Door Handle.
The fleeing girl is at least a hundred yards ahead, and the mob from the alehouse have gained in their pursuit. You see her disappear into an alleyway. There is no way you can catch up with her now, but you know the area she is heading towards, and more importantly, you know a short cut. You grasp the handles of your barrow but realise it will slow you down on the chase.
Parking it out of site will not protect it from thieves.
With some reluctance you decide to leave it outside the milliner's shop and rely on his hatred of lower class scum to chase any prospective pilferers away.
You head down the private path at the side of the shop, climb over the locked iron gate and run across the milliner's back yard. The brick wall at the back is slippery with the rain and it takes you a number of attempts to pull yourself up onto it. You drop down into the delivery passage, which serves most of the shops on this side of the street.
Above the noise of the rain the hue and cry is gaining strength - and you feel duty bound to follow.
You turn down the first of a network of alleyways, dodging the rats who behave as if theirs is the right of way. The stench of sewage makes you gag, and you hold your breath as much as you can.
The wretched folk of the slums huddle in their makeshift shelters of broken slate and disintegrating brick as you splash through filthy puddles. Ignoring the call to help trap the villain is in itself a punishable offense, but these souls are past caring. They stretch their blackened claw-like hands towards the money pouch that thumps against your thigh as you run, but you shun their begging pleas, your ears tuned to the shouts of the chase.
With each turn you sense the chase coming closer, but the path ahead forks. It is difficult to anticipate which path will most likely intercept her, but you must decide quickly!
Parking it out of site will not protect it from thieves.
With some reluctance you decide to leave it outside the milliner's shop and rely on his hatred of lower class scum to chase any prospective pilferers away.
You head down the private path at the side of the shop, climb over the locked iron gate and run across the milliner's back yard. The brick wall at the back is slippery with the rain and it takes you a number of attempts to pull yourself up onto it. You drop down into the delivery passage, which serves most of the shops on this side of the street.
Above the noise of the rain the hue and cry is gaining strength - and you feel duty bound to follow.
You turn down the first of a network of alleyways, dodging the rats who behave as if theirs is the right of way. The stench of sewage makes you gag, and you hold your breath as much as you can.
The wretched folk of the slums huddle in their makeshift shelters of broken slate and disintegrating brick as you splash through filthy puddles. Ignoring the call to help trap the villain is in itself a punishable offense, but these souls are past caring. They stretch their blackened claw-like hands towards the money pouch that thumps against your thigh as you run, but you shun their begging pleas, your ears tuned to the shouts of the chase.
With each turn you sense the chase coming closer, but the path ahead forks. It is difficult to anticipate which path will most likely intercept her, but you must decide quickly!