It was locked,

It was locked, of course.

I mean, it's not like we needed to go through the door to get in, or anything. For sake, there was a hole big enough to walk through not five steps away...

Bran caught my glance as he kneeled in front of the door, and followed it to the hole. "Yeah, no. For one thing," he said distractedly, peering into the keyhole with one eye, "there's a method to the madness of the mythic. You've got to go about things in a certain way —" he pulled out various lockpick-looking things — "to get anything done. It's all story and ritual," he said, leaving off the capital letters.

I shifted my grip on Clarent nervously, eyeing the vein we'd come down. "... more of this crap. God, can't we just do something directly for once?"

"And for another," he said, continuing as if I hadn't spoken, "we'll want the door open as we leave, 'cause whether things go either well or poorly, those holes aren't going to be there on our way —" click "— out." He smiled, and stood up. "After you, milady."

I gave the door a rough shove, since I couldn't really get away with doing it to Bran. It creaked noisily in protest.