“So we’re lost?” Rall asked, hoping somehow it wouldn’t be true.

Rall shivered next to Greta sitting on an ancient fallen tree trunk, chilled by the cold night of the woods with little but a thin layer of linen to cover each. The forest floor retained moisture well, sapping away what little body heat they could muster.

Rall glared frustratedly at the bundle of sticks which was supposed to be roaring fire by now. Three hours of rubbing sticks together had offered little results. The wood was too damp, and he hadn’t been able to find much that would make usable tinder. “Idiot Arron...” he cursed silently, “if only he had taught me some woodcraft!” Of course that wasn’t fair, Arron did everything he could, more than anyone else would have.

Greta was shaking beside him, her chattering teeth thrusting home the guilt that if he wasn’t wearing her dress maybe she wouldn’t be freezing. He went back to rubbing the sticks for several more minutes before throwing them violently onto the small pile, frustrated and despairing. In a fit of anger at his own helplessness, he drew the rusty sword that had accompanied him so far, through so much in such a short time, and swung it at the pile prompting Greta to shy away from him. He growled and brought the sword down in a powerful chop, and the moment it hit the pile it struck a spark off of something. The sticks and moss caught as if soaked in oil.

Rall whooped for joy, forgetting for a moment to draw the blade free. He dashed around the fire and grabbed Greta’s hands up in excited cavorting, jumping up and down.

“I did it! We’re not going to freeze!” Greta smiled at him, nodding her head.

“No, but if you don’t stop shouting like a ninny those men will find us again! Now come sit down, I’ll see if I can find us something to eat.” Rall swallowed his shouts of joy and nodded in return, sitting on the log near the now merrily burning pile of sticks. He noticed the sword, stuck point first into the hottest part of the fire, where coals were already forming. He quickly drew the sword out, worried he might have ruined it. And yet there it lay, looking precisely its chipped, rusty self, with no sign of damage. In fact, he couldn’t be quite certain but that tip looked a bit smoother, or sharper than before. He almost ran a thumb over the spot to check, but stopped short expecting to feel the heat of the fire. Yet, the metal was cool and he was right, it did feel smoother.

“Put that thing away before you cut yourself, and help me put these sweet roots on sticks over the fire. I’ve already washed them over at the stream, and they’ll keep us going for the night.” Rall shrugged off the odd thought of the sword’s alteration, suddenly struck by a ravenous hunger.

“Yes, Greta.” He stood to help cook the sweet roots, then tucked into several in a row.

“You know, if you’re trying to act like a girl you should at least eat like one. You’re going to make yourself sick.” Rall paused chewing a large mouthful and swallowed, then a slow smile spread across his face, then gave way to laughter. But before he knew it he found himself in Greta’s arms, crying pitifully into the front of her shift.

“How can you be so calm?” he sobbed, even as she patted and rubbed his back, his tears dampening her dirty shift.

“Rana... I’ve grown up out here, travelling the roads in the wilds. I know what to expect of bandits, how to trap or find food, how to survive the harsh realities out here. You’ve only had a few days to grow used to it. Don’t be hard on yourself, and don’t be afraid to cry about it when you can. You know I won’t think less of you. After all, you saved us in that slaver camp. You freed us when the fire might have just killed us. So go ahead and let it out, I’ll be right here.” She spoke this last to the forest, as Rall slipped into an exhausted slumber.

The next morning Rall found himself curled awkwardly next to the tree. He supposed he had Xabriar to thank for inadvertently training him to sleep in such awkward places, but somehow gratitude escaped him. The fire was carefully tended so as not to spread or die out, and several more sweet roots hung on sticks around it. “How long have you been up?” Rall called out to Greta as she tended to some more roots next to the stream.

“All morning and into the afternoon. I couldn’t wake you, and I was starting to get frightened. I hoped more food might draw you back to your senses. We can’t stay here, they will eventually track us when they can spare the time, and it’s best if we’re leagues away and our trail long cold by then.”

This brought up a rather disturbing question for Rall. “Which direction?”. The look on Greta face was just as he feared. In the rush to get away neither did manage to get their bearings, and they were days by horse from where they were captured.

“So we’re lost?” Rall asked, hoping somehow it wouldn’t be true.

“Yes. I’m hoping if we just keep travelling south we’ll meet the road eventually, but I don’t even know for sure they took us north. The road leads east to west, so travelling south means we have even odds of reaching it sooner or later.”

“But... it could take weeks...” Rall hung his head, despondent. “We have no supplies, no money, not even clothes to speak of!”

“We have a good knife, that sword of yours, two decent heads on our shoulders, and hope. It’ll have to be enough.” Greta offered in a firm tone. Rall nodded in response, holding in his doubts.

“Right, south it is then. Ummm, which way is south?”

“This way. See how the moss grows on the north side of the trees? It likes the dark and damp. In the morning the sun shines on the east side of the tree, at noon on the south, and at dusk on the west. it never shines directly on the north though, so that’s where the moss grows. Plus, it’s late in the day, and the sun sets in the west. So, face west and south is to your left.”

Greta collected the cooked sweet roots from around the fire and scuffed dirt over it. They started walking, barefoot, and Greta explained which plants would be safe to eat, which poisonous, and even a few medicinal. The constant lessons helped distract Rall from the occasional twig poking into his soft feet and the worry tickling at the edges of his mind.

---

Cale was already regretting his little stunt at the Tent city after the initial confusion of the slaves escaping. The slavers had quickly organized groups of riders, and were pouring down the trails used to supply the city. With in half an hour, makeshift checkpoints and patrols where spreading through the woods seeking their escaped merchandise.

This posed something of a problem for Cale; a lone man walking the trail away from the slaver camp would at the very least be worth stopping. And given the slavers’ philosophy in life, Cale thought it best to stay of the trail lest he become replenishment for lost stock. He wouldn’t mind killing them, but enough of them in a patrol would be a problem even for a man of his skills.

So instead Cale crept through the forest quietly, having decided It would be more prudent to travel by forest towards Lussax. He left no trace of his passage, and some part of him relished this test of his woodland skills. It was a far cry from creeping the alleyways of the city.

He had been stalking a rabbit for supper when sound of breaking twigs caught his attention. With a swift smooth motion Cale ducked behind a large oak tree. For the briefest of moments he wondered if a slaver patrol had found him in spite of his efforts to hide his trail. His worries dissipated quickly however, as two young girls emerged from the foliage. Both were barefoot, their clothes caked with mud and leaves. The girls were clearly suffering from exposure. He was also fairly certain he recognized them from the slave pens.

Prudence being the highest virtue of his calling, Cale shadowed them both for the better part of a day, always keeping himself out of sight. The two spent most of it running weakly in short bursts, followed by trudging through the forest looking terrified and pathetic. Having assured himself the pair was no threat, Cale slipped out from the cover of a pair of trees grown twistingly together to greet them.

“Hello there. You two look lo-” He was cut off by the screech of the red-haired girl “Slaver!”

It was with a bit of luck and years of training that Cale caught on to the movement of the smaller of the girls and jumped back to avoid the blow of a blade. “The little chit has some gall!” He though to himself as he avoided another sloppy blow.

“Run, Greta, I’ll hold him off! You won’t have us as slaves, I’ll die first!” A few clumsy swings told Cale the girl was as strange to the blade as he was to pity.

The girl’s slashes were that of a novice; her movements where wasteful and hid nothing. For Cale avoiding was child-play. He could have kept at it all day if he wished. But despite the girl’s obvious lack in swordplay, something about her felt dangerous.

He drew a swordbreaker knife from a sheath on his calf and waited for the child to try again. As the girl swung, he caught her short sword in the swordbreaker’s teeth. Holding the blade at bay Cale felt a surge of energy flow down off the rusty junk weapon. It was an odd epiphany as he finally understood why he felt unnerved by the girl. With a quick mental command he triggered the power of a medallion he hid under his leather jerkin. A moment later a stab of pain flared through his eyes like thousands of fire-hot needles as his perception was forcibly pulled into the realms of magic.

Cale could barely look directly at the girl as unbelievable uncontrolled power flowed from her like a great river. Even Xabriar’s aura did not compare to the raw power flooding from this diminutive girl. What truly frightened Cale was that the sword was hungrily sucking it all up. While he was no sorcerer himself, thanks to his little trinket he had seen many of the tricks they do. Without a second thought he twisted his hand, flipping the sword from her hands to land on the forest floor several yards away. He schooled his features to hide any evidence of what he had seen.

With a sigh Cale watched as the girl’s power settled to a dim glow. It seemed to him that she needed the sword to draw out her power. She was a novice in both sword and magic, he could tell that much, but frightfully powerful. Glancing at the worthless-looking sword he momentarily wondered where the girl picked up an artifact that could draw out her unrefined power. Such an odd situation piqued his sense of the absurd, and he decided to help them in spite of the attack.

“Now if I may finish what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I thought you looked lost. You’re headed a bit too far west of south, you’ll find a sudden cliff a few hundred yards further. I’d hate to see such cute girls topple to the bottom of a deep, rocky ravine. Well, maybe you, after all you did try to skewer me. From the look of your blade, I imagine a cut from it might be a death sentence from the jaw locking sickness.” He tried smiling to show he meant no harm, but that seemed to scare the girls worse.

“Well, I’ll be on my way then. But like I said, the road is that way, don’t go walking off any cliffs.” so saying, Cale left the ungrateful children to their own devices. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine why he’d bothered in the first place, he knew neither would thank him, and they might even ignore his advice out of mule-headed spite. But then, the older one reminded him of...

No, best not think down that road. Done was done, and he had relaxing to do and Lussax had some of the finest women and dodgiest taverns in the realm.

---

Corana nervously brought her right hand towards the great oak door. Well rather Rall’s right hand; sneaking past Xabriar’s magical wards and protections required something more than a simple glamour. But thanks to Arron she had acquired a lock of hair from the boy, more than enough for her to conjure a spell to transform her physical form. Still, it was odd to have an arm back again; even after a few short days she was already becoming accustomed to her phantom limb. It would be pity that she would have to release the spell soon, the magic to maintain a physical transformation was too taxing to hold for long.

Cautiously she placed her borrowed hand to the tower door and pushed. It opened freely, and no cascades of fire or eldritch death washed over her... his body. She shook off those disturbing thoughts, she was still herself no matter what body she wore for an hour or two. Stepping further into the entryway, she noted the generally unkempt hallway, a small closet left standing open with things haphazardly strewn inside. Apparently without an apprentice around to keep house, the sorcerer did not care for such things.

She crept up the stairs quietly, certain that Xabriar knew “his apprentice” had returned, but hoping anyway to catch him unaware. Those hopes were dashed when a booming voice, amplified by a spell Corana recognized, echoed in the small hallway leading to the stairs.

“Where have you been, boy? You’ve cost me hours on hours of time I needed for my work, instead spent doing your job! Come up now and bring me something to eat!”

Corana’s thoughts raced, leaving her stunned for several seconds before the voice boomed again.

“NOW, APPRENTICE!” She lurched forward, knowing she could not escape while he was paying direct attention. Thankfully Xabriar’s tower was laid out in a similar way to other towers she had visited, a simple utilitarian design. She hurried to the kitchen area, and quickly prepared bacon and fried eggs and rolls. She knew well enough how to cook and guessed at the sorceror’s preferences based on what she found in the larder, hoping it would fit in with what Rall had done before, and brought a tray to the top of the stairs. Balancing the heavy tray, she knocked.

She almost dropped the whole tray down the stairs when Xabriar’s voice boomed again.

“Took you long enough! What are you dallying about for? Bring it in already!”

Collecting her wits and the teetering tray, she pushed the door open with her foot, and stepped inside. The sorcerer’s work room was the largest in the tower. Objects and devices of power hung from walls in easy reach of one bench, and racks of chemicals, preserved organs in jars and various colored candles, some of which burned presently with a sickly sputtering flame adorned another. A much-abused drawing table stood to one side, half finished symbols and circles drawn on it in a dark brown substance Corana was certain was some sort of blood.

She took all of this in as she carried the tray to Xabriar. He was old, much older than she, and much more worn than when she’d last seen him in Council. Clearly his work was exhausting, but a glance at his eyes showed her a fierce cunning, a sort of energy belied by his tired frame and thin white hair.

She placed the tray on a small stool that looked likely for the purpose, and started to turn and leave, but Xabriar turned from his drawing to look at her, those intense eyes rooting her to the spot. Had she been found out? She had no doubt of his ability to best her in magical combat here in his tower, she could fairly feel the floor and walls humming with energy, more than she could have imagined the sorcerer building even in his domain. Whatever he was doing blinded him from seeing the comparatively minor magic of her transformation spell, by simply dwarfing it in sheer order of magnitude!

