Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2

by N. S. Wikarski

  The woman stood upright and stretched to ease the stiffness in her back. She’d been cultivating around the roots of a row of millet plants. She paused to study the feathery seed heads drooping above their tall stalks—still green though the weather had been fair and promised to ripen them in a few more weeks. Her youngest son, barely more than a toddler, was attempting to help her by attacking weed clumps with a sharp stick.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement in the distance. Several dozen figures were descending from the mountains that surrounded the river valley where she and her clan lived. They were moving at a leisurely pace down the slopes. Curious, she dropped her hoe and, taking her son by the hand, threaded her way through the millet field. Several others of her clan, also working in the fields, had noticed the approach of the strangers. The farm folk wandered toward the river bank and gathered in a small group to watch their descent.

  As the band loomed ever nearer, a collective murmur of surprise rose from residents. The woman gasped audibly at the spectacle. The strangers numbered about fifty men, women, and children. These people were odd-looking. Whereas the villagers were short and stocky with straight black hair and brown eyes, the strangers were tall and gangly, their skins as pale as a fish’s belly. Their eyes were round and set deep in their sockets. Their hair was bushy—the color and texture of straw.

  They were not walking but riding. The lead figure sat astride a long-necked, long-nosed beast which he controlled with leather straps fastened around the creature’s mouth. The woman had seen a few of these animals before though large numbers of them were said to roam across the grasslands beyond the mountains. They were useless as livestock. Not placid like the pigs which her clan kept in pens. These long-necked creatures were easily frightened and, once startled, they ran like the wind. Sometimes her people would hunt them for their meat, but no one had ever tried to sit on one before.

  Yet here was a band of humans astride the backs of these creatures as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Not all the strangers were riding the animals though. Several among them, mainly women and children, were traveling in even stranger fashion. They sat in square wooden boxes with round disks attached on either side. Long-necked beasts were tied to these boxes and pulled them forward, making the disks spin and leaving behind tracks in the grass.

  The woman’s son had wrapped his arms around her leg as if it were a tree trunk. He stared up at her, silently demanding to be carried. She hoisted him into her arms, so he could get a better view. He stuck his fist into his mouth, warily regarding the advancing procession.

  The woman’s eyes were drawn to a female figure seated in the foremost of the square boxes. A plank of wood was strapped to her back. On it rested an infant if the poor little thing could be said to rest at all. It was swathed in cloth strips that bound its tiny body to the plank. The infant was wrapped so firmly that it could move neither its arms nor its legs. Its forehead was held rigidly against the board to keep it from flopping to either side. For a moment, the woman wondered whether the baby was even alive. Perhaps this was the way these foreigners prepared their dead for burial. Then the baby’s eyes blinked open lethargically. The pressure of the wrappings made the eyes seem to bulge from their sockets, but the infant remained mute. Perhaps it knew that no one would release it from its bindings, so there was no point in whimpering.

  The woman’s attention then traveled from the bound infant to its mother. Her hair was flame-colored. She wore an intricately stitched shawl—red and green thread had been worked into square shapes with straight lines shooting through them. The design was more complex than anything the clan weavers could produce.

  This caravan was a peculiar sight to be sure. But of all the curiosities in this odd procession, there was one stranger than all the rest. It was a wooden platform, smaller than the boxes which held the women and children. It too had wooden disks attached to each side and was pulled by a long-necked animal. Beneath the platform were more disks with notched edges which seemed to interlock with one another. These all connected to a small pillar resting on top of the platform. The pillar was topped by an ornamental carving of the neck and head of one of the beasts these people used for conveyance. As this platform traveled forward, no matter which way it zigged and zagged down the hills, the nose of the carving always turned toward the same direction. The woman judged it to be pointing south. She couldn’t imagine what purpose this device served.

  Her silent speculation was cut short when the leader of the band raised his arm, commanding his followers to halt. They wordlessly obeyed. The man gave his beast a sharp kick in the ribs, and it ambled forward until he tugged on the strap in its mouth to make it stop a mere ten feet away from the assembled clan.

  The farm folk gawked up at him. He impassively stared back at them. The woman took in every detail of his appearance. His yellow hair hung down his back. It was the color of ripe millet as was the color of the thick beard which flowed down his chest. His age was hard to guess. He was not a youth but not an elder either. His eyes were set so deeply that his eyelids folded over them like a hood. On his head, he wore some sort of metal bowl turned upside down. Horns had been affixed to either side of the bowl, giving him the fearsome aspect of a charging beast. A long knife hung from a leather belt at his waist.

  The stranger made no threatening gesture despite his warlike attire. He merely sat on his animal and silently studied the people clustered below him. After a few moments, his gaze shifted from the crowd to the millet fields, the houses, the livestock pens and the river flowing endlessly off into the distance. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The farmers continued to gape and point and whisper among themselves.

  The woman felt a shadow cross the sun even though the sky was clear and bright. She didn’t have the gift of second sight like the shamans of the clan. Her gift lay in making things grow. Still, she felt an unaccountable sense of despair welling up from the depths of her heart. Without being able to explain why she knew that her world was about to change—and not for the better.

