Voltaire went on. “I want to read it, to find clues about my life before, but Fly Man can’t read the big words,” he repeated.

“So, you want me to read it to you?”

He nodded. “I think I’ve read it in the past. But I don’t remember.”

The pills had robbed him of his ability to read and write. He had come to me in the night to protect his image before the other bandits, who believed his intellect was intact.

I frowned, swallowing my pity. He’d terrified me with his poisoned spear and berry-stained teeth. “Why should I help you?” I said. “Your army has been killing my kind for months.”

“I told you,” Voltaire protested. “I’m not in charge of the so-called Voltaire’s Army. They’re using my name.”

“Your name and your message,” I said. “You want the Record Keepers gone just like they do. You want an end to the Rebirth. You want to make laws and vote in the Senate.”

Voltaire shrugged. “Yes, that’s my message, or so I’ve been told,” he said. His headdress slipped to the side.

I bit my lip. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“Do you think I’d have come to you, to ask for anything, if I did?”

I opened my mouth to answer.

Voltaire cut me off. “Believe me, English,” he whispered harshly. “If there were any other way, I’d take it. I don’t remember everything, but I do know the workers deserve freedom from their misery. Not forgetfulness, not ignorance; freedom—and I’m going to help them get it.”

His eyes were hot with passion. He didn’t know it, but we were not in opposition. He wanted freedom, and so did I. After seventeen years, I realized that the students in the big house were no more free than the workers in the field. Voltaire would realize it too, in time. “I’ll do it,” I said, finally. “But I want something in return.”

“Name it.”

“I’m to train with you and your men tomorrow and—well—I need a pair of britches,” I said. “You’re about my size.”

“Done,” Voltaire said.

We shook hands.

I took the book and sat down beside him to read. “Okay. Where should I start?”

He squinted scornfully. His chin thrust out again and the sneer was back in his tone. “Where should you start? At the beginning, English—where else would you start?”