I could not read as Little Finch could. And so, the English letters did not plague me like they plagued him. For him, they were like a fever. They put ideas into his head. And after, he would not perform. Instead, he hunted for more pamphlets and stole paper to copy the old ones. So, the English sent us both to the field.

“Work in the field was hard. Sunup to sundown, without enough to eat. And still, Little Finch longed for the pamphlets. They had become like hash to him. I begged, but he would not give them up.

“Then, one day, we were sent to the outfield for work. It took all morning to get there and, when we arrived, we were punished for being late, though it was not our fault. The next day, we took a shorter route, through the bush. It was a dangerous route, but we ignored the danger. We were afraid to be punished.

“My brother was ahead and that is how I saw the snake—twice the length of my arm, and as thick as my wrist. It did not make a sound, I swear, not a sound. It slid up. I cried out and I crushed its head, too late. The snake killed my brother. One minute, Little Finch was alive. The next, he was dead. The last thing he said was this:

“‘Finch, find the one who writes the pamphlets. Pledge your allegiance, forever, to the end of the age.’

“I did not care about the pamphlets. I hated them, as they had possessed my brother. Even so, I could work no more at Bankhead, the House of the snake that murdered my Little Finch. I got one of his cursed pamphlets and followed the name on it, Voltaire, across the Kongo—to Hannibal. When I found Voltaire, I pledged my allegiance and, together, we fight all the snakes. First, we were Rebels. Now we are bandits. Next, I do not know.”

He lunged over the fire to Voltaire’s side. He placed the other over his heart and gestured for several seconds, tears in his eyes. Pidge did not translate. There was no need.

“Where you go, Voltaire, I will go. If the Conqueror Crane is your friend, he is also mine. If Booster will fight for you in the Joust, he will also fight for me. To the end of the age.”

Finished, Finch retired to his log.

Pidge broke the silence. “I do not disagree with you, Voltaire. I too have a story of allegiance, though I will not tell it. I do not disagree with you. But I will not follow anyone blindly, as I did the English.” As he said this, he sent me a nasty look.