Another Door: Kirsten Earns her Keep.

Staring at the fig leaf, two things occurred to Kirsten. One, that armed men -armed and bloody minded, murderous men- likely resided beyond and two, this being a different gang, they likely had an entirely different means of warding their door.

"Ssssh!" she hissed lowly, indicating the door with a nod of her head. "Less of the chatter." She backed away from the door, as many steps as she could, gesturing for the others for other, so they could discuss this new portal at a safe distance for low voices.

Ranald, I hope they don't have a peep hole bored into the wall of this chamber. Gods it stank! And it wasn't even as though she could cover her nose with her handkerchief. After all, she'd disposed of it shortly after cleaning the blade of her throwing knife.

She continued speaking in a low voice.
"You lot should all stay here. If this door's trapped -and for the love of the Lucky God, I can't for the life of me think why it wouldn't be- it'll put fewer of us at risk. Wanda, I'll need the lantern so I can set it down beside me for light while I work. Better that than a torch. The smell or smoke might give us away."

"Now, if these murdering bags of filth" (she'd been about to call them something else, but hesitated to do so in the presence of Wanda. Gods the woman must already think her a slut) "are like any others I've known, I'd expect them to roaring drunk, even asleep. That'll prove to our advantage in a fight. Don't count on it though. I can't hear any revelry, though we might be too far from their actual quarters to hear that yet, and our luck hasn't been wonderful so far night. Even if they are legless, I'd expect them to leave a guard at the door. I can't hear any snoring either, and that isn't a good sign. Come for me quickly if there's bother or a commotion. If not, I'll throw a rock or something into the sludge. The plop will be the signal for you to join me. Quietly."

Her teeth flashed a sharp, white line in the shadowed darkness.

"See you soon."

Reaching the door, Kirsten set down her light source and primed a thumb-thick bolt into her crossbow, which she set down near at hand. Crouching, she examined the scratches on and around the door, paying special attention for any scrapes in the stone work that might indicate the movement of a mechanism or that the door opened in some unusual way. She peered at the handle, looking for a lock, and peered through the keyhole if there was one. Then, she ran her gloved hands around the frame of the door, looking for anything unusual and keep one eye on her flame of her light source, looking for signs of any unusual drafts.