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Norbul dismounted from his horse in front of a large two-storey structure. Patches of the lush ivy clinging to the mustard coloured walls of the land registrar’s office was beginning to yellow in the summer heat. He took out a bundle of parchment from his saddle-bag then passed the reins and three copper coins to a work-boy of the horse-keeper. He would make sure that the animal be kept out of the heat and fed at the proper time. Norbul climbed the worn down steps and came to a weathered door with polished handles. He stepped into a dim hallway. As he made his way down a passage, he greeted a handful of acquaintances. In the middle of the passage was a wide staircase, but he went behind it and took a narrow flight of stairs that spiralled down, and led him into a large underground library with rows and rows of bookshelves. On its walls and ceiling were the great maps of Netherweld and her neighbours. The capital city Sillander was placed right in the centre of the ceiling and the surrounding regions were mapped out around it. The Muse River stretched across the ceiling, down a wall and disappeared into the floor. Directly opposite the stairs was the great nation of Kalimy. The wild country of Merlk, where the source of the River Muse came, sprawled on a wall to his right with most of its lands unmarked. It was followed by his homeland Santurst, which lay between the borders of Netherweld, Merlk and Kalimy. To his left lay the wild map of Horbust. The once empty basement was renovated during the time of Posadom’s youth, when he had travelled foreign nations for his education. His father commissioned workers to draw maps out on the ceiling and walls. Then artists were called in to add beauty to the staid drafts. Each time the crowned prince went away for his travels, his father would come down to the mapped library in the evening and study with care the land his son was passing. Thoughtful officers had added shelves carrying information on particular lands close to the region map for the king's convenience. As the years passed, the collection began to grow. Posadom donated more great works to the establishment in honour of his father when he became king. Yet no one ever knew why the old king chose that place, an underground basement in a simple public building to follow his son's progress instead of a grand room in the palace. Before Norbul came down that morning, he had memorized the list of estates in his mind. He had also brought with him many parchments and had asked a servant to procure more for him because he planned to spend many days in the library. First he went towards the wall on his right where he could read the names of the larger estates of interest to him. His breathing became heavy as he traced the border positions of Bordell and Bordeen with his fingers. Wild country surrounded these two estates and the nearest town lay more than twenty miles away by road and fifteen miles as the crow flies. He knew that the maps were reliable because the registrar of land had employed persons to map out areas of their assigned districts. Then every once a year, the library would be closed and painters would be commissioned to add in new roads or new towns to the existing map. Norbul’s finger travelled to Japema, and he noted that even now the access road was nothing more than a small wagon path. The mapper had marked the area as an iron mining estate. A red dot close to the river drew his attention. The mark meant that if the area was of interest to the map reader he could find a more detailed district map in a nearby shelf. Norbul went to the shelves and when he saw the name of the mapper, he blessed Providence for his good fortune. Clara was the most meticulous mapper in all the land. She even drew sketches of the places she saw and added this into her map-book. Her photographic memory allowed her to sketch a point in time with perfect clarity and her love of sketching had also helped her improve her work with every drawing she produced. So fine were her pieces that she was required to draw two copies of all her illustrations, one of which would be placed in that library and the other in the palace collection. Many copies of her work are reproduced by artists or drafters but none in the land could replicate her sketches exactly. Norbul found her most current volume and as always, he regretted that he could not draw as well as his former teacher. He turned the pages, looking for the area marked in red on the common map. In that topical draft he saw that there was now a new boat jetty in Japema. The next page showed a sketch of the river rampart of high wooden pillars. Norbul turned the page again. His heart skipped a beat as he took in the fine lines of the illustration. He traced the jetty with his eyes, not wanting to touch the page with his fingers. Heavy trolleys and lifts filled the landing stage, some empty, some with loads. Then a boat drawn a distance from the banks caught his eye. It carried no banner or flag, but it made the hair on his nape stand on end. The main mast had spiraled rungs around it all the way to the top. Clara must have considered it nothing more than a pretty decoration. Norbul however was a child of Santurst, a country that had been at war with Merlk for twenty years. He knew that sailors