Riddle of the Diamond Dove: The Arkana Mysteries, #4

By N. S. Wikarski

During the untold millennia before patriarchy was conceived, the world was a very different place…

THE ARKANA SERIES
A myth-shattering treasure hunt that spans continents, centuries, and lost civilizations, pitting a secret society against a ruthless fundamentalist cult. The prize is a cache of hidden artifacts that could rewrite history or end it completely. With the world hanging in the balance, only one faction can win. More importantly, only one can survive.

Volume 4 - Riddle of the Diamond Dove
In RIDDLE OF THE DIAMOND DOVE, the Arkana and the Nephilim hunt for buried relics in Africa. They must sift an entire continent—their only lead a riddle carved onto a mysterious bird sculpture. Even as the Arkana team struggles to decipher the clue, new dangers hover over their colleagues at home. A Nephilim henchman, sent to track down the runaway bride of the cult's leader, creeps ever closer to her hiding place among the Arkana. Troubles multiply when another Nephilim operative recruits a clever ally who might be more than a match for the opposing side. As the forces of the Arkana and the Nephilim converge on a ruined city in a forgotten corner of the dark continent, the shocking outcome is beyond anyone's powers to foresee. The quest for lost artifacts will veer in an unexpected direction once both sides solve the riddle inscribed on the wings of the diamond dove.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Northgate Press
• Release date: Jan 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215969199

N. S. Wikarski

Nancy Wikarski is a fugitive from academia. After earning her Ph.D. from the University of Chicago, she worked in corporate America for two decades before becoming a historical fiction author. Her books primarily highlight the unknown elements of women's history. In her Arkana series, she foregrounds the latest archaeological discoveries about pre-patriarchal cultures around the planet and weaves these facts into fictional treasure hunt mysteries. Her Gilded Age Chicago books depict the real issues of first-wave feminism while following the fictional adventures of two amateur sleuths. Both her series have been award-nominated and have ranked on Amazon's bestseller lists. The author is a member of ALLi, Mystery Writers of America, the Society of Midland Authors, and has served as vice president of Sisters in Crime-Twin Cities and on the programming board of the Chicago chapter. Her short stories have appeared in Futures Magazine and DIME Anthology, while her book reviews and essays have been featured in Murder: Past Tense, Deadly Pleasures, and Mystery Readers Journal. She is currently writing an Arkana spinoff series called The Trove Chronicles that will continue to feature discoveries about global pre-patriarchal cultures. More mysteries from the casebook of Gilded Age detectives Evangeline LeClair and Freddie Simpson are also in the works.

Book preview

Riddle of the Diamond Dove

The Arkana Mysteries, Volume 4

N. S. Wikarski

Published by Northgate Press, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

RIDDLE OF THE DIAMOND DOVE

First edition. January 25, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 N. S. Wikarski.

ISBN: 979-8215969199

Written by N. S. Wikarski.

Also by N. S. Wikarski

Gilded Age Chicago Mysteries

The Fall of White City

Shrouded in Thought

The Black Widow's Prey

The Arkana Mysteries

The Granite Key

The Mountain Mother Cipher

The Dragon's Wing Enigma

Riddle of the Diamond Dove

Into the Jaws of the Lion

Secrets of the Serpent's Heart

The Sage Stone Prophecy

The Trove Chronicles

Lucifer's Triangle

Watch for more at N. S. Wikarski’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By N. S. Wikarski

Chapter 1—Dirty Deeds

Chapter 2—A Naming Convention

Chapter 3—Cold Case

Chapter 4—The Riddler

Chapter 5—Baggage

Chapter 6—Plagued with Difficulties

Chapter 7—School Daze

Chapter 8—Food Fight

Chapter 9—Head for the Hills

Chapter 10—Stoned

Chapter 11—Tea and Rookies

Chapter 12—The Reel World

Chapter 13—Traveling Worst Class

Chapter 14—Who’s Who?

