to the person who's, er, looking after him, that if I wanted him back I'd contact him within two weeks," he said. "If he doesn't hear from me within two weeks I've told him we'll never want the Rat back at all, and he can deal with him however he wants. So… if you really think he's not the shit I think he is, I'll make you a deal: find twenty people to tell me so, and I'll get him back straight away."

"Twenty!" cried Jordan, dismayed: that would be next to impossible, he thought. But Julian wasn't so sure.

"Okay," he said, "it's a deal. But most of them aren't at this school, so can you come to our place to meet them? On Saturday, say?"

"I'm busy on Saturday. But I'll come on Sunday, if you really think I won't be wasting my time. Where do you live?"

Julian gave him his address and they arranged to meet on Sunday afternoon at half past two.

"So where is he, then?" Jordan asked.

"I'm not telling you that, and nobody else knows, either: not even my dad knows about it. Because you're not going to find anything like twenty people to stick up for him, and I want him to stay right where he is for the rest of his life – or at least until I've left school. After that I won't care. But without me you'll never find out where he is."

"I could go to the police," said Jordan.

"And tell them what, exactly? That you saw him with me on Tuesday? Well, I'd admit that – we were talking about his punishment, and I said he wouldn't have to do one after all. Then my friend dropped him off in the town centre to catch his bus home, and I don't know what happened after that – and nobody can prove otherwise, trust me. No, Fielding, the only way you'll ever see him again is if you can convince me I was wrong about him. And I'm ready to bet you can't do that."

"Sunday afternoon, then" said Julian, and he led Jordan away.

"Christ, Stagg, we'll never find twenty people to say something nice about him!" protested Jordan, once they were out of earshot of Dhif.

"I think we can. I've got lots of friends on the estate, and I reckon quite a few will stick up for him."

"Well, I'm glad you have, because I don't think any of my friends will speak up for him," said Jordan. And that was true: there was no reason for any of his friends to stick their necks out. He thought Jeremy and Charlie would probably invent something if he asked them to, but it wouldn't stand up to scrutiny, because neither of them knew Villiers-Gore at all. He could probably blackmail Baxter-Cauldwell into saying something nice, too, but as far as he knew the two boys had never even spoken to each other. Garrett might be prepared to speak up, though – and maybe even Blackman, because, after all, Villiers-Gore had accepted his punishments without complaint.

Who else? Larkin – definitely not, and he didn't think even offering Larkin his freedom would persuade him: after all, term was nearly over, and in any case Larkin's problems came more from his brother than from Jordan these days. John Baker? Well, maybe – after all, he wouldn't have met Nigel if he hadn't been punished by V-G first… What about Sherwood and McMillan – would they testify that V-G had taken his punishment honourably? And maybe even Osterley would be prepared to do that… But even if all of these – Garrett, Blackman, Sherwood, McMillan, Osterley… and even Baker, though that would be stretching it a bit – were prepared to get on parade, that still left them a long way short. He hoped Stagg was not exaggerating when he said he knew some people who would also speak out…

He asked Stagg to talk to Sherwood and McMillan, who were after all in his form, and decided himself that he would try to talk to Osterley.

***

"You want me to do what?" asked Osterley, staring at him. Jordan had found him in the yard, talking to Little Collins as usual. "You want me to say what a brilliant, shining example of humanity Villiers-Gore is? Are you insane?"

"No, I just thought you might be prepared to say that he did your punishments properly without trying to get out of it, that's all."

"Oh. Okay, I suppose that's not exactly the same thing, is it? Well… yes, I'd have to admit he did. And to be honest that did surprise me – I thought he'd try to get out of it, but he went along with everything I told him to do. Even Bertie would accept that – wouldn't you, Bertie? And he hates the Rat's guts. But why do you care?"

"Well… Dhif's had him kidnapped, or something, and he won't bring him back unless I can prove that not everyone hates him. And I thought that if you said he did everything you told him to without arguing it might help to show that he really was sorry for all the bad stuff he did to you. So… do you think you could?"

"But what if we don't want him back?" said Little Collins. "What if we think the school is better off without him?"

