assignment believing that it would reinforce the boy's character. Ironfoot could have told him that there was nothing there to reinforce.
Regardless, what he had was enough, and now the work could begin in earnest. He copied the pattern from the map onto a new sheet of linen paper-large, but not so big as the original map. Only the pattern remained, with detailed figures noting the invocative spectra, the normalization factors. The web stood in front of him, begging to be understood. It was a pattern, yes, but what did it mean? In his imagination about this moment, he'd assumed that the answer would leap out at him at this point. These exact physical components. This precise juggling of Elements, Motion, and Poise, and perhaps any four other Gifts that he could theorize being involved. He was damn clever. It should all have been there, leaping out at him. But it wasn't. The pattern implied nothing. The pattern meant nothing. It was only itself. It suggested things, certainly, but only impossibilities.
Ironfoot awoke. It was late afternoon. He'd fallen asleep at some point, still contemplating the pattern, still frustrated. He opened the shades and let the (morning? afternoon?) sun illuminate the pattern. Still nothing. He stood it upside down. Nothing. He held it up to the window, viewing the pattern through the back of the page. Still nothing.
It gnawed at him, this sensation that the key to its mystery was just outside his grasp. The Einswrath was an explosive-there had to be an Elements component to it. It was a delayed reaction, so it had to use the Gift of Binding as well. But what components? Which bindings? There was no binding ever created to hold in that amount of Elemental force, and no way to trigger it from such a distance. So what, then? It was right there in front of him. So why couldn't he see it?
The dread inside had grown into a fever. This was what he'd truly been afraid of. This was the source of the dread that had been welling up inside him ever since he'd returned to Queensbridge.
He had the pattern complete in front of him.
And he didn't understand it.
He turned toward the wall and lashed out with his fist, making a strangely satisfying crack in the plaster, though the pain that followed wasn't worth it. Raw failure sunk into him like a stone through mud.
You can do better than this, came the voice from inside.
He was disturbed from his misery by a message sprite tapping at the window. It looked familiar.
'Hey, handsome! Open up!' the thing shouted.
He tried to ignore it, but it just kept rapping on the windowpane, calling, then shouting, then howling expletives. He pulled himself out of the chair and shuffled across the room, stepping on the map and not caring. He opened the window, and the sprite flew in and alit on the edge of the chair in which he'd been sitting.
'What do you want?' he said.
'Wow, it took you long enough,' said the sprite, sticking its tongue out for emphasis. 'What are you, deaf or something? You weren't deaf last time. Did you stand too near something really loud? Because that can happen sometimes.'
Ironfoot stared at the sprite, all of his fondness for it having evaporated in his desolation.
'I have feelings too, you know!' said the sprite, stamping its foot soundlessly. 'Of course, my feelings are quite shallow, and can easily be repaired with a yummy stalk of parsley, or better yet ...' The sprite paused, rubbing its tiny hands together. 'Celery!'
'Enough already!' Ironfoot shouted, stunned at the anger in his voice. The sprite fell backward, swore loudly, then flitted up again, raising its head gingerly above the back of the chair.
'Wow, you sure got mean.'
'I'm sorry,' said Ironfoot, trying to be patient. 'I've had a hard day. What's your message?'
'Lord Everess replies that he's extra-sad you won't come see him. Except he said it in a less nice way.'
The sprite thought for a moment, tapping its finger on its forehead. 'There was something else, too. Something important. Let's see. Lord Everess ... extra sad and so on ... celery ...'
It snapped its tiny fingers. 'Oh, yeah! He wants to know if you're done with your map-thingy yet. He was just blah blah blah about that map.'
'I see,' said Ironfoot. 'Thank you.'
'Oh, happy day, you like me again!' it said, looking at him with a loopy grin. 'You want to be my boyfriend? I realize that there's a serious size difference that could present some interesting physical challenges, but I'm willing to work through it if you are.'
Ironfoot sighed. Maybe this was what he liked about message sprites:
