Free Rocco's Wings by Rebecca Merry Murdock

up.
    Flashing his beady eyes, the Air Marshal continued looking around the circle. ‘No gold robes, either, I suppose.’
    The short Air Marshal had been flipping pages noisily, as if trying to find something of particular interest in his book. Clearing his throat, he read aloud. ‘Says here, where two or three are gathered together, let us rejoice in song and voice.’
    ‘Try Article fourteen.’ The tall Air Marshal resumed walking, stopping behind a white robe with a feathered necklace around his neck, holding a set of bells. Bending over, the Air Marshall grabbed the bells and tossed them on the floor in the middle of the circle.
    Rocco, sitting cross-legged, examined his shoes. Was there something wrong with the bells? Had the white robe stolen them?
    ‘We’re not doing anything wrong.’ Basalt’s voice had a worried edge.
    ‘Ah, here it is!’ the short Air Marshal called over. ‘All acts of enjoyment, reading, singing, or the playing of instruments shall include the guiding presence of at least one fully fledged urvogel.’
    Walking over, the tall Air Marshal stuck a bony finger in Basalt’s chest. ‘You fully fledged?’
    ‘N-no.’
    ‘Anyone else here fully fledged?’ The Air Marshal whirled around.
    ‘Course we’re not fledged. We’d be wearing blue robes. Can’t he see?’ the white robe beside Rocco whispered.
    The Air Marshal’s head jerked up. ‘What did you say?’
    The white robe’s voice was barely audible. ‘There’s nothing wrong with white robes wanting to pass time together. We do it at night in Roosting Hall. There aren’t even minionatros around to watch us.’
    ‘But you’re awake now, aren’t you?’ The Air Marshal’s nostrils flared, making him look even more like a goshawk as he marched over. ‘White robes can’t be trusted to do things properly. You’re down here, rollicking around and no doubt conjuring up all kinds of wild ideas and weedy notions.’
    ‘Can’t we just have fun?’ asked another white robe from across the circle.
    Ignoring the remark, the Air Marshal, still standing in front of the white robe beside Rocco, pulled out a small black book. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, pen poised over the page.
    ‘Feldie – I mean Feldspar.’
    The Air Marshal scribbled. ‘What’s that?’ he said, pointing.
    ‘A flute. I made it myself – from the wing of a griffon vulture.’
    The Air Marshal scribbled again. Ripping the page out of the book he handed it to Feldspar. As he was about to move to the next white robe he lifted the heel of his boot and crushed the flute.
    Feldspar gasped.
    Rocco pulled his wings down. Surely they’d noticed him already; he stood out like a sore thumb.
    With a single long step, the Air Marshal moved to the white robe on the other side of Feldspar. She’d been playing a small harp, which she now laid on the floor in front of her.
    The same questions were asked. The tall Air Marshal scribbled again. Tearing the page out of his book, he was about to hand it to the white robe when Basalt leaned in and scooped the harp off the floor.
    ‘There’s no reason to smash it,’ said Basalt defiantly.
    Reaching over the white robe’s head, the tall Air Marshal seized the flute from Basalt’s hands. Moving again to the middle of the circle, the Air Marshal dropped the instrument. All eyes were on his boot as the heel came down. The harp lay in pieces.
    Eventually they were going to get to him, thought Rocco. They would say something cruel, embarrass him in front of everyone, get them going on the game of mockery that Harpia had started yesterday.
    ‘No one told us we weren’t allowed to play music together,’ said Vesta.
    The Air Marshal strode over. ‘You’re Vesta, right?’
    Vesta nodded.
    ‘You’ve just been made a master at akiva-du ?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘All that practising and exams, and you can’t even find your way to the Book Treasury? Harpia’s Law is there for every one of you to read. There’s always a Reading