from Merlk did not use riggings to reach the top of their masts. Instead they climbed up metal bars embedded into the wood. He distinguished that it was a smaller war vessel. Nervously, he ran his fingers through his hair then wrote down the date of the volume and the name of the mapper with a draft charcoal that he always kept in his pocket. He placed the book back and walked over to a table two sections away. Picking up a trading map that had been left there, he tried to look engrossed all the while frantically trying to calm his mind and heartbeat. The pat on his shoulder almost made him shout. It was Kast, Palmeon’s secretary. The middle aged man smiled at him and invited him out for some refreshment with a tilt of his head. Norbul smiled back in return and nodded his assent. Above stairs Kast spoke first, “Well, well. I should have expected to meet you here. What is old Casperlane up to now?” “Oh his usual. Keeping an eye on the king and trying to keep him out of trouble.” “That was not what I meant.” Kast eyed him cautiously, “What are you looking for in the Methardel section?” Norbul did not even realize he was there. “Nothing much, to tell you the truth. I was just trying to find some way to make myself useful. You know how fickle employers are, if you do not keep reminding them about their need for you, they will just as soon as let you go as not.” Kast forced a laugh. “Aye, that is true enough. But my employer may also be interested in such information as you can find in the library I suppose. Why not come sometimes and earn a little money for yourself?” “That will be difficult I think. You know Lord Casperlane, he splits this country into those who are for the king and those who are for Prince Palmeon. He would not deal too kindly with me if he ever found out I sold information to his highness.” “Your employer is well known for being a hard unbending man.” They walked out of the building and went into an eating house just across the road where they ordered a simple meal and chatted on neutral subjects. Finally Norbul got up from his seat, “Well, I best go now. Maybe you can give me a tip on how to make myself useful to Lord Casperlane.” “Why insist on being useful to that man. He will not be in his seat of power for long I assure you,” Kast said, with so much confidence that the words burnt in Norbul’s ears. Norbul returned to the library, his whole being desperate and his mind no longer able to deny Merlk’s involvement. It was too dangerous to search for information there. He decided to ask his employer to get leave from the king to use his majesty’s library, for the palace also held a large collection of maps although not of the older drafts. To make his claim of trying to be useful appear sincere, Norbul spent the whole afternoon in a section assigned to the capital city. There he poured over the city maps, particularly the ones on sewers and tunnels within the city. He took out his parchments and began to copy what he saw. A servant came in to light the lamps. Norbul rose from his seat and walked towards the staircase. As he climbed the spiraled steps, he saw a shadow looking through the maps he had returned to the shelves. The dim hallway seemed long and menacing and, when he opened the main door, he was relieved to be released from its confines. A different boy passed him back his horse. Norbul rode home at a trot, and just as he reached the manor gate, he heard the dinner gong. The gatekeeper informed him with a laugh that Hart was just ahead, looking like he had tumbled into a ditch. The stable boy was also ruddy cheek with mirth. He went to the kitchen directly for his meal with his colleagues, at the end of which, Hart walked in with freshly scrubbed face and hair. Hoots of laughter greeted his entrance. A washing maiden passed by and showed everyone what was in her basket, thus inciting more guffaws. Norbul did not sit to hear the tale, for he knew that he would hear the real event soon enough. Instead he went up to his room, lit the lamp on his bedside table and began to study his parchments. The labyrinth of channels under the city mesmerized him and he decided that he must speak with the sewer administrators and learn how they maintained the place. The end-of- day gong startled him out of his reverie. He waited for the house to settle down. When the floors outside his room no longer creaked, Norbul dimmed his lamp, picked up his parchments and walked out of the room. Ahead was another lamp. It was Hart making his way down by the kitchen stairway. Norbul went down another service staircase. The study was dark. He put down his lamp on the mantle above the empty fireplace and stepped into a dark corner. A moment later Hart came in and did the same. They stood side by side, neither speaking. The wait stretched longer than usual, and Norbul became restless because his employer was never late for anything. Just as he began to fear the worst with Karst’s words still fresh in his mind, the door opened and Casperlane stepped in. Behind him Posadom. Casperlane and Posadom sat down on sofas in front of the empty hearth. The two men noted that their employer did not blow any of the lamps out, so they stepped out of the dark. Casperlane said, “Take your seat. His majesty insists on joining us for our discussion tonight.” The king spoke, “I bid you speak openly