Flashes of Inspiration [Flash Fictions]

Lock

Prompt from CeeMTaylor: "Lock" starring some familiar faces :D

To Mildred, the average lock was little more than a security blanket that you could hit people with. Well, if it was a padlock, though she had hit people with door-based-locks too, it just took more planning.

This, though, was no ordinary lock. It was a very expensive, very high craftsmanship lock, attached to the great big steel door of the Goldman National Bank in Wyndford. She'd sat in silence, studying it for a moment, and had to admit that she was impressed. The work was so fine she could barely see the witness marks of the locksmith on the gears. 

Leaning forward, she pressed the length of her pointed ear to the vault door and suppressed a shiver at the chill of the steel. 

"Nervous?" 

"No," she said, wiggling her ear a little. "It's just that I don't usually have an audience."

She slipped in her lockpicks to the keyhole and heard her audience open his pocket watch with a click.

"When you suggested this, I thought you were going to use dynamite again."

"Stop talking," she muttered, pressing her free ear down and back to try to muffle the sound of her annoying husband so she could focus on hearing the tumblers of the lock click as she worked the lockpick with light touches. "I only did that once."

"Twice, really. There was the train-"

"The dragon got the train," She grumbled, hearing the next tumbler click into place. "That wasn't my fault."

She could hear him grin and Millie rolled her eyes.

"Well, that's the official story, certainly. Miss Colfield did release the results of that investigation to the public. Very dragony dragon killed a train. Never mind that they discovered one of the lynchpins had been shot off. I didn't know dragons could use firearms."

"You'd be surprised," Millie said, and huffed. Ears twitching in annoyance, she turned and looked at her husband, dead in the eye. A giant of a man, Gilbert had sat down in one of the teller's chairs with his cane balanced against his knee. He'd grown his beard out since their return to town, and he grinned at her, his stupid handsome face very pleased with himself as he wiggled the pocket watch in his hand. 

Her other audience member was a tiny fluffy dog, fox red and with a tail that never stopped wagging. Freckle barked in encouragement.

"You said in under a minute," Gilbert teased. "Are you certain you didn't mean with dynamite? Because time is-"

Millie twisted the lockpicks breaking eye contact. Grabbing the handle of the vault door, she hauled it open.

"Done," she said. "Which means you have to get the girls ready for class this week."

Gilbert blinked, and then laughed. 

"Did they teach that in the army? I paid a lot of money for that door, you know."

"No, not the army," Millie said, tucking her lockpicks into the pocket of her dress. She brushed her hands clean on the soft cotton handkerchief that had been included with the outfit. It felt strange and bulky to wear, though at least the skirt was long enough to hide her practical boots. 

"Make sure Rasha keeps her shoes on this time," she added with a tiny smile. "Apparently she threw them at the tutor last week."

"Did she hit him?" Gilbert asked, passing his wife her dog.

Millie snorted. "Of course she did. She's my daughter."