A Heavy Bolt

I slipped through the ground-floor portal into the chill nocturnal air, drawn toward the iron latch of the courtyard gate. Anchored low against the weathered timber post was a heavy, rusted sliding bolt, its cylindrical bar resting half-drawn in negligent disarray. I halted, granting the dormant ward four profound beats of theatrical stillness. Grasping the cold iron knob with both skeletal hands, I braced my heels upon the damp stone riser. With a slow, rasping heave, I drove the heavy bar straight into its collar. A deep, resonant clunk rang out against the stone wall. 'Sleep untroubled, venerable courtyard,' I rasped into the breeze, 'thy gate is garrisoned for the night.'