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floor, to come down with a crash when
    he sat on it. Thurid bent a slow, angry glare upon Leifr.
    “I don’t know what’s happening.” Leifr gaped at the milk jug
    quietly overflowing itself and running onto the floor, while a shelf full
    of kettles rattled and danced merrily over Thurid’s head. Thurid
    glimpsed a heavy mug just as it slipped over the edge; he dodged its fall
    barely in the nick of time.
    With his thin nostrils quivering, Thurid stood up to his full height
    and composed his clothing, keeping his eyes upon Leifr.
    “Do you recall the thrashings you got during the snake
    episode? You conjured snakes in people’s food, in their beds, in their
    pockets—”
    “I did no such thing,” Leifr interrupted indignantly. “And as
    for all this—” He motioned to the room, where other objects were
    jiggling and rattling, “I don’t have the powers. Fridmundr himself
    said my powers were locked away someplace where I couldn’t use
    them. How could I be doing this?”
    “Very easily, for a malicious young troublemaker,” Thurid
    retorted. “I know you, Fridmarr, and this is exactly the sort of thing you
    used to do years ago. If you don’t stop it immediately, I shall have to
    take counteraction.”
    His blustering tone began to annoy Leifr. “If you think you’re
    going to frighten me, you’re mistaken,” he said, looking straight into
    Thurid’s eyes and picturing what he could do to him if his temper got
    the best of him.
    Thurid’s eyes flew open in consternation, as if he had received
    the picture perfectly. With a thoughtful grunt, he summoned up a deep
    interest in finishing his breakfast, which he kept well-seasoned with a
    barrage of orders flung at Snagi in an irritable voice. Between times, he
    glared at Leifr, who sat helplessly watching a series of petty
    annoyances plaguing Thurid. His tea spilled for no reason, any metal
    objects near him behaved bizarrely, and the bread shifted positions on
    the table whenever he reached for it. Then he discovered a suspicious,
    dark fragment floating in his cup.
    “What’s this?” he demanded, trembling with fury.
    Peering uninvited over his shoulder, Snagi volunteered
    cheerfully, “Looks like a bit of midden to me.”
    Thurid stood up suddenly, fixing a hostile glare upon Leifr. “If
    there’s muck in the milk, I know who’s responsible,” he snapped.
    “We’ve had a peaceful time of it while you’ve been gone, but the
    moment you return, all manner of fiendish tricks start happening. It
    doesn’t take a wizard to figure out where the trouble comes from.” He
    whirled around and strode out the door, half-tripping over a piece of
    firewood which had crept out of the box to trip him. Another kettle fell
    off the shelf with a heavy crash.
    Snagi kept one hand over his mouth to hide a toothless grin.
    “You shouldn’t gall him like that, young master, be it ever so funny.
    You’re not changed one bit, are you, lad? I remember how you used
    to set fire to him.“
    Leifr uncoiled somewhat from his aghast wincing and cringing.
    The ungoverned magical effects seemed to have halted with Thurid’s
    departure. He couldn’t help glancing around nervously, and the
    evidence of magical powers tripping around the room had destroyed his
    appetite for breakfast.
    “He’s the wizard, not me,” he protested feebly. “He must be
    doing all this himself.”
    Snagi laughed aloud and discreetly turned it into a lengthy cough.
    “Wizard! And my grandfather was a haddock,” he wheezed. “You’ll
    never admit it, will you? Still got it in for him after all these years—I
    declare!” Snickering under a muzzling hand, he turned his back to
    hide his glee. “What will you be doing today, young master?”
    “I’ll have to go see Sorkvir sometime,” Leifr said grimly. “I’d
    best not put it off too long, although I never was a great one for
    obligations.” He knew enough by now about Fridmarr to feel quite safe
    in that statement.
    Snagi’s