Rocco. Blood still dripped from the ragged edges.
The Herald called again. Py got up. Despite his slight frame, he strode heavily, slouching into the chair that Cristobalite had just vacated.
The Herald flicked the scroll of paper. ‘Pyroxene, you are charged with a Category A offence - playing a harpsiflute, privately, as a solitary endeavour, contrary to the Reformations and Omniflock Improvements in the Law of Krakatoan , Article fourteen, subsection five. How do you plead?’
Cristobalite had lost his wings because he’d read a book, and now Py was going to lose his wings because he played a harpsiflute? Krakatoan had looked so magnificent yesterday, particularly the dancing urvogels in the night sky. But under all that splendour urvogels were petty and cruel.
A moment ago Vesta, Basalt, Magma and Iggy had been in a stupor. But now their wings were vibrating as they stared down at Py.
The Herald repeated the charge. Still Py didn’t answer.
‘What’s the meaning of this insolence?’ roared the Grand Master.
Pyroxene’s wings had slumped so low the tips were now resting on the floor.
‘What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?’
Pyroxene mumbled.
‘What’s that? Speak up. We can’t hear you all the way up here in that pip squeaky voice.’ A cloud of spittle flew out of the Grand Master’s mouth.
Pyroxene’s shoulders began to shake.
‘Don’t start that soppy mess,’ said the bushy-haired judge. ‘How do you plead?’
‘I don’t want to lose my wings,’ wailed Pyroxene.
‘For the love of the Great Urvogel. We’re not even through the trial yet. You have to be convicted before a sentence is imposed. How long’s it been since you fledged?’
Py’s shoulders shook harder.
Sighing loudly, the bushy-haired judge pulled back in a huddle with the Grand Master and the third judge.
It wasn’t the least bit fair. Py was small – a young urvogel. Couldn’t they cut him some slack? Rocco’s mind flitted over all the minionatros he’d seen since arriving. There hadn’t been a single one as young as Py, but maybe all the young ones were cooped up in a room weaving carpets, or only allowed to clean the Bathhouse after it was emptied at night.
The Grand Master, who had been doing almost all the talking up to that point, lifted a small wooden hammer. He rapped it on the desk. ‘Stand up. If you can’t decide, we’ll decide for you!’
Py struggled up.
‘Guilty.’ The hammer banged loudly again.
Teetering forward, Py grasped the arm of his chair before falling back into the seat.
‘Since you’re here, we might as well move on to sentencing.’ The Grand Master peered down.
‘You’ve been convicted of a crime of vanity,’ he continued. ‘I can’t emphasize enough how important it is for you young urvogels to fit into the collective. That’s your best refuge for life. Krakatoan will provide you with sanctuary, but you must forego private indulgences.’
The Grand Master paused. ‘You’re obviously not fledged. Clearly not up to much. It’s our duty to exact mercy as well as justice. For that reason, and due to your youth, we have decided to let you keep your wings. Your minionatro sentence is suspended.’
That was good news, wasn’t it? Rocco glanced sideways at Vesta. Her expression hadn’t changed. The muscles in her mouth were tight.
The judge on the far right, the one with the white topknot, took up the speech.
‘You shall keep your wings, but you are hereby sentenced to a life cut off from your hatch-mates. You are banished from Krakatoan. You can never enter these walls again. If you disobey, your life will be forfeited.’
Loud clamouring arose from the rows behind Rocco. Vesta, Basalt and Iggy sprang to their feet. Magma, still seated, was making weird choking sounds under his wing.
Py was made to stand. The Air Marshals escorted him up the aisle. The room grew silent again.
‘Oh Py!’ Vesta sobbed.
The door opened, light flooded in, then Py and the Air
The Herald called again. Py got up. Despite his slight frame, he strode heavily, slouching into the chair that Cristobalite had just vacated.
The Herald flicked the scroll of paper. ‘Pyroxene, you are charged with a Category A offence - playing a harpsiflute, privately, as a solitary endeavour, contrary to the Reformations and Omniflock Improvements in the Law of Krakatoan , Article fourteen, subsection five. How do you plead?’
Cristobalite had lost his wings because he’d read a book, and now Py was going to lose his wings because he played a harpsiflute? Krakatoan had looked so magnificent yesterday, particularly the dancing urvogels in the night sky. But under all that splendour urvogels were petty and cruel.
A moment ago Vesta, Basalt, Magma and Iggy had been in a stupor. But now their wings were vibrating as they stared down at Py.
The Herald repeated the charge. Still Py didn’t answer.
‘What’s the meaning of this insolence?’ roared the Grand Master.
Pyroxene’s wings had slumped so low the tips were now resting on the floor.
‘What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?’
Pyroxene mumbled.
‘What’s that? Speak up. We can’t hear you all the way up here in that pip squeaky voice.’ A cloud of spittle flew out of the Grand Master’s mouth.
Pyroxene’s shoulders began to shake.
‘Don’t start that soppy mess,’ said the bushy-haired judge. ‘How do you plead?’
‘I don’t want to lose my wings,’ wailed Pyroxene.
‘For the love of the Great Urvogel. We’re not even through the trial yet. You have to be convicted before a sentence is imposed. How long’s it been since you fledged?’
Py’s shoulders shook harder.
Sighing loudly, the bushy-haired judge pulled back in a huddle with the Grand Master and the third judge.
It wasn’t the least bit fair. Py was small – a young urvogel. Couldn’t they cut him some slack? Rocco’s mind flitted over all the minionatros he’d seen since arriving. There hadn’t been a single one as young as Py, but maybe all the young ones were cooped up in a room weaving carpets, or only allowed to clean the Bathhouse after it was emptied at night.
The Grand Master, who had been doing almost all the talking up to that point, lifted a small wooden hammer. He rapped it on the desk. ‘Stand up. If you can’t decide, we’ll decide for you!’
Py struggled up.
‘Guilty.’ The hammer banged loudly again.
Teetering forward, Py grasped the arm of his chair before falling back into the seat.
‘Since you’re here, we might as well move on to sentencing.’ The Grand Master peered down.
‘You’ve been convicted of a crime of vanity,’ he continued. ‘I can’t emphasize enough how important it is for you young urvogels to fit into the collective. That’s your best refuge for life. Krakatoan will provide you with sanctuary, but you must forego private indulgences.’
The Grand Master paused. ‘You’re obviously not fledged. Clearly not up to much. It’s our duty to exact mercy as well as justice. For that reason, and due to your youth, we have decided to let you keep your wings. Your minionatro sentence is suspended.’
That was good news, wasn’t it? Rocco glanced sideways at Vesta. Her expression hadn’t changed. The muscles in her mouth were tight.
The judge on the far right, the one with the white topknot, took up the speech.
‘You shall keep your wings, but you are hereby sentenced to a life cut off from your hatch-mates. You are banished from Krakatoan. You can never enter these walls again. If you disobey, your life will be forfeited.’
Loud clamouring arose from the rows behind Rocco. Vesta, Basalt and Iggy sprang to their feet. Magma, still seated, was making weird choking sounds under his wing.
Py was made to stand. The Air Marshals escorted him up the aisle. The room grew silent again.
‘Oh Py!’ Vesta sobbed.
The door opened, light flooded in, then Py and the Air
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