"That's what Dhif thinks, too… but don't you think Villiers-Gore might have changed? I'm sure he realises that what he did to you was wrong…"

"Well, he did say that," admitted Osterley. "And it was after his punishment ended, too, so he wasn't just trying to get out of it. I mean, he was almost human that last time he spoke to us, wasn't he, Bertie?"

"Almost," said Little Collins. "It still doesn't make up for what he put you through, though."

"I know. But I think he knew that, too. So, what happens if you can't convince Dhif the Rat is a saint?"

"I don't know, but it must be bad – I mean, he must be locked up somewhere, or something. And he said that unless he speaks to whoever's holding him within two weeks he's never going to let Villiers-Gore go. And I'm afraid that… well, the only way you can be sure that someone can't escape is to kill them, isn't it?"

"Don't be stupid," said Little Collins. "This is England, not the USSR. You can't just keep someone locked up indefinitely, and you certainly can't go about killing people – the police aren't stupid."

"I know, but… look, Osterley, please will you say that to Dhif – about Villiers-Gore taking his punishment like a man? Please? I know Collins is probably right, but still…"

"Well, you can count me out," said Little Collins. "I'm never going to say anything nice about that bastard."

"I'm not asking you, I'm asking Osterley – and he's the one Villiers-Gore actually hurt. I don't want you to lie, or anything; I just want you to tell Dhif that he accepted his punishment honourably."

"Well… okay, I suppose I can do that. And really, Bertie, you ought to be grateful to him, too, because we're only friends because of what the Rat did. And having a friend like you pretty much balances out every piece of bad stuff the Rat put me through."

Little Collins blushed and looked away. "Do you really mean that?" he asked.

"You know I do. And I'd go through it all again to stay friends with you."

"Okay," interrupted Jordan, a bit embarrassed by this, "so you'll speak to him, then?"

"Yes, okay. It won't exactly be a glowing testimonial to the Rat's saintly qualities, but I will tell him about being straight about the punishments."

"Thanks, Osterley – I really appreciate it, and I know V-G… Villiers-Gore will, too."

***

Saturday morning came around, and Brahim Dhif was waiting nervously for Paul Southgate to arrive. He wondered if it would be possible for the two of them just to be normal friends, to play together, to listen to music together and stuff like that. But he didn't think it would: after all, he knew he could hardly even look at Paul without thinking about him naked, and he was virtually certain that Paul felt the same way. Even if they tried to keep things normal, he was sure that wouldn't last for long.

He wondered how the Rat was doing. He'd enjoyed watching the little racist bastard being whipped and fucked, and he hoped that he was undergoing more of the same at this very moment. He'd been a bit surprised to get a couple of testimonials from other kids at school – no doubt Fielding and the other one were desperately trying to dredge up twenty people who would be prepared to say something half decent about the Rat. He'd been particularly surprised when Ian Osterley, who he knew had been put through hell by the Rat, asked to speak to him, and he'd been absolutely astonished when Osterley said he thought the Rat had changed.

"He took every punishment I gave him without arguing, even when I literally made him puke up, and still came back for more. I think he was really genuinely sorry about what he did to me," Osterley had said. "I mean, obviously he was an utter bastard to set me up like he did in the first place, but… I don't know… somehow by the start of half term it was like a different kid. I'm not saying I like him, or anything, but I do think you should know that he was sorry for what he did. And I guess that makes him at least on the road to being a decent person."

"I hate him," Little Collins, who had been with Osterley, had said. "I saw what he did to Ian, and I saw how he tried to set you up too, remember? I think he was a total shit. But… what Ian says is true: he took his punishment without complaining, so at least he had the guts to face up to what he'd done. Personally I wouldn't care at all if I never saw him again, but, still, Ian reckons I should be prepared to admit that maybe he was honest enough to admit he'd been a bastard. So I'm doing that."

Which was hardly a cast-iron recommendation, but Dhif had to admit that it did count as speaking out on the Rat's behalf, just about. Of course, they'd never find twenty people prepared to say even that much, but he supposed he had to count that as two. And later that day Daniel Pope had come and said much the same thing: that he respected the Rat for accepting his punishments without trying to wriggle out of them.

