"It seems to me, that the use of lockpicks should fall under the remit of a gentleman's valet, rather than the gentleman himself." Benjamin West grumbled just after he snapped his second pick in quick succession.
"I'm sure there are those who might agree with you West, but sadly I regret to inform you that I do not." His former manservant observed, in a voice which were you to describe it as arid would be to suggest it was moister that it was. Think instead of the word desiccated...
Gothe waited until his employer managed to hook the broken tip free and had once more commenced his efforts to pick the desk draw before replying. When he did it was with typical stoicism. "In the first instance, West, I am not in fact your valet. While in the second, I neglected in my youth to be trained in the arts of the common thief."
The lock was frustrating, mostly because it should have been simplicity itself. A simple mortice, locking a desk draw. Opening it should have been the work of a moment to open. The lock however seemed to be deceptively complex. He narrowed his eyes and stared at it while he pulled a third #2 short-hooked-pick out of the small fold over leather case at his side he set about using it. Though at this point he was not so much trying to pick the lock as clear the broken tip of the previous pick from the keyhole.
"Really? And why is that Gothe?" West asked, more to distract himself than out of genuine interest.
"Yes well…" West said began then bit his lip as he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. He tasted the salt and iron of blood in his mouth and paused to dabbed at the small cut in an absent-minded fashion before returning to his task, and levering up what he hoped was the last of the pins, before sliding in the crank and giving it a satisfying twist to the right.
The lock clicked.
West turned to his former manservant, his face a picture of smug satisfaction. "Luckily one of us knows the value in the 'arts of a common thief'."
"I am sure that is a matter of great pride for your grandfather having paid for your expensive education West." Came the arid observation in return.
Benjamin gifted Gothe a flinty stare as he pulled the draw open.
If perhaps he had been paying closer attention to the draw and less to his former manservant's pallid visage Benjamin West might have noticed the trick latch that sprung up as the draw opened. Had he noticed he could have held it in place with his spare hand while he hooked it in place. It was after all a simple trap designed to catch out an amateur thief.
There was a flash and explosion of black powder filled the air. Caught out by the trap, Benjamin had not the wit to hold his breath, and thus got a lung full of whatever foul concoction the dust trap contained. Whatever it was it burned, and he collapsed reeling to the ground half coughing, half choking.
Gothe looked on impassively, thinking to himself of the advantages of breathing been more a choice than a necessity.
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