The officers held their noses as the door swung open, the concentrated scent of the abyss rolling out like a physical wall. Arthur ignored the burning in his own throat, desperate to prove his innocence. He grabbed a wire brush and one of the larger “gold” clumps, frantically scrubbing at the layers of sand and mud. “Look,” he urged, his voice high and strained. “Under the grime, it’s brilliant. It’s—”
He stopped. As the outer crust fell away, the material beneath felt unexpectedly light, almost like hardened wax or cork. It didn’t have the cold, unyielding weight of metal. The cops leaned in, their skepticism growing as the foul smell intensified with every stroke of the brush. “That doesn’t look like any gold I’ve ever seen, Arthur,” the lead officer muttered, pulling his collar over his face.
Even Arthur had to admit the shimmering amber streaks now looked dull and strangely organic.