and truly. Hide nothing from me. If your employer should rebuke you for your forthrightness, you may bring your case to me at anytime and I will give you work in my household.” Both men bowed at his generosity and tentatively moved straight back chairs closer to the fireplace before taking their seat. Norbul related what he saw that day, including Kast’s comment. There was very little detail that Norbul missed except deliberately. He planned to tell his employer about the ship later. When Norbul ended his recount the king spoke, “Of course you may make use of my library. Luckily this is situated on the royal floor, you will have more privacy there. I will tell Dipa, the chamber master, to expect your visits. If he inquires, tell him that you are tracing the path I travelled as a youth for my son Kurbadil to follow. And as a gift to me for using the library, I wish for you to give me this plan of the underground tunnels. I have nothing in my collection such as this.” Norbul bowed and thanked his king, though he felt shamed for not taking more care in drawing the plans. Casperlane then turned a reproving glare to Hart, “You seem to have made quite an uproar today. I heard that you fell into a ditch or something of that manner.” Hart returned his employer’s gaze sheepishly, he was still young and although he was skilled he could be a little rash. “Aye my lord, it was something of that nature but not what you think. I went to the harbour and inquired about drawing up a contract with Sunz’s Warehouse. I knew that Japema store metal ores there before sending them to Formenscion’s weapon factory. I, of course, pretended to wander in and saw that the warehouse was empty. One of the workers approached me and was not too polite, but I told him I was looking for the proprietor. When I met Gerald, the owner, he was not willing to accept any trade contract from me. He told me that a large shipment of ores from Japema had just arrived and will be stored in that warehouse. I then went outside to take a look. I thought it strange that the overflowing tug boat floated light on the waters. There were some officials on the dock, taking note that Japema had sent ores to Formenscion so I hid myself under the boardwalk because I wanted to watch the area a little longer but did not want to be caught doing it. A little after the officials left, the tugboat also sailed away. I was just about to climb out of my hole to move further down the harbour after the boat, when I heard Gerald’s voice. He mentioned that he would be rich.” Here Hart abruptly stopped his tale and blushed when it suddenly occurred to him that he should have stopped his story one or two sentence earlier. Posadom stirred in his seat, “Do not worry about offending me. I know why he would become rich. My brother plans to take my crown from me. What I would like to know is how he plans to do that.” Hart looked nervously at Norbul, seeking for support there but the other’s face was impassive. He took a deep breath, it was his story after all. “Your majesty, you have the love and loyalty of your people. There is no other as benevolent and as good as yourself...” Posadom stirred impatiently and raised his voice, “Speak, what did you hear?” Another deep breath, “Gerald said that he will be there to welcome the ships from Merlk. I could not risk him or any of his men seeing me climb out of the boardwalk, so I crawled down the whole length to another part of the harbour.” The king dropped his face into his hands. He was in that position for so long Casperlane laid a worried hand on his shoulder, “Your majesty?” The face they saw lifted up was pale and weary, “I am alright my friend.” “No, you are not alright, and if you truly think of me as a friend, then you should trust me. I was employed by the State to handle matters such as this.” “Are you also employed to handle the affairs of brothers?” “My duty is clear. I stand by the side of the king.” The rest of the discussion continued late into the night. Casperlane was meticulous as he asked his two men for every single detail. Since the name of the enemy nation was out, Norbul did not feel that he had to remain quiet on what he saw in Clara’s sketch. That same night, the security captain rode to the palace with Posadom in a private carriage. He wanted to get the king’s copy of the Japema map edition and left the moment Posadom passed him the book. Casperlane reminded himself to talk with his new acquaintances from Dew Valley for they appeared familiar with the places upriver. The butler in Braduin’s townhouse was once again flustered first thing in the morning when Lord Casperlane appeared at the doorstep carrying a thick book under his arm and dressed in the official uniform of black jacket with gold neckerchief and equally golden lace trimmings. Why must Lord Casperlane insist on paying such early morning visits? the butler moaned in his heart as he led Casperlane to the morning room and announced him to the tenants. A maid brought in an extra cup for tea and a platter of food. The important Visitor waved them off. Sarah stood at the balcony to make sure that no one was close enough to listen.