Chapter 15—Sitting Pretty

Chapter 16—Thumb Place

Chapter 17—Accomplice After the Artifact

Chapter 18—Winging It

Chapter 19—Eyes and Heirs

Chapter 20—Nativity Seen

Chapter 21—Bad Blood Brothers

Chapter 22—The French Connection

Chapter 23—Don’t Hate the Playa

Chapter 24—A Lack of Intelligence

Chapter 25—First Tango in Rabat

Chapter 26—Rude Awakening

Chapter 27—Polygamous Perversity

Chapter 28—Dunes Day

Chapter 29—Trash Talk

Chapter 30—The Arrow of Their Ways

Chapter 31—The Rattler

Chapter 32—The Lady Banishes

Chapter 33—Serpentine Logic

Chapter 34—Starry-Eyed

Chapter 35—Sounding Bored

Chapter 36—Just Deserts

Chapter 37—Tyro Maniac

Chapter 38—Pinnacle of Success

Chapter 39—Unsitely

Chapter 40—The Ups and Downs of Treasure Hunting

Chapter 41—Cache Out

Chapter 42—Light at the End of the Tunnel

Chapter 43—Two’s Company

Chapter 44—The Odd Couple

Chapter 45—Underhanded

Chapter 46—Price Check

Chapter 47—A Tall Tale

Chapter 48—MMIA

Chapter 49—Testing the Subject

Chapter 50—Fugue in the Key of M

Chapter 51—Crossroads

Chapter 52—A Tame Wild Card

Chapter 53—Clean Getaway

Chapter 54—Connecting Flights

Names You Should Know

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About the Author

Chapter 1—Dirty Deeds

Right Now—Halfway Across the World

THE TRUCK CAME TO AN abrupt stop in a trackless expanse of nowhere. The driver cut the engine and climbed out of the cab. He surveyed the landscape. It was a moonless night, and that was a good thing.  He could scarcely see his hand in front of his face, but it didn’t matter much. This terrain was so familiar to him that he didn’t need to. He switched on a flashlight and walked to the back of the truck. Opening the canvas flap, he motioned for the occupants to come out. Two men jumped down, each one carrying a shovel.

The driver walked several yards away from the vehicle. Taking a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure nothing was moving out there in the dark, he pointed his flashlight at the ground. Here, he commanded. Dig here.

The two others complied. The driver stood motionless, pointing his flashlight at the bottom of an ever-increasing hole in the ground. None of them spoke. The only sound was the relentless scoop and swish as dirt fell into a pile beside the depression in the earth.

Wait! the driver hissed. He thought he’d heard a car engine. He flipped his light off—turning his head this way and that to catch the faintest sound in the distance.

His companions leaned on their shovel handles and waited too.

After a few minutes, the driver switched his light back on. Just the wind, he muttered.

The others resumed their task. The hole grew bigger—a rectangular shadow even darker than the night sky. When the pit was about five feet deep, one of the workers paused.

Is this enough? He peered up at the driver for confirmation.

The man with the flashlight nodded.

Needing no further instruction, the other two crawled out of the trench and walked to the back of the truck. One clambered inside and shoved a heavy wooden crate toward the edge. It was bound with thick strands of knotted rope.

Both men heaved and strained to slide the object off the truck bed. Staggering under the full weight of the box, they carried it to the hole. The driver threw them two more coils of rope which they slipped around the box to carefully lower it into the ground.

Good, said the driver with satisfaction. Close it up. It will be dawn soon. We need to get out of here.

It took far less time to fill in the hole than it had taken to dig it. The two men pounded down the hill of dirt with their shovels to make it less conspicuous.

A fair night’s work, the driver thought to himself as he stepped inside the cab and started the motor. He was an expert at hiding things out here where nobody ever came—objects that weren’t meant to be found. He would wait a while until things cooled down and then he and his friends would return. In the meantime, he doubted anybody in the world would ever think to look here for what they’d just buried.

