Gunfire: The Escape

I dropped a handful of silver for a reasonably nondescript pheasant from a market stall. With our collars up and eyes averted, we blended in easily with the twilight crowd. I was a hunter going home tired and hungry, and we were given barely a glance.

Cutting across alleyways and side streets, the filthy cobblestones of the slums faded into the brick of the industrial areas and then the smooth slabs of the affluent district of the city. I subtly rearranged my walk into a more confident stride, letting the rifle swing casually side to side with every step. With an impressive-looking Lomberg Arms weapon, I was clearly returning to my townhouse from a day out with my friend.

Well-disguised or not, I still steered Ryle quickly off the street and towards the tradesman's entrances as we approached. I tipped my hat down and gave the solid oak door a knock buried deep in my memory.

Two knocks, pause, four knocks, pause, two knocks.

It opened instantly.