“Boy, you’ve been gone for three days. Do you think to escape punishment?” Somehow this quiet, menacing tone chilled her in a way the booming amplified one did not.

“N... no sir.” She knew this would not be pleasant, but steeled her will to accept whatever punishment the dark sorcerer might give without resistance, after all, if she proved herself to be other than his untrained apprentice he would kill her.

“A pity. I think I would have preferred it had you tried to run.” Bands of force wrapped instantly around her, trapping her arms to her sides and her legs together. A spell designed for restraining the most dangerous criminals, and he used it on an apprentice?

“Enervius!” She didn’t even have time to gasp before the pain hit. Lightning coursed through her veins as her bones melted into liquid fire. Nausea filled her in concert with the agony, but she was unable to even draw breath to scream through the pain. Seconds, minutes, years, eons... It seemed to last forever, before she was allowed to slump against the invisible bands of force.

She hung there, for a brief moment uncaring of the bonds, her borrowed body or anything but the sheer joy of breathing without pain. Shortly reality came crashing back on her though, as Xabriar’s voice cut through the mental fog.

“You disappoint me again boy, and I’ll kill you and be done with it.” Without another word, Xabriar turned away dismissively, the force bonds dissolving as if they’d never been.

Staggering to a wall Corana tried to calm her breathing. A wave of dizziness almost bore her to the ground again. She had not expected this, a torture spell on an apprentice! This was madness! Any idea of hiding in Xabriar’s tower to study the old wizard seemed foolhardy now. Even if she could maintain the transformation spell, it wouldn’t last through another session with Xabriar. And his power, the aura in that room was smothering in and of itself! For Rall to have endured it for months on top of regular abuse, she was amazed the boy hadn’t cracked.

Removing herself from the old sorcerer’s presence, she slowly made her way down the seemingly endless stairs. With a shudder she felt a pulse of power flood through the tower, followed closely by cold chuckle that echoed through the tower as countless wards came to life.

---

Rall sat on an old fallen log and slowly dipped sore scraped feet into the running stream. What he wouldn’t give to have a good pair of boots! The number of cuts and gashes where becoming frightening to look at. And the muck and dirt had Rall fearing infection if they didn’t hit the road soon.

“The road” he mumbled, both he and Greta had argued at length for an hour about following the stranger’s directions. He had wanted to keep to the path they were following, but Greta couldn’t ignore the warning about the cliff or the possibility of finding the road.

Despite travelling in the direction the cloaked stranger suggested, they didn’t seem to be getting any closer. And more and more, Rall wanted to go the other way. Still, he owed Greta, and he couldn’t help but admire her courage and tenacity as she kept up the pace even when he wanted to give up. But something about the forest here felt off, he could swear he saw something following them but every time he looked there was nothing, even when he could swear he was looking right at something menacing.

“Ahhhh!” Greta yelled, causing Rall’s heart to skip as he turned to see her pacing madly around a tree. Warily he pulled himself off the log to walk slowly towards Greta.

“What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? What isn’t wrong.” she groaned. “It doesn't make sense, it’s all changing!” she said as she pointed to the trees.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Look we have been heading south since this morning, without turning, I am sure of it. But look at the sky, when was the last time you saw the sun set south?” Rall looked up and found she was right, they had somehow been turned west!

“I don’t know how long we’ve been travelling the wrong way, but this way should be right...” She sounded uncertain as she pointed south, still looking at the trees nervously.

Hours passed as they slowly trekked through the forest, with Greta stopping every so often to gain her bearings. But with every stop she seemed to be less sure of herself, triple checking the moss on trees and the sun’s position.

Rall felt his heart sink as he crested a small hill. “It can’t be...” he spoke under his breath. Staggering down the hill in near panic he hardly registered the pain of stubbing his toe on a sharp rock. His mind raced as he made his way towards a flowing brook and the same fallen log that he had sat on not an hour before.

Turning towards Greta for an answer, he saw her collapse on the hill sobbing. She turned her head in shame, refusing to make eye contact. “I... I don’t understand! I know how not to turn circles in the woods, I haven’t gotten lost in six years! It’s like the woods are turning around even as we walk a straight line!”

