Before Voltaire could respond, Hosea spoke. “Anyone who drinks tonight cannot train in the morning. To master the Helix quickly, you’ll need a clear head.”

The burly man, the largest of the bandits, flexed his onyx chest so it rippled in the firelight. He eyed Hosea, drank defiantly from the jug and wiped his chin with a fist of knuckles. Holding Hosea’s gaze, he passed the jug to his right. A slender bandit with ears that stuck straight out from his head immediately passed it back.

The burly man roared. “Come now, Pidge. You would let him take the hair from your chest?” He pounded his black sternum.

“I’ve got plenty of hair, Booster. I don’t need drink to grow it.”

The burly man laughed derisively and handed the bottle to the next man, shorter and even more slender than the first. “Finch, brother. Tell me you’re more a man than your skinny shadow here.”

Finch had a friendly face with a wide mouth and a set of small ivory teeth that he showed often. He looked thoughtfully at the jug. He sniffed the open lip and wiggled his eyebrows appreciatively. He shifted woozily, pretending to swoon from his stool. Just before he hit the ground, he popped back up with a gummy grin. He set the bottle at his feet.

“Come now, Finch,” the burly man roared. “I don’t believe it, not you too.” He bent at the waist and shoved his face close, forcing Finch to lean back. “Why not?” he growled.

Finch pretended to grab something at his waist. He held up his empty fist and flicked his wrist left, just as Hosea had in the clearing. He watched, wide-eyed, as his imaginary Helix lengthened into a spear.

“Won’t he speak?” I whispered.

“Not a word,” Voltaire answered. “Pidge usually translates.”

I turned back in time to watch Finch mime-shooting an arrow into the distance. With both hands he mimed an explosion. Struck by the blast, he leapt from his seat into the air. He flipped backwards, catching himself on both hands. With his slim body straight up, balanced on his palms, he picked his way to the inside of the circle and flipped delicately back into his seat.

I marveled as he grinned, showing all his teeth.

Pidge cleared his throat. “I think Finch says he would rather train tomorrow with the English than drink tonight with you, Booster.”

Booster glared. “I heard him.” He snatched up the bottle and handed it to Voltaire. “You will drink, Voltaire.”

Voltaire shook his head and handed it to Hosea, who passed it to me. Following course, I turned to my right. The man beside me was stout with a bulbous nose.

“Would you like some?” I said. “I don’t know your name.”

“That’s alright. I’m Hurley.” His voice was nasal, as if he was sick and couldn’t breathe properly. He held out a hand.