Chapter 2—A Naming Convention

CASSIE FORSYTHE STOOD back at the edge of the clearing, so she could better observe the collection of oddly dressed people filing up the front steps of the old schoolhouse. The evening air was frosty, and steam issued from their mouths as they spoke to one another. It had been a long time since she’d attended an official meeting of the Concordance—the Arkana’s governing council. The late-winter sun was just sinking behind the pine trees that surrounded this little gap in the woods. It all looked so peaceful and harmless. A country schoolhouse in a forest glade—just like a Currier & Ives print. Cassie smiled wryly at the thought of the vault beneath the school that housed the global records of the secret organization for which she worked. This job had taught her how deceptive appearances could be.

Someone tugged playfully at her coat sleeve. She turned quickly. Oh, it’s you, Griffin.

You needn’t sound so disappointed, the lanky brown-haired young man teased.

Cassie appraised her companion suspiciously. What are you so happy about? You’re practically grinning from ear to ear.

I’m smiling because this afternoon I had my last check-up with the vault physician. Though technically I haven’t needed it for the past month, she told me to discard my wheelchair. I’m officially fit for active duty.

Oh, my goddess, Griffin, that’s great news! She gave him a swift hug. Congratulations.

The Brit smiled and blushed with pleasure. Now that I’m ambulatory again, we can start planning our next field mission.

Yo, what’s up, a laconic voice joined the conversation.

Hello, Erik, we were just about to step inside, Griffin offered. He added pointedly, You’ll notice I said ‘step.’

The security coordinator sized the Brit up. Right, I heard you left the land of the lame today.

At least he’s left the land of the lame, dude. Cassie emphasized the word left. That’s your permanent address.

My ankle healed up weeks ago, Erik protested.

I wasn’t talking about your ankle.

You two have begun rather early. Griffin made an elaborate show of checking his watch. Less than five minutes and you’re already at one another’s throats.

Oh we’ve been at each other’s throats since this afternoon, Cassie replied, glaring at Erik. We spent the last four hours at the shooting range. I nailed every target. Every single one and he still won’t let me carry a gun on our next trip.

He won’t let me carry a gun either, Griffin countered.

Cassie gave her colleague a pitying look. That’s because you couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a pickup truck. You have terrible aim.

Point taken, Griffin admitted.

Erik intervened, turning to Cassie. I already told you that I’ll let you carry a stun gun, all right?

Oh great, Cassie snorted. I’d have to be up close and personal with a bad guy before I could do any damage.

That’s exactly why I’m not giving you anything with more range than that. Your reaction time is way too fast. If you had a real gun, you’d end up killing one of us from twenty feet off.

Cassie scowled. Right this minute, I’m gonna have to agree with you.

Take two stun guns. Take a dozen. I don’t care. But no guns that shoot bullets!

What are you three plotting now? A booming female voice rang in Cassie’s ears.

They all turned guiltily as if caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Cassie gave a rueful sigh. Nothing, Maddie, but it’s amazing how paranoid we all get when you ask that question.

The operations director grinned. I like to keep you on your toes.

Griffin rose on tip toe.

Maddie looked at his feet, unimpressed. Yeah, yeah I got the news. The wheelchair’s been decommissioned. Kudos.

Cassie turned to the operations director and pleaded, Maddie, help me out here. I’m a great shot, but Erik won’t give me a gun for the next leg of our relic hunt.

The resident Amazon paused to light up a cigarette. She wafted the smoke away from her companions before replying. Sorry, kiddo, no can do. I don’t let Erik make too many unilateral decisions because that’s how things get blown up or set on fire. But when it comes to arming the three of you, weapons are his call.

See, I told you she’d say that. Erik smirked in triumph.

Nerts! Cassie folded her arms truculently.

Griffin looked anxiously toward the foyer of the schoolhouse which was nearly empty by now. We should go inside before all the seats are gone.

After taking a few more hasty drags on her cigarette, Maddie crushed it out in the frozen grass.

The four hurriedly climbed the stairs that led to the main hall of the schoolroom which was abuzz with life for a change. Usually, the room was quiet and empty—merely a transition space to the elevators in the back vestibule which led to the secret vault beneath. Tonight, all the chandeliers were blazing with light, and the stained glass windows shimmered in the glare. The tiered box seats lining the walls were filled with two hundred of the oddest specimens of humanity ever assembled under one roof.

It’s like a United Nations of fashion victims, Cassie murmured. As she recalled from her last experience with the assembly, trove keepers from around the globe tried to incorporate some item of their native costume into their clothing. The results were usually bizarre.

After hanging their coats on racks near the door, the four scurried to the box seats. Cassie dived for the first available space she could find on the bottom tier next to a woman wearing a little black dress and a capelet of parrot feathers. Her headdress looked like a Smurf hat made entirely of red and yellow plumes.

Although Cassie did a double take at the headdress, none of her companions seemed to notice.

Scoot over, Erik demanded.

All four were able to squeeze in and settle themselves just as the proceedings commenced.

The low rumble of conversation in the hall died to a whisper when a tiny elderly woman in a gold brocade coat dress and matching pillbox hat made her way to the center of the room.

Faye always reminds me of visiting royalty when she gets decked out for one of these meetings, Cassie whispered to Erik.

He nodded in agreement. Hard to believe her usual outfit is a housedress dusted with cake flour.

The memory guardian of the Arkana came to a halt in front of a huge circular table which was already occupied by thirty oddly dressed dignitaries. Her own high-backed wooden arm chair remained empty. She preferred to stand to address the gathering. Smiling briefly as her gaze travelled around the room, she said, My thanks to all of you for coming here on such short notice. Our reason for assembling this evening has only happened a few times before in the long history of the Arkana. I’m glad so many of you could join us for the ceremony.

Ceremony? Cassie repeated. What’s she talking about?

Erik shook his head, Griffin looked perplexed, and Maddie shrugged her shoulders.

Faye continued speaking. You’ll recall the last time we all met in grand assembly. It was to debate sending an expedition to recover a legendary artifact—the Sage Stone.

Whispers of acknowledgement traveled around the hall.

At least some of you are aware that the team I picked to undertake that mission includes Griffin our Chief scrivener, Cassie our pythia, and Erik our security coordinator.

All eyes turned to the trio seated in the bottom row. Those sitting above them leaned forward to get a closer look.

Cassie squirmed in discomfort at the scrutiny. This had to happen on a bad hair day, she mumbled under her breath.

Faye’s gaze came to rest on the fourth member of their party. In addition, our operations director Maddie has taken charge of overseeing their activities from home base. She has accepted this duty along with her responsibilities as manager of Global Operations. A heavy load, to be sure.

Global Ops is nothing compared to riding herd on you three, Maddie whispered pointedly to the trio. I’ve got the gray hairs to prove it.

They pretended not to hear her and focused intently on the tiny woman standing at the round table.

The quest to discover the location of the Sage Stone has taken our team from Crete to Turkey to Spain to America. During that time, their lives have been repeatedly endangered by operatives of the Blessed Nephilim. Griffin is even now recovering from a gunshot wound received during their last field mission. Faye paused for a moment. Throughout the course of this quest, they have all shown extraordinary bravery. Thanks to their determination, we have now acquired two of the artifacts necessary to reveal the ultimate hiding place of the Sage Stone.

Spontaneous applause erupted from several corners of the room, and soon everyone was giving them a thunderous ovation. Cassie was blushing. Griffin looked dumbstruck, and even Erik reddened, but the applause didn’t faze Maddie. She smiled and waved in acknowledgment. 

Faye waited for silence before proceeding. The Concordance Circle met in private session a week ago. We debated how best to reward the service each of these individuals has rendered.

So, this meeting is all about us? Cassie gasped.

Shhh! Erik warned.

There is a rare past precedent for the action we take tonight. Faye turned to face the four very surprised individuals sitting in the bottom tier of seats across the room from her. Would all of you please rise and approach the table?

They looked uncertainly at one another.

Oh, what the hell! Maddie got up and strode forward.

The trio followed her lead until they all stood in a row facing Faye.

Cassie noticed an odd collection of objects resting on the table directly in front of the memory guardian. She had no time to consider their meaning.