As soon as the servants were gone, Casperlane asked Bulgarth about Japema, “What is the place like Bulgarth? Is the river narrow enough to cross easily?” “I’ve been there a few times with my father. No, it is not easy to cross because the wooden stakes are driven deep into the river. The lords of Japema did not want their part of the border breached, for one thing the place is a wilderness and about a day’s trip from the closest community. It would take days for the enemy to saw through one of those stakes. A small army garrison is also station along the river. It is impossible for either side to cross to the other.” Merlana interjected, “But those are only wooden stakes brother. Some wood can last fifty or sixty years in the water, but these are not in the water. They are exposed to the elements. The tide’s movement will do much damage to parts of them.” Bulgarth smiled at his hyper-active sister. “You were on your way up the mast when father explained that the stakes are changed every few years. The lords are aware of the weakness of wood, but they could not use stone because the undercurrents are too strong and the engineer told them that the base of the stone will be wash off after a few years. It would be too tedious to maintain, and there is also the risk that the whole length will collapse if not driven deep enough into the river.” Casperlane opened the book he brought and showed them the picture that made Norbul cringe. Juna looked at the page in front of her and said, “What a perfect picture. Everything is so finely drawn.” Bulgarth grunted, “Too perfect I’m afraid. Look at how even the top of these stakes are. That is not what the ramparts look like. The stakes are driven into the river until they could not go in any further, so different parts of the river will yield differently.” He looked again at the picture, “Strange, the stakes do look uneven further down.” Casperlane sat up in his chair. “What else do you see?” Bulgarth got up from his seat, “Sarah come, you have the keener eye. Let me stand watch.” Sarah leaned over the table and studied the picture. She twisted the page and stared, then twisted it back again to stare. Casperlane fidgeted. Sarah pointed to the surface of the river and said, “You see these twigs and leaves on the water. They moved in too straight a line starting from here,” she pointed at one stake and ran her finger down, “after a distance the straight line is no more.” Casperlane looked at the tell tale sign of the movement of current in the picture. Yes, Sarah was right. Then Sarah pointed to the current again, but this time she said, “No light passes through these stakes from this point to here. Yet if you look at the other uneven stakes, you can see light reflecting on the water immediately above the river surface.” The security captain was amazed with her observation. “What do you think this is?” “I wish Frad was here,” she answered. “He will know how the contraption works.” “Contraption? What do you mean?” Casperlane asked. “I suspect this is a gate of sorts. I don’t think it slides up since the timber looks heavy. Anyway only the bottom parts seem to be held together, that is why the leaves move in a straight line and also why no light filters through. There may be pulleys and gears on the other side to open and close it.” Merlana spoke up, “I don’t understand. How did this mapper manage to sketch all of these detail? Surely those who work in secret would have noticed her and stopped her.” Casperlane explained, “Clara is a beggar-teacher with a perfect memory. Her presence there would not be unusual because she travels the land to teach those too poor to educate themselves. I know of a few people who followed her for years to apprentice under her. My servant, Norbul is one such person.” Casperlane resumed his questions as Bulgarth returned to his seat, “What would you consider to be the easiest part of the border to cross?” Bulgarth said, “A man may be able to cross to Bordell quite easily. That part of the river is usually shallow enough to wade through in this dry weather. Casperlane felt a stab of pain in his chest. He stretched his arms in front of him with palms on the table and breathed in deep and slow. Bordell and Bordeen were quite useless as estates, yet these were now held by Brocod, Palmeon’s staunchest supporter. He got up abruptly, “I must return to the palace. You must come too Bulgarth. Bring these ladies along. I will leave word at the gates.” As Casperlane made his way out, Juna said, “But we have nothing to wear.” The security captain turned, surprise on his face, then he laughed, he had forgotten what it was like to be made to call on the palace for the first time. He had spent a fortune on a new jacket for his first visit, and it was only some years later that he realized it was a waste of hard earned money. “Do not worry my dear. Even what you have on now is more than good enough. Just come in your most comfortable attire. You may be there for a whole day.” Then he turned and walked out the door. The tenants had not rung a bell informing the butler that Lord Casperlane was ready to leave so the king’s security captain showed himself out, unassisted. It was too much for the butler, he fell ill for the rest of that day. Brocod rode his horse as fast as he could to Palmeon’s quarters in the Kwanbie mansion. His tan day jacket flew behind him and though his white short wig sat askew on his head, he did not care. Sweat ran down his brow and one clung to the tip of his button nose, right above his thin