"Virtually every boy in the class got to do stuff to him, but he never once complained," Pope had said. "And the last time, when me and Matt Wordsworth took him to the music block, he even joined in with the game. I could never have done any of the stuff we made him do, so I reckon that makes him pretty brave. So personally I reckon the old Rat's okay."

And that was a higher level of approval than Osterley's, and when Sherwood and McMillan put their oars in and said that they, too, had been impressed by the way Villiers-Gore had kept trying to get round the assault course even when a whole load of boys were chucking stuff at him and trying to make him fail, Dhif was starting to wonder if maybe he had missed something. But nobody else had said anything, so that only made seven, including Fielding and Stagg. He didn't think that there was the remotest chance of them finding another thirteen boys to sing the Rat's praises.

And then the doorbell rang, and he simply put the Rat out of his mind: there were much more important things to think about now…

"Hi, Brahim!" said Paul, with a huge smile. "I'm not too early, am I?"

"No, I've been waiting for you. Come in."

He led Paul up to his bedroom, and Paul sat on the bed and bounced up and down. "So, what are we going to do?"

"Well," said Brahim, carefully, "what sort of music do you like?"

"I dunno – pretty much anything. Got any Queen?"

As it happened Brahim had a copy of A Night at the Opera, so he put it on his record player and then sat in his chair across the room from Paul and they listened together. And when the fourth track ('You're my best friend') started he was desperately conscious of Paul looking at him and singing along, and he couldn't help catching his eye and smiling. And later, on Side Two, came Love of my Life, and something similar happened there, too. And then, fortunately, came the massive single Bohemian Rhapsody, which gave them both a chance to get up, sing along and air-guitar their way through from the middle section to the end, and that managed to dissipate the worst of the hormones that were flying about. Or, at least, Brahim thought it had. Except…

"Brahim," said Paul, quietly, as Brahim was putting the album back into its sleeve, "I think… that is, I reckon maybe… see, ever since… well, you know, what happened last term… I mean, I just can't stop thinking about… well, I mean…"

"And what do you think about it?" asked Brahim, equally quietly, putting the album back in the rack.

"I don't know… look, I like us being friends, okay, and I don't want to mess that up. Except… sometimes, when I look at you… I just wish…"

"What?" said Brahim, turning to face him.

"I… I really wish… I mean, I know it's wrong, but still…"

"You wish we could do it again?"

"Yes," mumbled Paul, looking at the floor. "I'm sorry, Brahim… I suppose I'd better go."

"Why?"

"Huh? Well, I thought… I thought you'd want me to."

"Why would I want that? You've only been here an hour."

"But… aren't you mad at me?"

"Of course not. Come here."

Slowly Paul walked across the room towards him, his face a picture of confusion. And Brahim went to meet him, and when they reached each other Brahim put his arms round him and hugged him.

"But… didn't you say this was… you know, against your religion?" asked Paul, somehow restraining himself from returning the hug. "I don't want you to do anything you're not allowed."

"I don't care if it's allowed or not, I just want to do it – as long as you do, that is?"

"Oh, God, of course I do!" cried Paul, hugging Brahim hard. "I've wanted to hold you like this again ever since… you know, then."

"So have I. I've been trying so hard not to give in, but… shit, Paul, I don't care any more. I just want to be with you, and hold you, and… and even kiss you."

"Really?"

"Really." And to prove it, he did. And Paul didn't object in the slightest, just returning the kiss happily.

Brahim pulled away after a few seconds. "So, do you think we ought to get undressed?" he asked.

"I'd like that… nobody is likely to walk in on us, though, are they?"

"No, my parents are out shopping. But I'll lock the bedroom door if you like, just to make sure."

So he did that, and then he began to undress, and Paul stared at him, before starting almost mechanically to take his own clothes off.

"I can't believe this is happening," he said. "I've dreamed about this… God, I don't know how many times. But if this is a dream too, I really don't want to wake up."

"It isn't a dream. So, let's start out the way he made us… I mean, like we were that evening: I'll lie on the bed, and you come and lie on top of me, and then… well, let's just start like that."

