Fool's Gold

Evanna tipped her canteen beneath the scarred carafe, capturing every drop of rationed orange beverage. Her stomach turned at the acrid scent. The sludge wasn’t appetizing or filling, but promised vital nutrients.

Behind her, Dillon shifted from foot to foot. His canteen was the one he got on their first day in the hostel, with the dent and a ring of filth around the neck. Second or third hand, just like everything else.

“Move along, assignments start in five minutes,” Mr. Coney growled.

Evanna stepped aside to let Dillon get his fill. If he ran out, they’d share. They were used to it: sharing food, sharing warm clothes, and lately, sharing a bed.

They ducked through the mossy curtain separating the dining area from the hostel’s commons. A dozen or more of their roommates lingered while Mr. Coney fussed with a notice board.

“Work assignments are posted. Report back before sundown with any contributions,” Mr. Coney barked.

Evanna and Dillon scanned the list over the crowd of shoulders. They found their assignments: Scavenging, Cultural Corridor.

Evanna suppressed a groan. Scavenging was the assignment least likely to earn the equity required to ensure continued residence in the hostel.

“At least the cultural corridor should have some interesting finds,” Dillon said. His breath came in labored gasps and he lagged behind. Evanna forced herself to walk slowly, even if that meant less time for searching.

Forty five minutes later, the Cultural Corridor’s campus of neo-gothic buildings came into view. Encapsulating the entire city block, needle sharp spires and rib-like buttresses defending the beauty and knowledge housed within from the likes of them. Dillon slumped behind a potted shrub, catching his breath. Evanna crouched beside him. She scoped out the well-heeled patrons queued to pass through the gates. Unlike their own line this morning, no one swayed from hunger or bared their teeth to defend their spot.

The bell tower signaled the campus’ opening. Soon, the line dissipated. Evanna and Dillon set to work.

Dillon strolled from bench to bench and inspected the ground for any lost items. Evanna pierced planters and peered into garbage cans, snatching anything that Mr. Coney might find valuable. Though the bulk of their findings were waste, sometimes they’d be lucky. An unclaimed jacket or umbrella, a discarded tube of lotion or toothpaste with a sliver of product remaining. Mr. Coney had been known to reward scavengers for finding prescription bottles with unused medication.

They took frequent breaks. After a few hours, Evanna had little more than a half-rotted apple, a few coins, and a pair of pilled gloves. Discouraged, she kicked some rubble into a nearby planter. A single rock wedged against the curb and caught the light. She crouched to inspect it further.

The rock was nearly weightless. She rolled it in her hand, loose dust coating her fingertips. After a few passes, it grew impossibly shiny. Gold. Her heart leapt and she clutched her fist.

It shouldn’t be here and it shouldn’t be hers. Turning it in would risk her arrest; no law enforcement officer would believe she found it lying around.

But she couldn’t keep it, either. Giving it to Mr. Coney meant a life sentence of scavenging and diminishing returns with nothing to match it. No, she should slip it into her canteen and hide it until she’d had some time to think. Evanna unscrewed the cap.

“Hey, is that what I think it is?” Dillon wheezed. Evanna shushed him and frog-marched him away as a pair of security guards rounded the corner.

“Let me see!”

Evanna opened her palm to reveal the gold rock.

“Evanna,” Dillon breathed. “That’s Esperança. Pure, uncut from the looks of it.”

Evanna nodded. She’d never seen it in person. Esperança was a Class II substance and highly regulated. Market value made it accessible only to the social elite, who, by Evanna’s estimation, didn’t need any form of chemical confidence. It made sense that they would find it near the cultural corridor, though; its grounding euphoria paired nicely with the exhibition of human achievements.

“I don’t think we can do anything with it like this,” Evanna said. “We’re not giving it to Mr. Coney.”

“We gotta find somebody who can distill it. That is, if you want to share it,” Dillon said.

Evanna hadn’t planned on using it herself. But then again, there was nothing more intoxicating than hope.

“Mr. Coney sent me to a chemist once, near the gated community. He didn’t ask too many questions. Think you can make it there?”

Dillon nodded. “Let’s go.”

Evanna housed the rock deep in her pocket and assumed a leisurely pace.

***

The chemist’s office was on the second floor between a bakery and a jeweler. Dillon struggled to tear his eyes away from the diamonds and emeralds on display. It was comforting to Evanna. They could hardly be suspected of wrongdoing with their little stone compared to that excessive display of wealth.

A bell tinkled overhead as they entered. The chemist stared them down, scowl pasted to his face. Evanna set the rock on the counter.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, equal parts wonder and suspicion. He produced a small set of scales and gently tipped the counterweights to and fro. “I’ve never seen Esperança in this volume before.”

“Can you distill it for us?” Evanna asked.

The chemist studied it before answering in the affirmative. “Let me prepare the sample.” He palmed the stone and stepped into the back room.

Evanna noted the clock on the wall. They’d be late to report back to the hostel. Mr. Coney would be sure to give them hell, but that wouldn’t matter. In a few hours, they’d be floating away on pure Esperança. She grinned at Dillon as he browsed the shelves.

“See if you can find anything for your cough,” she said. “Maybe the chemist will be up for a trade.”

She could see the chemist moving through a frosted window, hunched over his worktable. The reassuring hum machinery rattled the glass. He was speaking softly as he worked. Evanna wandered to the stationary, admiring the notebooks. It’d been a long time since she had anything of her own.

The chemist approached the counter, two capsules loose in his sweaty palm. They were nearly translucent, a color Evanna associated with the champagne billboard near the shopping district.

He ushered the pair of them closer. His gaze traced a restless route from the teens to the pills and to the door behind them.

“The market value on these processed is astronomical,” he said.

“We’re not going to sell them, honest,” Dillon replied, sounding anything but honest. Evanna nodded, but it didn’t matter. She knew what they looked like.

“I don’t think you will be,” he agreed. The bell jingled and all three turned to look.

Two uniformed law enforcement officers crossed the threshold. Evanna grabbed the capsules and darted to the back room as the chemist took cover beneath the counter.

Dillon followed, but he was slower. “Evanna!” he gasped. “Help!”

Evanna did not stop to help. She scrambled for the Esperança.

The back room was a mess of equipment she couldn’t fathom. She ripped open the door of a noisy steel cabinet. The Esperança rested behind a cloud of steam, diminished by half.

Evanna followed the tangle of tubes from the machine to a spinning disc, centrifugal force spinning the capsules into orbit. She scooped as them into her pocket and fled through an emergency exit.

In the confusion of sirens and klaxons, Evanna sheltered in the alley. She watched Dillon being escorted to a police car. Though his future was uncertain, even the police would offer treatment to a sick kid.

***

It was dark when she arrived at the hostel. Mr. Coney railed at her, his spittle coating her cheeks. She’d returned with nothing and lost him a contributor, no matter how weak he was. Evanna endured it all, unblinking. The Esperança pulsed in her pocket, promising relief and escape.

Though she was sure no one would be able to sleep through Mr. Coney’s tirade, the cots were quiet when she entered the sleeping chamber. She laid down, marveling at the space now that Dillon was gone. She slipped one of the capsules from her pocket and held it up to the streetlight piercing the curtain. It still shone in opulent champagne gold.

She slipped the capsule under her tongue, closed her eyes, and waited.

A sweet sensation filled her mouth, dissolving like a sugar treat she’d had once as a child.

Then nothing. Her body ached as it had that morning. Her stomach rumbled from the same hunger she felt every day. She felt nothing, neither joy nor loss.

It’d been false hope after all.