harsh lips. He wiped it away on the cuffs of his jacket impatiently. He galloped through the large opened gate without giving the guard’s shout a thought. Loose gravel crunched beneath the hoofs when he skidded to a halt in front of the mansion. He threw his heavy body from the saddle with great agility and rushed up the wide staircase. The servants recognized him and let him in without a challenge as he ran down the spacious hall straight to the dining room. Palmeon looked up from his dinner with surprise, “You look in a rush to be somewhere Brocod.” He said with a wry smile as his long fingers picked up a napkin by the side of his plate to wipe his mouth. The yellow tint of his minor royal ring caught the light, complementing his new brown jacket. Dining with Palmeon were Hamina and Hamlin who were there to bring the sad news they received from Hallskein Castle only that afternoon. It seemed that Hamina’s step-son Hastire had gone mad, thrown himself down the wall of the castle and died instantly from a broken neck. Yet Hamina was dressed in her brightest red and Hastire in his blue jacket instead of the mustard yellow mourning colours. Brocod answered the question in Palmeon’s eyes between huffs, “Yes, I was in a rush, but now I am at my destination.” He sat down after the prince indicated a seat with his ringed finger. A servant brought Brocod a goblet of cool wine which he gulped with relished before telling his tale. “Casperlane called for a meeting of the security officers as well as the army commanders this afternoon. The general and he were in conference for the whole morning. My spy told me that all records of vessels of war from Merlk were requested for and studied by them. What are we to do now, the king already suspects.” “Aye he suspects but he will be undecided for days even weeks,” Palmeon answered with a sneer in his voice. His brother was weak and supported by weak men. All the major garrisons of Netherweld had been seized through legal means, and it was all too easy. The new lords of those places had told the soldiers stationed there that their services were no longer required, and had sent them away to find other forms of employment where they could. Then soldiers from Merlk were smuggled into the country and took up the posts that were left vacant. But what should we do, your highness?” Brocod asked the question again. Palmeon smiled wryly. “Well, we only need to do something to make him come to a decision that will benefit us.” After a pause, he continued, “Brocod, it is not difficult to send a few of your people into the palace to take the queen, when her bodyguard leaves her side to accompany the children for their afternoon walk in the garden. She usually takes that time to rest for evening functions.” Hamina said, “But then everyone would suspect you.” “Why hide our intentions, now that Posadom has caught wind of it. I will have to send a message to my brother anyway.” Brocod smiled, “I have some fine lads who can do the job. They will make sure that no one gets in the way.” Palmeon lifted his wine glass and smiled. Brocod had never disappointed him. Then the prince rang a service bell and said to the servant that came in to answer his call, “Send a page to the palace. I want to arrange for some carpenters to meet with the chamber master. The crown prince’s birthday is coming up and I need him to advice me on what I can give a boy who has everything.” In the late afternoon of the following day, three men bearing measuring rods and ropes introduced themselves at the service entrance of the palace. The guards had been informed of the carpenters’ visit and the rough and tanned faces of Tom, Blair and Tracden were recognized and let through. The three entered through the kitchen where loud shouts mingled with the hustle and bustle of servants making preparations for dinner. In one corner was a large water trough surrounded by youngsters washing fruits and vegetables. To the side, sitting on stools and plucking feathers from various fowls and birds were elderly men and women. A manservant offered to show them the way to the royal quarters. They climbed three floors up the service stairway until they reached a gilded bare corridor in the royal family quarters. The servant led them into an untidy study of the Royal Chamber Master whose short cropped white hair contrasted with his long wispy beard. Dipa wore a grey robe with a wide gold belt that covered his whole abdomen. The men bowed and the servant took his leave. The old man said, “Well, well. Prince Palmeon must be wanting to outdo even himself this time.” Tom answered, “Yes, Master of the Royal Chambers. His highness knows that Prince Kurbadil already has everything a young man may desire. Yet he hears that his nephew enjoys puppet shows, hence he had asked us to come and build him the finest puppet theater in the land. He requested that this be placed in the family room for the young prince to enjoy at his leisure.” “A most considerate thought.” Dipa reminded himself to tell the servants to wipe the contraption down carefully before presenting it to Kurbadil, as the case of the painting once given to Queen Tilmon was still under suspicion. He got up from his seat and leaned on his white sturdy walking stick. “Follow me, I presume you may want to do measurements.” The gilded corridor led them up