“Hinges on the inside, too,” observed Jimmy. “Can’t pop them off from here. We could find a bar of iron, maybe? Shove it through the crack at the bottom, strain the hinges that way.

Witherby bent down. “No. There’s not even enough of a crack to slip a blade through. I don’t suppose you can do anything arcane to it, your Grace?”

“Let me think, gentlemen… yes, indeed. There is an ancient ritual I might use. Ancient, and powerful. But I will need room to work.”

The two men hastily stepped back; it was not wise to crowd an arcanist while she was in a working. Carlotta reached into her bag and pulled out an short iron pipe with crosshilt. She carefully adjusted it in her hand, and — started banging heavily on the door. “Oy!” she shouted, over the hammering. “There’s people out here, right?”

She stopped after a good fifteen seconds of banging, listened for a moment, and nodded. Carlotta looked over at Jimmy and Witherby, now giving her identical shocked looks. “Oy?” Witherby finally managed.

Carlotta smiled. “I said it was an ancient ritual, did I not? You must use the words as you have learned them.” There was a muffled thud behind her, and then a creak as the door began to open. “And look, gentlemen: the ritual succeeded.”