And he removed his pants and lay down on his back, and Paul threw his own pants off, revealing that he was very hard, and came and positioned himself on top.

Brahim put his arms around him and held him gently, and then started to stroke the other boy's back and bottom, making Paul purr like a happy kitten. He nuzzled against Brahim's cheek, and Brahim turned his head and kissed him gently.

"Okay, Paul," he said, quietly, "from now on it's up to you: we'll do whatever you want us to. Show me what's been happening in those dreams you mentioned."

"What, anything?"

"Anything at all. I just want to make you happy."

"Crumbs, I'd be happy just lying here like this all morning… but… well, perhaps we could try some other stuff later. Like maybe you'll let me rub your thing again until your sperm comes out. I liked doing that. And… well, maybe you could do it to me this time, too."

"Okay. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to put it in my mouth again instead, though?"

"What, you mean you'd actually let me do that? God, Brahim, I thought you'd hate that."

"I'd do anything to make you happy, Paul. Okay, that first time I didn't want to do it, but that was before I knew what it was like – and obviously I hated having to do it with people watching. But this time we're on our own, so if you want me to do that again, I will."

"So it doesn't taste bad?"

"No, not at all. I thought it would, but it doesn't."

"Oh. Then… maybe I should try doing it to you, too."

"Really? I mean, don't forget that when I get excited, stuff comes out, and I don't know whether that tastes bad or not."

"There's only one way to find out," said Paul, grinning at him. And he wriggled down the bed until his head was in the right place.

"You've got some proper hair coming, you know," he commented. "And I think it's bigger now, too… okay, let's try this. When you did it to me you sort of did this," and he took Brahim's erection into his mouth and started to suck on it, moving his lips slowly up and down the shaft. And it felt good…

"Hold on a moment," said Brahim. "I want to try something. Come back here and lie beside me… Right, now if I turn round like this…"

He lay down head to toe with Paul. "…then I can do it to you at the same time as you do it to me. Let's see if that works."

"Cool!" said Paul. And, yes, it seemed to work really well: having Paul working on his erection while he sucked on Paul's seemed to Brahim to be a great idea. Paul's hard organ didn't seem to have got any bigger, even though Paul was thirteen now: it was still only about three and a half inches [9 cm] long, and there was still no hair. But Brahim didn't mind that: it still felt, as he had said back in April, warm, alive and interesting, and somehow having it in his mouth made the sensations in his own penis feel even better.

They sucked away at each other for a while, and then Brahim took Paul's out of his mouth long enough to warn his friend that his climax was approaching. Paul didn't say anything or stop what he was doing: instead he took longer strokes, squeezing a little harder with his lips. And Brahim couldn't hold it back any longer… and Paul kept going even after Brahim started to ejaculate, and in fact didn't take the erection out of his mouth until he was sure it was over.

"It tastes nice," he said, before Brahim could ask. "Sort of tangy. Did it feel good?"

"Yes, it was brilliant," said Brahim, though, as he had feared, now that the orgasm was over he was starting to feel weird about it: this was the point at which he started to feel bad about himself. But he had promised himself to see this through, and Paul was his friend, and still needed an orgasm of his own; and so somehow Brahim forced himself to start sucking again. It took a while, but eventually, just as had happened after the Prefects' Meal, Paul slipped over the edge and experienced a brilliant orgasm of his own.

"God, Brahim, that was… well, special. Thanks – you're amazing!" And he reversed his position so that they were head to head once more and hugged Brahim hard.

Brahim had slightly recovered from his own post-orgasm low, and so he was able to return the hug, and they lay quietly with their arms around each other for a few minutes. Then Paul sat up.

"What shall we do now?" he asked, reaching for his pants. "Got any good games, or shall we listen to some more music, or what?"

"We could go into town for a bit."

"No, I'd sooner we just stayed here – I really like us being alone together. That way I can kiss you whenever I feel like it." And to prove it he gave Brahim a quick kiss on the cheek.

Brahim was still feeling a bit ambivalent about the sex, but Paul looked so happy, and so beautiful, that he couldn't resist pulling him into an embrace and kissing him once more. Then he broke free, got dressed and went across the room to his record collection.