Faye was speaking again. Maddie, step forward please.

The operations director towered over her diminutive chief.

The old woman gazed up at her. In the event an individual renders extraordinary service in your position in the organization, she is accorded the title of Chatelaine—castle protector and keeper of the keys. Faye selected one of the objects on the table. It was an old-fashioned gold-plated key on a gold ring. She handed it to Maddie. Take this as a symbol of your new title.

Applause echoed around the room.

For once in her life, Maddie was speechless until she managed to stammer, Th... th... thank you. She then rejoined the other three.

Faye’s gaze traveled across the group and came to rest on the security coordinator. Erik, you’re next.

The blond man cleared his throat, betraying the only sign of nervousness he was likely to show.

When he stood in front of the memory guardian, her eyes twinkled mischievously. She addressed her comments to the Concordance as a whole. Many of you already know Erik’s penchant for distinguishing himself by getting into trouble.

An appreciative chuckle rose from the crowd. Erik grinned unabashedly, proud of his bad boy reputation.

Tonight, the Circle honors his virtues. When a security coordinator on a field mission has distinguished himself as Erik has done, he is given the title of Paladin—the pythia’s defender.

Faye reached toward the table and selected a small silver dagger with a scrollwork handle. She held the object out to Erik. Receive this symbol of your new title.

Erik bobbed his head in acknowledgement and took the dagger.

More applause followed.

Apparently, the new paladin wasn’t used to positive attention. He ducked back into line with the others.

Griffin, if you please, Faye called next.

The tall Brit looked pale enough to faint, but he did as commanded.

Addressing the group as a whole, Faye said, Young as he is, our Griffin can already claim the remarkable achievement of being appointed Chief scrivener at the ripe old age of twenty- two.

Knowing laughter once again travelled around the hall.

There is no higher title than Chief Scrivener for someone in Griffin’s position, so we have decided to augment his existing title. Henceforth, Griffin shall be known as the Right Honourable Chief Scrivener. Faye reached for a quill pen made of ostrich feather lying on the table. Handing it to him, she said, Receive this token of your elevated rank.

Griffin bowed from the waist before accepting the pen. Shyly, he refused to make eye contact with the cheering crowd in the bleachers and darted back among his fellows.

Cassie felt her palms begin to sweat.

Faye’s attention settled on her. And last, but certainly not least, I call forward our pythia, Cassie.

The young woman tucked back the curtain of hair that had swung over the left side of her face.

Faye reached out and took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly before releasing it.

And what can I say about our most recent recruit? Someone who knew nothing of the Arkana before she found herself gifted with telemetric powers like her sister before her. Someone who was forced to master her talents in a few short weeks and use those skills during a perilous field mission. Since that first expedition, she has repeatedly put her own life at risk for the sake of our cause.

Applause echoed off the walls.

Again, there is no title higher than pythia for one with Cassie’s abilities, so the Circle has no alternative but to augment Cassie’s rank as well. She will henceforth be known as the Right Honourable Pythia. Faye reached for the final object on the table. A small crystal ball resting on a brass pedestal. Handing it to the young woman, she added, Receive this symbol of your rank.

Cassie looked around the room and saw several people leap to their feet in a standing ovation.

She took the object from Faye, dashing away a few tears before rejoining her colleagues.

Faye raised her hands for quiet. The applause ceased immediately, and people sat back down.

My friends, this is more than a change of title for these worthy individuals. All four of them shall henceforth exercise voting rights within the Circle.

More applause followed.

We get to sit at the grown-up table? Cassie whispered aside to Erik.

Sounds like it, he murmured back, stunned.

In the time it took Cassie to blink, four empty chairs had magically appeared at the large circular table. The thirty individuals already seated there smiled as if to invite the four newcomers to join them.

Go ahead, Faye urged. Take your seats.

They all silently did as requested.

When everyone was settled, Faye spoke again. And now your first official act as members of the Circle will be to vote to adjourn this meeting and retire upstairs for refreshments. All in favor?

