Read Online Quicksilver (The Forensic Geology Series, Prequel) by Toni Dwiggins - Free Book Online
Authors: Toni Dwiggins
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hydraulic trap on the river bottom where material coming downstream was likely to get lodged.
I knelt to sample.
The water was low. I wondered how much of a rainstorm was needed to saturate the watershed feeding this river. Right now, shafts of late afternoon sunlight glassed the surface. Where clouds shadowed, the river turned inky. A rainbow trout nosed the bottom, the fish multicolored as the gravel. I scanned the riverbed, noting how the rocks and sand acted as riffles, thinking geologically speaking this was an eminently likely site to find grains of gold. Gold is heavy. Water needs a brute-force flow to suspend gold and move it along, and the moment the water slows, the heaviest grains bail out and settle into pockets and crevices. I peered into a large crack. Looking, I abruptly realized, for the telltale metallic flash. I shifted position and did see a flash but it was silver—muscovite mica. Still, my mouth had gone a little dry. I moved on to the next crevice, the next little hollow. The gravel here was mostly buried under silt and sand that had settled out of the river flow. I bent lower and plunged my hands into the water, wetting my sleeves, running my fingers through the sandy bed, unearthing grains of quartz and chert and mica and every other freaking mineral that lived in this micro-niche but no gold.
Hold on . What are you looking for again, lady? You’re looking for float. Diorite. Hornfels. That’s what should make your mouth go dry.
Not gold.
I glanced at Walter, who was examining a specimen under his hand lens, and then I glanced at Shelburne, who was still in that strange funk on his boulder, staring into the distance.
They were paying me no attention.
I recovered my dignity and paid heed to the little pool and riffle pocket where, in my professional opinion, something worth examination might be lodged. Upon closer examination I noticed a ledge. It was recessed, in shadow, and the riffling water was silty, but nevertheless I could make out the shape of a cobble in there. Hard to tell the texture and color but it was worth a closer look.
I reached.
My fingers closed on the cobble.
I yelped.
I’m not afraid of snakes but for a moment I thought this must be the hump of a coiled water snake, clammy and cold. But if it were a snake it would have moved, would have recoiled from my touch, would have slunk out from the crevice and skedaddled or, worse, and wrapped itself onto my hand and given me a bite. This was no snake. This did not recoil. It simply pushed my fingers aside.
Walter was suddenly beside me. “Cassie?”
I let go of the thing and sat back on my haunches. Heart pounding.
Shelburne sprinted across the gravel bar to flank me on the other side. “What is it?”
It was a moment before I could speak. “Something’s down there.”
“ What ?”
“It’s not a snake.” I cast about, to explain my reaction. “But it felt...soft. It fit in my hand. About the size of my fist. It felt like...” The word came to me from some primitive zone in a dark corner of my mind. “Like a heart.”
Shelburne went white.
I bent back to the water, leaning farther, angling for a better view of the ledge down there, and now I got a straight-on look and saw the thing for what it was. It sat cupped on its ledge in the crevice. I understood my earlier confusion. It was indeed rounded as a river cobble, but not solid. It was big as a heart and it quivered slightly, fanned by the riffling water.
“ Cassie ,” Walter said, “what the devil is down there?”
I straightened. “Mercury.” A quivering heart of liquid mercury.
Shelburne sucked in a deep breath, let it escape.
“Well that’s not surprising,” Walter said.
“It sure surprised me.”
Walter said, “Millions of pounds were lost from the sluices. You’ll find it in the rivers and soils. You’ll certainly find droplets in catch-basins like this.”
“Not droplets.” I held my hands apart, to demonstrate the size. A
I knelt to sample.
The water was low. I wondered how much of a rainstorm was needed to saturate the watershed feeding this river. Right now, shafts of late afternoon sunlight glassed the surface. Where clouds shadowed, the river turned inky. A rainbow trout nosed the bottom, the fish multicolored as the gravel. I scanned the riverbed, noting how the rocks and sand acted as riffles, thinking geologically speaking this was an eminently likely site to find grains of gold. Gold is heavy. Water needs a brute-force flow to suspend gold and move it along, and the moment the water slows, the heaviest grains bail out and settle into pockets and crevices. I peered into a large crack. Looking, I abruptly realized, for the telltale metallic flash. I shifted position and did see a flash but it was silver—muscovite mica. Still, my mouth had gone a little dry. I moved on to the next crevice, the next little hollow. The gravel here was mostly buried under silt and sand that had settled out of the river flow. I bent lower and plunged my hands into the water, wetting my sleeves, running my fingers through the sandy bed, unearthing grains of quartz and chert and mica and every other freaking mineral that lived in this micro-niche but no gold.
Hold on . What are you looking for again, lady? You’re looking for float. Diorite. Hornfels. That’s what should make your mouth go dry.
Not gold.
I glanced at Walter, who was examining a specimen under his hand lens, and then I glanced at Shelburne, who was still in that strange funk on his boulder, staring into the distance.
They were paying me no attention.
I recovered my dignity and paid heed to the little pool and riffle pocket where, in my professional opinion, something worth examination might be lodged. Upon closer examination I noticed a ledge. It was recessed, in shadow, and the riffling water was silty, but nevertheless I could make out the shape of a cobble in there. Hard to tell the texture and color but it was worth a closer look.
I reached.
My fingers closed on the cobble.
I yelped.
I’m not afraid of snakes but for a moment I thought this must be the hump of a coiled water snake, clammy and cold. But if it were a snake it would have moved, would have recoiled from my touch, would have slunk out from the crevice and skedaddled or, worse, and wrapped itself onto my hand and given me a bite. This was no snake. This did not recoil. It simply pushed my fingers aside.
Walter was suddenly beside me. “Cassie?”
I let go of the thing and sat back on my haunches. Heart pounding.
Shelburne sprinted across the gravel bar to flank me on the other side. “What is it?”
It was a moment before I could speak. “Something’s down there.”
“ What ?”
“It’s not a snake.” I cast about, to explain my reaction. “But it felt...soft. It fit in my hand. About the size of my fist. It felt like...” The word came to me from some primitive zone in a dark corner of my mind. “Like a heart.”
Shelburne went white.
I bent back to the water, leaning farther, angling for a better view of the ledge down there, and now I got a straight-on look and saw the thing for what it was. It sat cupped on its ledge in the crevice. I understood my earlier confusion. It was indeed rounded as a river cobble, but not solid. It was big as a heart and it quivered slightly, fanned by the riffling water.
“ Cassie ,” Walter said, “what the devil is down there?”
I straightened. “Mercury.” A quivering heart of liquid mercury.
Shelburne sucked in a deep breath, let it escape.
“Well that’s not surprising,” Walter said.
“It sure surprised me.”
Walter said, “Millions of pounds were lost from the sluices. You’ll find it in the rivers and soils. You’ll certainly find droplets in catch-basins like this.”
“Not droplets.” I held my hands apart, to demonstrate the size. A
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