"Come and see what you want to listen to," he invited.

"Okay. And then maybe a bit later on we can get undressed again. I like seeing you undressed."

Brahim didn't answer that.

They chose a couple of records, put them on the record player and lay down next to each other on the bed to listen. They started out lying on their backs, but before too long Paul rolled over onto his side and put his arm round Brahim's waist, and so Brahim rolled over to face him.

Paul smiled happily. "I never dared to dream we'd end up like this," he said. 'I thought I couldn't be that lucky. I'm really glad I was wrong… look, Brahim – when the first-year boy… you know, when he did it to you – did it really hurt? I mean, I know you told me afterwards that it didn't, but… well, I'd like to know for sure."

"Only when it first went in. Like I said, after that it was okay."

"Good. So… would you like to do it to me a bit later on?"

Brahim stared at him: he hadn't really expected Paul to suggest this. Maybe the other way around, but not with him as the active partner.

"Well… is that really what you want? I mean, wouldn't you rather do it to me?"

Paul shook his head. "You're the grown up one," he said. "And, to be honest, I don't think mine is big enough yet. But yours certainly is. And I really like the idea of us being properly joined together like that."

Brahim thought about it. "Okay," he said, finally. "But we'd better wait for a bit – I'm not sure if I'm ready to do it again quite yet."

"That's okay," said Paul. "It's nice just being here together – isn't it?"

And Brahim looked into his eyes and was lost again.

"Yes," he agreed. "It is."

So they listened to another album, and then Brahim asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"Oh, yes." And Paul began to get undressed again, but when Brahim started to take his clothes off, Paul stopped him.

"Wait," he said. "You're going to need something to help you do it. The first-year boy used Vaseline – have you got any?"

So Brahim went and looked in the bathroom and came back with a small jar of Vaseline from the medicine cupboard.

"Brilliant," said Paul. "Okay, I'm ready," and he lay face down on the bed with his bum in the air.

Brahim finished taking his clothes off and rubbed some Vaseline onto himself, and started to get into position… and stopped.

"Turn over," he said.

"Huh?"

"I want to see if we can do it with you lying on your back, because that way I'll be able to look at you while we're doing it."

"I'd like that. Do you think it'll work, though?"

"I don't know. Let's try."

So Paul lay on his back with his bum at the edge of the bed and raised his legs, holding himself behind the knees to keep his legs out of Brahim's way. And in this position Brahim could see perfectly where he wanted to go, and was able to line up and push. Paul gave a gasp, and Brahim at once drew back.

"It's okay, we don't have to do this," he said.

"I want to," said Paul. "I'll try to relax a bit more. Try again."

And this time it worked, and once his knob was past the threshold the rest of his shaft was able to slide slowly in without too much difficulty.

"Okay?" he asked.

"I'm not sure – it feels a bit strange. Try moving."

So Brahim started to rock carefully back and forwards, and he couldn't believe how amazing it felt: the warmth and pressure were like nothing he had imagined. And Paul seemed to be enjoying it, too.

"Oh, God, that's incredible, Brahim," he gasped. "Something's happening inside me… please don't stop…"

Brahim didn't want to stop, and the look on Paul's face made this feel even better. He went on moving, aware that it wouldn't take long for him to climax if he kept going like this. But in the event, Paul got there first, gasping and bucking and clamping down so hard on Brahim's penis that it made him cry out. And half a dozen more thrusts were enough to bring on his own orgasm, and he felt his seed pulsing out of him into his friend.

Finally it was over, and he sank far enough forward to be able to kiss Paul gently without disengaging first.

"This was a brilliant idea," said Paul. "If we do it like this we can kiss while you're still inside. God, Brahim, you have no idea how wonderful that felt! I mean, okay, it feels a little bit sore now, but even so, while it was happening I thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

That was a line of thinking Brahim definitely didn't want to consider, especially in his post-coital state. He pulled out and glanced down at himself, and the residue smeared on his softening penis didn't make him feel any better, either.

"Come on," he said, standing up. "We'd better get cleaned up before my parents come home."

