wizard-of-the-pigeons

floor behind him, felt soft pinions brush his bare legs.
“Oh, shit, shit, shit!” he roared suddenly, wasting precious breath. He scuttled
in a circle on his belly, the stupid wizard’s robe winding up around his legs and
hobbling him. He gathered up the little bodies as he crawled, putting them into
the sling of his cloak. He took the tall wizard cap from the table and filled it with
birds. They were heavy. How many did he have?
He had no idea how many roosted in his room at night. The idiot things
struggled against his rescue, hopping out of his reach as the gray ceiling pressed
ever closer.
At last he had them all. His cloak was a heavy sling over his arm, his birdstuffed
hat tossed in as well. The cooing, rustling, struggling load dragged beside
him, snagging on the old flooring. He could feel heat on his bare legs. The air in
the room was warming up, the temperature rising every second.
He would have to crawl for the hall door and down the corridor and try to
find a way to escape.
Outside his room in the foreign corridor, he kicked the door shut behind him.
He came cautiously to his knees. But the smoke was thick here as well, stinging
his eyes and choking him. He dropped again and resumed his frantic crawl. He
didn’t know this part of the building. He had never explored it other than to
determine that it and the stories above him were unoccupied. Now he regretted
his lack of curiosity. The loose fabric of the robe dragged and tangled around his
knees, snagging against the floor. The sling full of pigeons occupied one arm
completely. But at last he reached a door and felt cautiously up the wood for the
knob. The cold brass refused to turn. Locked. He banged his fist against the solid
wood panels. Good, sturdy, old-fashioned door. No exit this way.
He coughed heavily and could draw in no clean air to calm his lungs. To
breathe now was to choke. His belly scraped the floor as he wriggled along with
his cooing, rustling load. His eyes were running tears, and even if there had been
light he would have been blind. The smoke smelled acrid and poisonous; he
wondered what was smoldering. The basic structure of the building was brick,
but the interior, with its hardwood floors and fine old paneling, would burn
merrily. His groping fingers encountered another doorframe. He was so horribly
tired. If only he could lie still for a moment and catch his breath. One cool breath
of air and he knew he could keep going. His leaden fingers walked up the door
panels. His wandering hand finally encountered the knob. He rattled it, but it did
not turn. Locked. But above it he felt the smoothness of a pane of glass. This