Another Fine Myth by Robert Asprin

“Good enough, lad. Now put it back in the book.”

I smiled to myself. This part I had practiced, not because of its potential applications, but because it was fun.

The book was lying open on the end of the workbench. I brought the feather down in a long lazy spiral, allowing it to pass lightly across the pages of the book and up in a swooping arc, stopped it, and brought it back. As it approached the book the second time, I disengaged part of my mind to dart ahead to the book. As the feather crossed the pages, the book snapped shut like the jaws of a hungry predator, trapping the missile within its grasp.

“Hmmmm …” intoned Garkin, “a trifle showy, but effective.”

“Just a little something I worked up when I was practicing,” I said casually, reaching out with my mind for the other lizard-bird leg. Instead of floating gracefully to my waiting hand, however, it remained on the wooden platter as if it had taken root.

“Not so fast, my little sneak-thief. So you’ve been practicing, eh?” He stroked his beard thoughtfully with the half-gnawed bone in his hand.

“Certainly. Didn’t it show?” It occurred to me that Garkin is not as easy to fool as it sometimes seems.

“In that case, I’d like to see you light your candle. It should be easy if you have been practicing as much as you claim.”

“I have no objections to trying, but as you have said yourself so many times, some lessons come easier than others.”

Although I sounded confident, my spirits sank as the large candle came floating to the work table in response to Garkin’s summons. In four years of trying I was yet to be successful at this particular exercise. If Garkin was going to keep me from food until I was successful, I could go hungry for a long time.