He led Paul through to the bathroom and wiped himself down and then stood at the wash-basin washing his genitals for a couple of minutes, while Paul wiped his bottom and then sat on the edge of the bath and waited.

"We'd better get dressed," said Brahim, once he was finally sure he was clean.

They went back to the bedroom and got dressed, and Brahim opened the window and sprayed some deodorant about the room to help dispose of any lingering smell.

"Brahim," said Paul, once they were dressed, "are you okay? I mean, you've gone all quiet."

"I'm okay," said Brahim, looking at his face and managing a smile. "I just feel a bit strange, that's all. It's not like you do that for the first time every day, is it?"

"I suppose not. But I'm really glad we did it today, anyway. This has been about the best morning of my life, ever. It's weird, Brahim, but I reckon we ought to go and find the Rat on Monday morning and thank him, because we'd never have found out about any of this without him. Okay, I know he wasn't trying to teach us something good, but even so, without him I wouldn't have found out how much I l…"

He broke off, looking embarrassed.

"What?" said Brahim.

"Nothing."

"Go on, what were you going to say?"

"How much I… I love you," whispered Paul.

And now Brahim knew he was lost, because he could never say anything to hurt this beautiful boy.

"I love you, too," he said, putting the final seal on the destruction of his hopes of Paradise.

"You do? Really?"

"Yes. Come here." And Brahim hugged him and kissed him, feeling ecstatically happy and bereft at the same time.

"So, shall we go and surprise the Rat on Monday?" Paul asked.

"He's away from school at the moment," Brahim told him. "I don't think he's coming back, either."

"Pity. I'd have liked to thank him for bringing us together. Oh, well…"

And after Paul had gone home Brahim wondered if he ought to count that as someone speaking up for the Rat or not. Probably not, he thought: after all, Paul acknowledges that the Rat wasn't trying to be kind or helpful to either of us…

With Paul gone he was left alone with his thoughts, and to say they were mixed would be an understatement: he knew that he would want to go on doing stuff like that with Paul, even though he knew it was wrong: sharing his body with that beautiful boy was something he wanted to do over and over again. He found it hard to understand how such beautiful feelings could be wrong, but he knew that they were: he knew that sex was supposed to be used only for the creation of children, not for pleasure. But sharing something beautiful and making someone else happy – why was that so wicked?

It took him a long time to get to sleep that evening.

***

The following afternoon he rode his bike round to Stagg's house. He didn't know the estate where Stagg lived and he got lost a couple of times, but he found the right road in the end. Stagg and Fielding met him at the door and took him to another house a short distance away.

"This is where Villiers-Gore's housekeeper lives," Stagg explained. "She and her family are living at Villiers-Gore's house at the moment because his mother is away in London, so we've got this place to ourselves for the afternoon. Now, if you'd like to come through here into the living room… I've arranged for everyone to come round here this afternoon to tell you all about what Villiers-Gore is really like. Have a seat, and I'll start sending them in. Mind you keep count!"

So Brahim, who still couldn't believe there could possibly be thirteen kids on this estate that would be prepared to stick their necks out for the Rat, parked himself in an armchair and waited. And the first four kids came in and began the demolition job on Brahim's opinion of the Rat.

"He's kind," said Pete. "When we were doing our initiation at cub camp I was really scared. I was crying when he untied me, but he said I shouldn't be scared and that it would be okay because he knew which way to go, and that made me feel a lot better."

"He's brave, too," said Jason. "There was this really dark wood, and I was scared to go in, but he just picked up Tommy and asked me to do the same for Pete. It's like he never doubted that I would be able to follow him, and it made me feel braver. I couldn't have gone in there without him going first."

"And he's honest," said Tommy. "He told everyone it was me found the first arrow, but we'd never even have got over the first gate if he hadn't led us. And when we were going through the dark wood he carried me, and I clung really tight to him 'cos I was scared, but he never complained."