Walking up to Greta , Rall firmly gripped her shoulder “Maybe we should just rest here tonight and try again tomorrow. We can find some branches and make a lean to against that fallen log.” Rall pointed out the log he’d rested on earlier, close to the spring but protected from it by the log on the dry side.

“Yeah... Maybe it’s just me... I hope I’m not coming down with a fever or something, we don’t need that right now...”

To Rall’s amazement the lean-to didn’t take long to construct. Despite his sword’s sorry state of disrepair, it still cut brush well enough to collect a couple dozen nearby branches. After the basic framework had been woven together, finding enough moss, leaves and dirt to fill in the gaps took almost no time.

While he had been busy with the construction, Greta collected firewood and large stones to line the fire pit. To Rall’s personal chagrin she even manged to start the fire without him, shortly before nightfall. Long past the point of any embarrassment or mistrust, the pair curled up together in the shelter, cold and hungry, and slept.

Rall dreamed, visions of dark ancient things that flashed through his mind, and cities that burned across the land like a great fire. The sky tore asunder as celestial bodies fell from the heavens, tearing into the earth with thunder and fire.

He woke from his horrid nightmare to distant screech. He shivered violently as a cold wind blasted him in the blinding darkness. The fire was out, not even a glowing ember remained. Even the moon and stars had abandoned him, an echo of the eerie dream’s aftermath in his mind. He stretched out his hand in the utter darkness to feel around. “Greta?” Rall whispered as he reached toward where she was supposed to be, and felt nothing but cold damp ground.

“Greta..” he repeated louder. Still nothing, his heart pounded and stomach turned with worry. Crawling out of the lean-to, he called out again, “GRETA!” No answering sound returned but the shriek of gale force winds, echoing his own call mockingly.

Rall stumbled into the center of their camp as the cold wind blasted his body. It was during one of these blasts that he was certain he heard the wind speak. A voice that sounded eerily like his own spoke to him.

“Thief.. Thief! Give it back... Give it back!” Icy needles of snow driven by blustering winds drove into his skin. He thought he heard Greta scream beyond the trees, but the wind carried the sound away.

“Greta! Leave us alone, we haven’t done anything! We haven’t stolen anything, just let us go!” Rall didn’t know to whom or what he was screaming, but it didn’t matter because he was at its mercy and even worse, it had Greta. It had Greta! As the thought solidified in his sleep-addled mind, he knew he had to save her somehow. He groped for the sword, useless as it might be, and somehow found it in his hand in the darkness and chaos.

Holding the sword in front of him he slowly turned looking for an enemy. The wind hissed back in anger, “Give it back, mortal thing!”

Before he could retort he felt cold invisible bone fingers snake around his neck, choking him. “Baacck!” it screeched from all around him as the wind swirled around, dirt and muck of the forest floor whipped at his skin as the mini dust devil grew in strength. He lashed out with the sword and felt branches part in its path, releasing the pressure from his neck.

“You’re the thief! You took Greta! Give her back or I’ll cut you!”

“BAAACK” the voice boomed, a sense of pure dread and certain death filled his mind. This power was so much more visceral, primal, than when his Master used his booming voice spell. All Rall wished to do for a moment was curl up in a ball and beg forgiveness. But in that moment of utter defeat, something inside pushed to move his body. It felt like a warm, life-giving fire and he trusted it. Following the odd impression he shifted sideways a few steps. A moment later he felt the ground beside him split apart as ancient oak tree landed from the sky with a thunder. He was terrified but the warm feeling didn’t leave, and it made him feel like he could fight.

“Give her back and I’ll try to help, whatever has caused you harm I will fight for you if I can, but you have to give her back to me!” The spirit raged against him, again he felt the feel of warm fire under his skin guiding his movements. He moved sinuously, dodging falling rocks cloaked by the starless night. The winds screeched in protests at his approach; his body moved with agility and dexterity he had only seen Arron perform as he parried the branches of trees he could not see that moved and flexed at impossible speeds. Branches burst into fire where the sword bit into their wooden flesh.

It slowly dawned on Rall that he was able to see the forest. It had happened slowly with each dodge and parry; the sword began to glow. At first a thin flame, the outline of the sword against the pitch black. But with each biting cut into his unknown nemesis the sword’s flame grew in strength, until it shone like a white bar of liquid light, dripping sparks like metal being worked in a forge.