  Chapter 2—Legal Threshold

  Present Day, Western Suburbs of Chicago

  “I think you’ve got OCD.” Cassie climbed out of the driver’s seat and slammed her car door for emphasis.

  “Humor me,” Griffin replied dryly as he exited his own vehicle.

  They were standing in the parking lot of Cassie’s apartment complex.

  Leroy Hunt’s persistent efforts to find her had caused the pythia to take shelter in the western suburbs—as far away from the vault and downtown Chicago as possible. Her housing development was a sprawling complex of modern three-story apartment buildings clustered artistically around a central retention pond whose fountain had been turned off for the winter. A thin glaze of ice still coated the water.

  Cassie hugged herself to keep warm while she waited for Griffin to catch up with her. Even though spring was technically around the corner, the early evening temperature was barely above freezing. They scurried up the walk to her front door on the ground level.

  “Look, I’m telling you,” she continued. “I just cleaned my place two days ago, and I didn’t see your missing field agent’s journal anywhere.”

  “Really?” The scrivener sounded genuinely puzzled. “I could have sworn I left it here the last time I dropped by.”

  Cassie gave an exasperated sigh and fitted her key into the lock. “Go ahead and look but you won’t find it.”

  She swung the door open to reveal a dark, quiet apartment. Without warning, the ceiling lights blazed on, and a chorus of voices shouted, “SURPRISE!”

  “What the...” Cassie trailed off, blinking under the glare. She turned mutely to the scrivener.

  Thirty people popped out from behind various pieces of furniture and came forward to greet her. She recognized them as co-workers from the Arkana. Her visitors must have been busy before her arrival because the dining room table was covered with an array of chi
ps, dips, sandwiches, salads, and pastries. They had even gone to the trouble of decorating for the occasion. Helium balloons bobbed above the dining room chandelier, and the patio door valance was festooned with streamers.

  The crowd launched into a boisterous rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

  By the time they finished, Cassie was blushing from the fuss everyone was making.

  Maddie’s tall form strode forward. She bent down to give Cassie a bear hug. “Happy birthday, kiddo. It’s not every day that a pythia turns twenty-one.”

  “I guess that’s because pythias usually don’t live that long,” Cassie retorted.

  Maddie drew back. “Nonsense. Your sister Sybil was a lot older before she got murdered.”

  “Thanks, that’s really comforting.”

  By this time, Faye had elbowed her way through the crowd to offer her own congratulations. “Never mind her, my dear. This day is a cause for celebration. You’ve officially come of age.”

  The pythia smiled ruefully. “After working for the Arkana for the past two years, I can honestly say I feel like I’m twenty-one going on forty-five.”

  “You don’t look a day over forty-four.” Griffin patted her consolingly on the shoulder.

  She turned to face him. “So, your story about needing to find your missing journal was just a clever ruse to get me here?”

  “That was only part of the ruse. I was charged with detaining you at the vault as late as possible until Maddie rang to tell me that all was ready. Then I was to lure you here at the proper moment.”

  “Good job on both counts.” Cassie nodded approvingly.

  At that moment, an unexpected guest walked up bearing a tray with several glasses of champagne.

  “Oh, my goddess!” Cassie exclaimed. “Rhonda, what are you doing here?”

  Her sister’s former business partner handed the tray to Griffin, so she could enfold Cassie in an embrace. “It’s so good to see you again, sweetie,” she murmured, pressing her lips to the pythia’s cheek.

  Cassie held the woman at arm’s length to study her. “You’re looking tanned and rested. Last I heard you were on a world cruise courtesy of the Arkana.”

  Rhonda gave Maddie a sidelong glance. “I got back a few months ago. That’s when your fearless leader set me up in an antique shop in San Francisco. Presumably, nobody’s going to look for me there.”

  The pythia shook her head emphatically. “Absolutely not.” She scowled as a new thought struck her. “Is it safe for you to be in Chicago?”

  “Please,” Rhonda protested. “If I were to miss your twenty-first birthday, Sybil’s ghost would haunt me from beyond the grave. Besides, I’m not going anywhere near the city—just back to Midway to catch an early flight tomorrow morning. Don’t you worry about me. I’m the one who should be worrying about my silent partner.”

  “You’re still cutting me in on Sybil’s share of the shop?” Cassie asked in surprise.

  “The agreement stands,” Rhonda affirmed, “no matter where the shop is located.”

  While Cassie gave Rhonda another hug for good measure, Maddie distributed champagne glasses to the group. Handing one to the pythia, she urged, “Your first drink. Take it.”

  “Oh, I’ve tasted alcohol before,” Cassie hedged. “But this will be my first legal drink.” She raised her glass. “To the Twenty-First Amendment!”

  “To the Twenty-First Amendment,” the others echoed and toasted her.

  After a few sips, the pythia turned to survey the food and decorations and the sheer number of well-wishers. Her face must have betrayed her bafflement.

  “Something the matter?” the scrivener asked cautiously.

