Free Bitter Chocolate by Sally Grindley Page A

over to the pile of empty pods that would be loaded up on to a truck and taken away, to be turned into soap, somebody said. He tipped his own load on top, retrieved the sack and, as he did so, an idea began to form in his mind.

Chapter 18
    Pascal had no idea how long he had been asleep. He woke when light from the open door fell across his face.
    ‘Time to get up,’ a gruff voice ordered.
    He sat up, his head spinning. Olivier groaned from somewhere to the left of him. They struggled to their feet and stumbled outside.
    ‘Sleep all right?’ Seb called to them from a clearing, where he was tending a small fire.
    Pascal’s tongue felt as if it were coated with fur and his throat was tight. He nodded in answer.
    ‘Grub’s up,’ Seb grinned.
    The thought of food made Pascal want to vomit. Olivier groaned again and collapsed on the ground without warning. Gustav appeared from nowhere and hauled him to his feet, helping him over to a tree stump by the fire and pushing Pascal forward at the same time.
    ‘Eat,’ he ordered.
    Seb handed them each a bowl of soup. Pascal lifted his to his lips and tried to sip. His stomach lurched violently in anticipation. He lowered the bowl again, making out that it was too hot.
    ‘You need to toughen up,’ said Seb.
    You need to toughen up .
    The words triggered an explosion of images in Pascal’s mind. He dropped the bowl and launched himself at Seb, thumping his chest and kicking at his ankles.
    Seb just laughed, caught hold of his fists and held him at arm’s length. ‘Now then, littl’un,’ he said. ‘Save your energy for someone who deserves to be beaten. Sit down before I lose my temper.’
    Pascal had no choice but to obey. Next to him, Olivier slurped his soup, spilling half of it down his front, while Gustav chopped wood somewhere behind him and Seb prodded the fire with a stick. It was all so surreal, Pascal felt as if he had stepped into someone else’s dream.
    ‘What are your names and how old are you boys, then?’ Seb asked.
    ‘I’m Olivier and I’m twelve, and Pascal – he’s my cousin, he’s ten,’ Olivier offered blankly.
    ‘I’m nearly eleven,’ Pascal added quickly.
    ‘Ten and twelve, eh?’ said Seb. ‘Good ages for learning new things, I bet.’ He stared at them as though searching for agreement, but continued regardless. ‘How about we teach you how to fire a gun? Every boy I’ve ever met wants to know how to fire a gun.’
    Pascal’s mouth dropped open in alarm. He didn’t want to know how to fire a gun. It was bad enough playing pretend shoot-’em-up games with his cousins. Why would he want to know how to fire a real gun? He turned to Olivier. His cousin looked awful, as though someone had knocked all the stuffing out of him.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Seb added. ‘It’s only so you can defend yourselves if someone starts taking potshots at you. Besides, you might want to take revenge if a person hurts someone you love. What do you reckon, Gustav?’
    ‘I’d kill ’em, I would,’ said Gustav. ‘Anyone who comes near my family.’
    ‘That’s what he did,’ said Seb. ‘Took his revenge.’
    Olivier came out of his daze. ‘What, you mean –’
    ‘Nobody messes with me or Gustav,’ Seb interrupted. ‘Not without consequences.’
    ‘Who are you?’ Olivier asked.
    ‘We’re friends,’ said Seb. ‘That’s all you need to know. Here, take this and see if you can hit that rock over there.’
    He thrust a rifle into Olivier’s hands and showed him how to use it. Olivier was still unsteady on his feet. When he pulled the trigger he nearly fell backwards.
    ‘Nice one,’ Seb hooted. ‘That frightened a few monkeys off their branches.’
    Olivier took aim again. This time the bullet hit the rock.
    ‘Got it!’ Olivier cried. Without being told, he fired a third bullet and hit the rock again.
    Pascal cringed at the knowledge that in a moment it would be his turn. He would miss, he knew it, and not just once, but every time. He