He knew it wouldn’t harm him, even as fire flowed down the sword from his hands. Surely the blade would melt from the heat of that white fire! He held it aloft like a torch and the light of the fire filled the darkness, shattered it. He saw Greta then, trapped in a circle of trees, their branches all entangled together like a cage. Like the slavers’ cage! Growling with a fury he didn’t know he was capable of, Rall charged the black and twisted trees, and cut a path to the center.

Greta shied away from the fire, molten and dripping from his hands like droplets of water, leaving seared spots on the ground, but Rall ignored her for a moment. He felt something else in the circle of trees, something wrong, something that should not be. He lashed out with the sword, liquid fire spraying across the circle, and he felt the blade bite into something that wasn’t there. Again he swung, and again, until he felt it give.

A brilliant explosion of sparks knocked Rall from his feet, as a towering inferno burst where he had been standing. His own burning blade drank in the fire, dimming it further and further by the second until not a spark remained. The darkness after that all-consuming light was even more complete than before.

----

The tower shuddered, creaking and groaning like a golem made of aged driftwood. Corana woke with a cold sweat. Exhaustion and dizziness presented themselves first to her weary mind. Sharp pains in her back slowly followed, from sleeping on the stone floor. It took much of her strength just to stand; maintaining her false form was sapping most of her vital energies. Even so, she could feel the difference: the tower was weaker. Xabriar was weaker, noticeably. And whatever weakened him and his place of power, would be the distraction she needed!

She did her best to ignore the pains of her abused borrowed body and made her way to the water closet. It was not the most pleasant way to leave the tower, but she was quite certain any other would be worse. The small drain where the apprentice emptied chamberpots into the city’s sewer system was too small for her regular body to fit, but Rall’s small, slender form might squeeze through. And awful as it would be, Xabriar would do far worse when he discovered her.

Corana steeled her nerves and ducked into the room, closing the door behind her. She pried the stone lid off the sewer opening and nearly fainted from the stench. The tower was near the top of a hill, with a long, fairly steep slope to the river, where the sewer should empty. She only hoped she could slide quickly because if she had to crawl and fainted in there, she knew she would die anyway.

Before Corana could change her mind, or Xabriar notice his apprentice was using the room for something other than its intended purpose, she held her nose and dropped feet first into the horrid darkness.

Her feet hit what seemed like perhaps ten feet down, and immediately went out from under her. The slope was high and the surface more slippery than oiled glass, and she slid down the darkness with what felt like terrifying speed. Filth splattered everything and she tried desperately not to sick up, thinking of what was smearing every inch of her borrowed body. She thought she heard rats squealing, but they came and went in an instant’s passing. The noxious air blasted with gale force against her as she slid, until a pinpoint of light grew in the distance. In moments Corana was blinded by the brightness, then with a mighty splash she found herself in the river, fetid globs of things she didn’t want to imagine bumping into her as she desperately tried to tread water. Making her way to the sandy shore of the slow-moving river, she heaved herself up out of the muck and promptly vomited.

Heaving for breaths, she felt her body shift, all control of the spell gone in that moment of disgust. She immediately used what energy she could summon to wick away all the filth and slime from her body and clothing, depositing it with the rest in the river. Even so, she still felt filthy, like she might never again feel clean.

---

Xabriar threw a flask of potion across the room to shatter against the stone wall with a hiss, releasing a noxious fog. He roared and threw another against it, increasing both the mess and smell. His ritual, one of five that together would grant him the power of a god, had unravelled! He had only one left to create, now two, to bend the flows of the natural ley lines to create a nexus on his tower. Once all five were complete he could fully protect them, but someone must have discovered his plan, and now would put everything in jeopardy! If he didn’t know of her death, he might have guessed that wench Corana had found it, she alone of his enemies had the power to unravel such a working.

And to top it off, the boy just jumped into the sewer. He must have been driven insane by the discord of energies in the tower. If the fall didn’t kill him the infection would, and good riddance. Had the boy not been such a font of power, he never would have bothered with the lump. Still, he would send Cale to recover the boy later just in case. If he lived the child would prove useful, sanity or no. But first he had to get control of his tower, the unravelling of such a spell threatened to weaken all his workings!