It was a regular evening. And once again I found myself squatting as discretely as possible next to the railing. For the thousandth time possible I cursed the fact that the dim orange streetlight did nothing to help my non-existent night vision. But I suppose working in the dark was good training too. I tried to focus more on my fingers, letting them feel the metal surfaces and the soft clicks. But it was cold and my fingers were starting to get numb. I pondered putting on my gloves, but then discarded that thought. It would only slow me down.

Perhaps I would collect less this evening. And get more tomorrow.

I could smell the iron from the bridge and from under my hands. Iron and rust mixed in with the cold clean night air. Possibly it would snow tomorrow. Or not.

Perhaps spring would come early.

I must be getting bored, especially if my mind was running over my tactile and sensory environment, trying to find something interesting to think about while my hands worked away.

He had thrown a small brown wallet to me, and I caught it with a frown.

"Have we started giving early Christmas presents? Or is it my birthday on some obscure non-Gregorian calendar? The Julian calendar perhaps?" He smiled at me sarcastically while I opened the wallet. "Well what a disappointment." I said, "Last year you gave me Tsarina Maria Feodorovna's Egg and now a dirty hand-me down wallet?"

"If I recall, you gifted yourself that egg, after you took it for your assignment."

"You never specified that I had to return it. So I assumed it was my Christmas present. No one will miss it."

"The most famous creation of Peter Faberge, and you are saying no one will miss it?"

"Well my replica hasn't been doubted yet. They must love mine more." He looked slightly exasperated at that.

"This will be your last lesson." he said gesturing to the leather wallet, "Go to le Pont de l'Archeveche." And with that he turned around and walked out of the room. I sighed as I realized what I was to do. He had given me a lock pick set. How mundane.

Everything I had done so far had all been classes, or lessons. It had mostly been things to enhance my skill.

"Get yourself invited to the ambassador's gala ."

"Pick the pockets of ten people at St James' Station."

"Put a white spot of paint on the casing of La Joconde without getting caught. Put it right over her nose."

"Now this ghastly Hello-Kitty sticker on the frame of La Joconde." "The actual frame?" "Yes the frame itself, just don't stick in on too firmly. Davinci will roll in his grave." "It's not even his best." "On second thought. Don't. If it gets damaged Jean-Luc will be devastated. He is loaning me the La Jeune Matyre next weekend. I don't want him changing his mind due to a break in. Stick in on the wing of Nike." "Oh! You know because surely no one will get upset with this little ugly piece of pop art really symbolizing consumerism at it's lowest on a statue older than Jesus Christ. La Victoire is the testimony, no the symbol of humanity as we knowit." "To you." "It's a good thousand years older. And magnificent. La Joconde looks like a badly done watercolour of a woman suffering from a combination of Cushing's and Marfan's." "It's bigger. It will take longer to notice. I have been wanting to study La Jeune Matyre for months. It has taken quite a while to convince Jean-Luc."

"Bring me the Cuiyi Baicai from the Palace Museum."

"Looks ridiculous doesn't it. Put it back. Now le Blue de France." My limit had been at that one. Luckily it had been a good joke.

But the list went on. I was thrilled when he had said this would be my last lesson, and lock picking was simple, perhaps all I had to do was to sneak into someone's home or open a letterbox. But when I arrived at le Pont de l'Archeveche, I started I felt like it was some sort of joke. I had briefly forgotten that the bridge had been renamed in the recent years, Lovelock Bridge. In the daytime the humble bridge looked like it suffered from Midas' touch. From a distance, as the sunlight reflected on the thousand locks that lover's had come to put in it proclaiming their everlasting love. It was so ridiculous and trivial that after a while I ceased to see the locks every time I walked by, they just blended into the background. Looking at the thousands of locks, shimmering mockingly at me, I started to gain a new respect for them.

Eighty nine. Eleven more to go. I had decided to collect a hundred every night. Enough to be impressive, yet not enough for me to lose too much sleep. Everyday when I came back, he would give me look. Over the years I had learned that it meant "So?" "And?" "Did you get caught?" "Who do I need to call to make sure you don't end up in jail?"

I had tried the first few times. The locks represented love. And as I always added that it didn't exist, funny that, trying to learn about something that was only invented to ensure propagation of the human race. Perhaps he was trying to get to me to learn what love was. He had shaken his head at that one.

Well, then, perhaps it was about some twisted notion of stealing love. I had never known love, or understood it, perhaps it was about stealing the symbol of the everlasting undying love from those delusional couples. Most of whom would have split up anyway. What was the divorce rate now? High forties? Fifty even? Really I was doing them a favour by removing the locks. They wouldn't have to fly to Paris to do it themselves. Did he want me to learn that love was difficult? But also real? Surely there were more elegant ways than this.

Once a police officer had stopped me.

"Mademoiselle. Pardon, mais que faites-vous?"

I had already forced the tears from my eyes and held my breath a few minutes so I looked ill. "Je suis desole!" I sniffed, "Je dois l'enveler ca! Il a menti! Il ne m'aime pas! Le menteur!" Then I let out a sob and rubbed my nose. The poor police officer looked almost embarrassed and started backing away. "D'accord! D'accord… Pas de probleme. Uhh… bonne nuit, mademoiselle."

If only there was some master key. I had three more to go, but that didn't mean that the bridge was empty yet. I didn't come everyday. That would arouse suspicion, and getting caught for stealing locks from tourists would be laughable. Getting caught while stealing le Blue de France was acceptable, but this would get me disowned and disinherited. A key that could unlock all the locks would perhaps save me half the time. Luckily it wasn't high season, or the rate at which I removed locks would be inefficient against the number of lovers that added new ones.

A master key. I spun that idea round my head a few times. There wasn't a key in the world that could open all locks. It was a lovely tale to think about but sooner or later everyone knew that the only fail-safe mechanism was lock picking, or a bolt cutter. But then I finally understood.

"There is no master key for any lock. Those things are nonsense." I said emptying my bag onto the table in front of him. The locks feel noisily onto the floor, as if protesting their absence from their brethren on the bridge. "Bolt cutters or lock picks are the only way." He smiled and nodded.

"Or a key."

"Every lock is unique, but if you have the key to that lock, what's behind it, is yours."

"People are like locks. Find the key. Or simply pick your way in. Just don't cut the lock. Otherwise you will have no use for it."

"Yes. And now you will learn how to make people give you their keys."

"No more picking locks."