"He's a really good leader," said Chris, the blues' sixer. "Me and Alex could hear them talking, and he got everyone moving even though I'm pretty sure he was as scared as the others. And going through that wood was amazing – we'd laid the course in daylight on the Sunday afternoon, and we didn't realise how dark it would be in the wood at night. But he led them straight in. I'm pretty sure I couldn't have done that if I'd been naked like he was. And Alex would tell you the same thing, but he's in bed with chicken-pox so he couldn't come today."

I can't count him, then, thought Brahim to himself, wondering if this lot were really talking about the same boy.

Next up were the Red Six.

"We teased him really badly when he first joined, 'cos Joe told us he hated council estate kids," said Benedict. "We beat him up and made him strip all the time, so we could laugh at him – he's got a really tiny willy, see. But he never lost his temper with us, and he did all the bad stuff we told him to without complaining. And then at camp he showed us all he could be brave, too – I think Chris and the others already told you about the initiation trail. And since then he's been like a friend – he's joined in everything and helped to make the Reds the best six."

"He's a weed," said George. "I can beat him up, and I'm only eight. But he never turned nasty or anything, and even after I'd made him look silly by making him submit he was still nice to me. And, like Benny says, after camp he was a proper Red, and… well, I reckon he's my friend now."

"I agree with George and Benny," said Mike.

"Me, too," said Flip. "I reckon Gerbil's nice."

"I was pretty nasty to him," said Roger. "I went on stripping him and making fun of his little knob longer than any of the others. But when I did something stupid and got hurt he was kind to me and tried to make me feel better. It made me feel sort of sorry for bullying him, to be honest. I think he's pretty decent."

Five of them went out, leaving the one who hadn't spoken yet, and a girl and a boy came in to join him.

"My name's Tim Devlin," said the older boy. "Our mum is Gerbil's housekeeper – this is our house. When we first met him he was a total bastard – he was rude to us and called us names and acted all high and mighty, and we hated him. But then his mum got a job in London and we moved into his house so my mum could look after him, and that gave us a chance to get our own back. And, boy, did we: we beat him and stripped him and took all his stuff and made him sleep in the attic, and we treated him like he was younger than Joe and forced him to go to bed really early. It was fun, and when he tried to get out of it it got even better, 'cos we could punish him worse and worse.

"But after a bit he seemed to learn his lesson. He stopped arguing and just did what we told him, and even though we went on treating him like shit – a lot worse than the way he had us, if I'm honest – for a while longer he just sort of knuckled down and took it. And you could tell that after a while he stopped hating us and started treating us with respect. He changed, and he was a lot nicer after that."

"The first time he saw me he was really rude and stroppy," said Molly, "but by the time he went away he was completely different: he let me bathe him without trying to get out of it, and he never moaned about having to wear just a pair of shorts at weekends. And he got really polite, too. He's okay now."

"He really hated me at first because I was in charge of his punishments, and I used to beat him really badly," said Joe. "And I forced him to come to cubs, too – can you imagine how bad it was for a boy who's nearly fifteen to have to play with a load of eight and nine-year-olds, and get stripped and beaten up by them? But pretty soon after he joined the cubs he was joining in properly, even when we still did bad stuff to him. And he stuck up for Roger, even though Roger had bullied him loads. Now he's like a proper brother to me, or a friend. I miss him, and I want him back."

"That's only twelve," said Brahim as the Devlins filed out: Stagg and Fielding had stayed in the room with him throughout the testimony of the others.

"We've got one more," Stagg told him. "You haven't met my brother yet."

And Michael's testimony was short and to the point.

"He's my friend," he said. "He's kind, and he's gentle, and I love him. Please bring him back."

By now Brahim was completely shell-shocked: he couldn't believe anyone could change as completely as the Rat seemed to have done over such a short period: the boy these people had been talking about bore no resemblance to the arrogant racist who had tried to get him expelled because of the colour of his skin. But nor could he believe that the witnesses had been inventing their stories: he could hear the honesty in their voices. And if the Rat had changed to the extent that a boy from a council house could say that he loved him…

"Okay," he said, standing up. "You've convinced me I was wrong. It's hard to believe, but it looks as if a lot has happened since the end of the spring term, and I didn't see it… it's just… well, he was such a bastard before. But if you really believe he's changed as much as that, then he shouldn't be punished any more. As soon as I get home I'll call the people who are holding him and get him brought back here."