  Cassie shook her head in wonder. “No. Not at all. This is awesome. It’s beyond awesome. It’s the biggest birthday party I’ve had in my entire life.” She hesitated. “I don’t remember what birthdays were like while my parents were still alive. Later on, Sybil and I had an offhanded way of celebrating. She’d usually come home late from work, take one look at my face, smack herself on the forehead and say ‘Oh, crap!’ Then she’d rush out to the nearest convenience store and bring back a cupcake. I’d stick a candle in the middle, light it, and she’d sing me ‘Happy Birthday.’”

  Her story was met by an uncomfortable silence from her listeners.

  Realizing how dismal her prior birthdays must have sounded to them, she tried to repair the damage. “Of course, at the time I didn’t realize the kind of job Sybil was doing for the Arkana. I just thought she was being self-absorbed. Now that I know first-hand the number of knives she was juggling, I have to give her credit for remembering at all.”

  “How about we sample that spread,” Maddie suggested, changing the subject. “My crew knocked themselves out to put it together.”

  In a loud voice, Cassie called out to the room in general, “I want to thank you all. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  “Everybody dig in!” Maddie commanded in an even louder voice.

  As the crowd moved toward the buffet, the chatelaine grabbed her coat and edged toward the front door.

  In response to a quizzical look from Cassie, she explained, “Turns out party planning is even more stressful than running a covert global operation. I’m going to duck outside for a smoke to quiet my nerves.”

  ***

  Half an hour later, everyone was done milling around the table for seconds and thirds. Someone dimmed the lights and Griffin emerged from the kitchen carrying a birthday cake glowing with twenty-one candles.

  After another rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday,” Cassie blew them out, not missing a single one.

  The scrivener leaned over and whispered, “What did you wish for?”

  “I can’t tell you that, or it won’t come true,” she protested. “Let’s just say living long enough to snag the Sage Stone looms large in my plans.”

  As Rhonda and Faye busied themselves distributing slices of cake, the doorbell rang.

  “Whoever that is, they’re well beyond fashionably late,” Griffin observed.

  By the time Cassie reached the door, her visitor had already let himself in.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said in a small voice.

  Erik seemed taken aback by the festivities. “What’s going on here?”

  “Shut the door, you’re letting in a draft,” Maddie commanded from the dining room.

  As he entered the room, Erik confided to Cassie, “I just flew into O’Hare. When I called Maddie to check in, she told me to come straight here for a debriefing. She didn’t mention anything about a party.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Help yourself to some food,” Cassie offered.

  Erik shrugged pragmatically and headed for the buffet.

  Griffin watched the interchange in silent disapproval. Under his breath, he muttered, “Not so much as a ‘Happy Birthday’? That’s a bit cheeky even for him.”

  “I thought you two made up after we got back from Tibet,” Cassie remarked, walking back toward the dining room herself.

  “We did. I’m merely offended that Erik continues to be Erik. His ubiquitous sense of entitlement never fails to appall.”

  The pythia grinned. “Can’t help you with that. He is who he’s always been.” She handed Griffin a plate. “Here. Have some cake.”

  The scrivener smiled ruefully. “Very clever of you. If I’m eating I’m not sniping.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cassie protested innocently.

  ***

  Two hours later, Cassie stood in the doorway bidding goodnight to the last of her guests. Rhonda received a special caution to “watch her back.” The kitchen had been tidied, and everyone sent home with containers of leftovers. Turning back into the apartment, the pythia was startled to realize that Faye, Maddie, Griffin, and Erik were all standing together waiting for her.

  “Good,” Maddie observed succinctly. “Now we can get down to business.”

&
nbsp; Chapter 3—Formal Invitation

  Zach surreptitiously checked his watch. It was almost nine PM. He glanced across the table at Hannah who was scanning a menu. The two sat in a booth at the village diner. They’d just walked over from the tiny local movie theater where they’d caught an early show. Unlike the multiplex at the mall, the town’s lone theater stubbornly clung to the tradition of showing only one movie per week. Fortunately, it was a film that both Zach and Hannah had wanted to see. After sharing a tub of popcorn to stave off hunger for a few hours, they’d gone to the only restaurant on the green that was still open.

  Much as Zach enjoyed having Hannah to himself for an entire evening, he was acting on Arkana orders. He’d leapt at the chance to be of service. As a tyro, the boy hadn’t been trusted with anything more confidential than filing budget reports. This assignment was as close to top secret as he was likely to get for a while. Faye had told him to keep Hannah out until shortly before curfew. On Friday night, that meant eleven o’clock. His ancestor had been vague on the details but, apparently, she had some secret business to transact. Since Faye planned to return before their date was over, it would circumvent any awkward questions from Hannah about the old woman’s whereabouts. The mission suited Zach perfectly. He had an agenda of his own to pursue with his girlfriend this evening.

  The waitress returned to take their orders. Once she left, Zach leaned over the table and said, “Hannah, I’m a junior this year.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “Yes, I know. And I’m a sophomore. Ever since school started last fall.”

  He smiled nervously. “Well, there’s this thing. It’s sort of like a rite of passage for guys my age.”

  She peered at him and whispered, “You haven’t started drag racing, have you?”

  “Drag racing!” His head jerked back in surprise. “Where’d you get an idea like that?”