three short steps, where the atmosphere abruptly changed. Lush blue and green carpet covered the floor and bright flowers stood in vases on small side tables while family portraits and paintings of children and animals decorated the walls. They passed the heavy carved oak doors of the royal bed-chambers and walked to the end of the corridor. Blair knew exactly which one the queen was napping in, for they had done renovations to the room in the past. Dipa showed them into the large family room which was sparsely furnished for the benefit of energetic young children. It was a sanctuary for Posadom, a haven away from the storm of his office. The side of the room that was lined with wide airy windows allowed in the sights and light from outside, and the remaining wall was graced with the painted lush branches of an oak tree that reached gracefully into the corners. A handmade carpet depicting a pair of contented peacock and peahen framed by yellow and red tulips lay on the marble floor. Around it cushions lay scattered, showing that the room had only recently been vacated by persons who had not yet learn to appreciate tidiness. Dipa groaned at the mess. Tracden pulled out a blade from his breast pocket before covering the old man’s mouth from behind, and slit his throat before the surprised chamber master could put up a struggle. He lowered the body quietly to the floor and wiped the blood off his blade on the old man’s robe. Then he tucked it back into his pocket. A shriek made him turned. Tilmon stared at the carnage in shock, with one hand over her mouth and the other clutching the bodice of her cream sleeping gown. She screamed and ran back to her room. On reaching it, she slammed the door but it would not close because Tom had managed to wedge in a foot. She pressed her whole weight and strength onto the door. Palace guards in blue uniforms charged towards the men with swords unsheathed. Blair and Tracden crashed their bodies onto the door. Tilmon fell back on the floor and the men dashed in. Tom banged the door shut and locked it with a key left in the key-hole. Blair and Tracden tried to seize the queen. Desperately Tilmon grabbed for the knife bulging out of Tracden’s pocket. She swung the handle up in an arch and cut his face. He yelled and covered his eyes. Then she stabbed his heart with it. Blair punched her on the face, which knocked her out. Soldiers rammed themselves onto the heavy oak door in their attempt to break it open. Blair lifted the unconscious woman and hurried to a small door built into the left wall of the chamber with Tom trailing behind him. It was the bodyguard Leah’s room. They went through another connecting door in the wall, which led into a servant’s room. The commotion in the corridor grew louder, for a guard had brought up a small battering ram. Blair rolled Tilmon in the bed sheets then slung her on his shoulder. The kidnappers walked out of a door that faced the service staircase and ran down it as fast as they could. They were wary, for they could not know if the tale of their black deed had been circulated around the palace. Apparently that had not happened. Soldiers heard screaming, soldiers ran towards screaming. None of them thought of sending one of their party down to warn the whole palace that an attack had been made on her majesty. The cook greeted Tom and Blair when he saw them. “Oh, my friends, what has the old man made you do?” Blair gave a forced laugh, “It is that piece of carpet in the nursery room, the one that governess Myra is so fond of. The chamber master asked us to rid of it before she returns.” Those within hearing chuckled. It was a well known fact that Dipa constantly quarreled with the governess over that piece. Blair took the bundle out of the kitchen and placed it on a waiting rubbish cart outside. A young boy led away the donkey and cart but the guards did not stop him. The two men however were questioned, especially on their missing friend. “That sweet tongue is still with the chamber master. The old man is insisting that we show him some of our wood samples, so we are going back to get them for him to choose.” The guards let them through. They trailed behind a short distance away from the cart until it turned down a right lane into a narrow alley. The boy untied the donkey and climbed onto its back. Blair paid him a silver coin. He rode off, back into the crowded main road. Tom picked up the bundle, while his companion, pushed open a heavy door in the wall. More coins were tossed to a man sitting in a pile of rubbish. Then they both stepped into an unlit passage and shut the door. The bundle stirred, Tom smiled in the dark. Though the very air in the dank tunnel taste diseased, muffled sounds of human life came out of flimsy shelters built against the walls. Blair and Tom trudged on down the twisting paths, stopping now and then to take turn carrying the now waking bundle. Finally Blair pushed open a door at the end of one passage. This second alley led into another noisy street, where a small carriage stood waiting by the side. The coachman gave a toothy grin on seeing them. Tom threw the bundle onto the floor of the carriage none too gently and climbed in after Blair. Before the door was even closed, the coachman's whip snapped and the horse trotted off.
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