Four new hands shot up into the air to join the thirty already raised in assent. The motion carried unanimously.

Chapter 3—Cold Case

LEROY HUNT STOOD IN the middle of Daley Plaza in downtown Chicago holding a cup of steaming black coffee. He grimaced at the very thought of swallowing that witches’ brew. Its sole purpose was to keep his hands warm. He stamped his booted feet in a vain attempt to get the blood circulating to his toes. The March wind off the lake was cutting right through his denim jacket. March! Back where he came from it would be spring already. He gazed up humorlessly at the Picasso statue staring down its long nose at him. It looked like a fifty-foot cross-eyed horse. At the moment, Leroy wished he had a real horse that he could mount and tell to giddyup. Why in the name of creation did old Abe want to meet here? Leroy’s first choice would have been a bar, closely followed by a strip club but he knew that a Bible thumper like Metcalf wouldn’t cotton to those suggestions. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught some movement on the opposite side of the plaza.

A late model limo had parked just long enough to let out its passenger. Leroy waved to the geezer climbing out of the back seat and motioned him toward a bench under a tree. Of course, there was no shade since the branches were bare but sitting near the trunk did cut the wind some. Hunt got to the bench first and sat down.

Abraham Metcalf, prophet and diviner of the Blessed Nephilim, took his sweet time hobbling over. Good afternoon, Mr. Hunt, the old man said stiffly.

Boss. Leroy tipped his Stetson hat. Set yourself down and take a load off. The cowboy marveled at the change that had come over his employer in the three months since they’d met last. Although the old man was in his seventies, he’d always carried his age well. Now it looked as if the years had piled onto him like a pack of coon hounds on a cottontail. His eyes were sunken, and the bags underneath them had sprouted little bags of their own. Both his beard and mane of white hair were shaggy. The black overcoat that covered his funeral suit hung on him like a sack.

Leroy tried not to show his reaction to this transformation. How you doin’, Mr. Metcalf? he asked jauntily, setting the coffee cup down on the bench between them.

Metcalf shrugged off the question. I’ve had better years.

No doubt, no doubt, Hunt agreed sententiously. Must be hard for you with your Missus still missin’ and all.

Metcalf winced at the reference. Yes, that’s the reason I wished to speak to you. Have you had any luck finding her yet?

Leroy thought back to his fruitless search for Metcalf’s fourteen year old runaway bride. The trail had gone cold at an antique shop in the city. Of course, he knew she’d made her getaway with the help of Metcalf’s son Daniel, but he couldn’t afford to tell the old man that. Daniel was Leroy’s meal ticket—the one person in the world who could find those blasted gewgaws that Metcalf had such a powerful urge to collect and that Leroy had an equally powerful urge to steal afterward. The last thing Hunt wanted was for the old coot to catch wind of the fact that his own son helped his wife to give him the heave ho. Metcalf would kill the relic hunt and his son, not necessarily in that order.

Shielding Daniel wasn’t Hunt’s only concern. He had to make sure he got to Hannah before any of the Nephilim did. That way she couldn’t get chatty with anybody at the compound about who helped her get away. The mercenary’s face betrayed none of these worries. Instead, he replied blandly, I’m sorry to say, I ain’t had no luck findin’ the little gal yet.  I’m guessin’ your own crew ain’t done much better?

Metcalf sighed deeply. The devil has taken her. Mark my words, this was no ordinary disappearance.

You don’t say, Leroy drawled, sporting an expression of innocent surprise. He knew the devil had nothing to do with it—unless the devil had taken to disguising himself as a pasty-faced runt named Daniel.

She was only a child. The devil led her astray and spirited her beyond our reach. None of the brotherhood can find her. I had hoped that one of the Fallen, such as yourself, might have had a better chance.

It always rubbed Leroy the wrong way whenever one of the Bible thumpers referred to outsiders as Fallen but he couldn’t very well let the old man see his annoyance. Instead, he asked, How much time I got left before your son and me need to hit the road to find that next doodad?

Metcalf sighed even more deeply than before. "Daniel spends all his days