"Promise?" said Michael.

"I promise."

They went outside. The cubs had gone, but the three Devlin children were waiting in front of the house.

"He's going to bring him back," Julian told them, and all three broke into smiles, and Joe shouted "Yes!!" and jumped into the air. And that convinced Brahim he was doing the right thing: he would call Ali as soon as he got home and arrange for the Rat to be flown home.

He got on his bike. "As soon as I get home," he said, again, and swung his bike into the road.

"You're going the wrong way!" Julian shouted after him.

"What?" Brahim looked back over his shoulder.

"I said, you're going the wrong way – this is a one way street!"

"Huh?" Brahim looked to his front again, but before he could stop a battered white Transit van came around the corner, travelling rather faster than was safe, and Brahim rode straight into the front of it. He was hurled over the handlebars, smashed into the van's windscreen and landed on the road in a heap.

The boys ran towards him, while the van driver, a young man in his late teens, got out of the van, took one look and was noisily sick in the gutter.

"Someone go and call for an ambulance," said Michael, kneeling down beside Brahim and looking at the blood in dismay.

Tim ran and banged on the door of the nearest house and got the woman inside to call for an ambulance, and for the police – something would have to be done about moving the van, whose driver looked in no condition to drive it, even if the windscreen hadn't been broken.

Fortunately it only took the ambulance five minutes to get there, though the look on the crew's faces when they examined Brahim suggested that he was in a bad way. They loaded him onto the ambulance and drove off with the siren wailing.

"I'm going to head for the hospital," said Michael. "But I don't know what we can do about David if he… you know."

He ran back to his house and got his bike, and he and Jordan pedalled their way to the General Hospital. It was a couple of miles away, but it only took them ten minutes to get there. But of course nobody would tell them anything when they arrived, and they had to sit in a waiting room for ages.

Eventually a man came to join them who looked so like Brahim that he could only be his father. Michael introduced himself and said he was a friend of Brahim, and that they had witnessed the accident – and "Have they told you how he is, please?"

Mr Dhif shook his head. "They're still working on him. He's still alive, but that's all they've told me. So – what happened, exactly?"

So Michael explained the circumstances of the accident – at least, he described how Brahim had collided with the van, but not the meeting they had had with him first. But Jordan was thinking about that, and so he asked if the Dhifs had any relatives anywhere else in the country.

Mr Dhif shook his head. "It's only me, my wife and Brahim," he said. "There's nobody else."

And that left the boys with no leads as to where David might be.

Mrs Dhif arrived a little later, and then the parents were called through to talk to a doctor. And a few minutes later Mr Dhif came back.

"I want to thank you for coming," he said, "but you should go home now. There's nothing you can do here."

"How is he?" asked Michael.

"He's… well, he's alive. But he's got a broken skull, and he's in intensive care, and they don't know if… look, you should go home. I need to be with my wife."

"Okay, Sir. But… here's my phone number," said Michael, scribbling it on the back of one of the magazines in the waiting room, tearing it off and handing it to Mr Dhif. "Please can you call me as soon as you have any news? We'd really appreciate it."

Michael and Jordan cycled back to Michael's house, rather more slowly. There didn't seem to be anything they could do but to wait and hope that Brahim made a proper recovery, as they had no way of guessing where he might have stashed David – the lack of relatives in the country meant that there was no obvious place to look. It never for a moment occurred to them that David might have been taken abroad.

And on the Tuesday morning at break Michael came and found Jordan.

"Mr Dhif called me last night," he said. "Dhif's alive, and he's stable. But he's in a coma, and nobody knows how long it'll be before he wakes up. If he ever does, that is. So there's nothing we can do. We'll just have to wait and hope David's okay, and that he can hang on until Dhif recovers. But… I'm scared, Jordan. I hope nothing happens to him."

"I'm sure he'll be okay," said Jordan. "It's like Collins said: this is England. Nothing too awful can really happen to him here…"

So that would seem to be the end of the rescue attempt. And that means that, unless Dhif wakes up and does the right thing, David is now entirely on his own…

NEXT PART