Chapter 39
Chapter 39
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Dixie's Party Plan
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Dixie was the proactive type when it came to things like this. She'd brought up the party idea right at the morning meeting with Madam Molly the very next day.
In the midst of the subdued atmosphere, when Molly ended with, "Any suggestions?" Dixie shot her hand up.
"I have a proposal."
"Y-yes. Go ahead."
Molly's eyes sparkled unusually bright, and her voice was full of determination. Though worry flickered across the Madam's face, she gestured casually for her to speak as if it were nothing.
"How about hosting a party for the upcoming Founding Day?"
"A party? Here?"
Everyone except Beth mirrored the same question on their faces as Madam Molly. Just like Beth had the day before, they were no doubt picturing the shattered glass from the bombings and the unfinished, worn floorboards.
"I know it's still a mess in a lot of places, but wouldn't it be a small comfort for the wounded soldiers who have to spend Founding Day here?"
"But there's nothing here. How would we...?"
Dixie's freckled cheeks puffed up with barely contained excitement.
"This place used to be a hotel, right? There must be usable stuff left in the warehouse. If my friends help out, I'll take charge of it!"
A hotel... well, it had been one. The problem was it was a rundown inn in the farthest corner of Nexus that only took transients before going bust.
But Madam Molly couldn't say that. She could see a subtle excitement lighting up the faces around the table. They were all so endearing, like flower buds on the verge of blooming.
Watching them, Molly thought of the soldiers lying in their beds. Images of Dever and Arthur, both with the bearing of fine young men, overlapped in her mind.
The most horrific place, gathering the most beautiful things. How to resolve this contradiction?
Molly nodded readily. It was time to yield.
"Alright. Dixie, you're in charge of the Founding Day party. I'll delegate full authority on this to Nurse Dixie."
"Really?!"
When the usually strict Madam approved so readily, Dixie was so surprised herself that she jumped to her feet.
Unable to contain her excitement, she hugged Molly tightly, wrinkling the Madam's face in her embrace.
"Dixie! Goodness! Don't act like a wild foal!"
The room filled with peals of laughter.
A few names from Dixie's "friends" list stood reluctantly before the warehouse door leading to the basement. Their faces screamed reluctance, but the party commander had no intention of indulging them.
With Dixie in the lead, the group timidly descended the basement stairs.
The warehouse, clearly unopened for years, kicked up clouds of dust with every step. Aines coughed into her handkerchief over her mouth, while Beth rubbed her stinging eyes.
"There must be a light bulb around here..."
Dixie, who had gone down first, finally spotted a small bulb. After a few flickers and buzzes, it lit up the space.
"Quit whining and hurry down. Whoa!"
The hesitant steps quickened at Dixie's exclamation.
"Whoa."
A small gasp escaped Aines as well.
Red cloths and chandeliers that had once decorated a rural hotel lobby before the war began, even a phonograph. Under the dim yellow light, the warehouse held quite a few usable items, just as Dixie had hoped.
Cases were neatly packed with champagne glasses. Dusty, sure, but a wipe-down would make them serviceable.
While everyone else inspected the decorations, Beth stood before the phonograph. She blew on the black horn, so caked in dust it was unrecognizable, sending clumps scattering on her breath.
It had been ages since she'd last touched one—she could barely remember when—but her hands remembered well enough. Soon, melody flowed from the trumpet-like horn.
"Oh? That song."
Aines pretended to recognize it.
A hummed rendition of an old tune filled the warehouse.
"Great. Now everyone grab something and let's head up."
The strict commander killed the fun quickly, but the word "party" alone flushed everyone's faces with excitement all the same.
A few soldiers who saw them struggling with the load pitched in. Beth joined them, too busy hauling crates to think straight.
Dever, descending the stairs, made a troubled face and retreated a couple steps to hide on the landing. Normally, he'd have slipped out the back during Beth's busiest time.
With the plan derailed, he rolled his stiff shoulders. People swarmed both the front and back entrances—who knew what was going on.
Scratching his brow, Dever's gaze drifted back downstairs. The bobbing black head was busier than ever. Beth had no idea someone was watching her covertly as she was prodded along by Dixie and hauled more gear.
Dever watched every moment intently, committing it to memory. Her laughing, frowning, even pouting her little lips in displeasure without him there—all of it.
Dever's head tilted. Beth, under quiet watch, smiled easily. She laughed and enjoyed herself without her friends needing to say much.
His long fingers twitched lightly.
"Yes, Commander."
One soldier, cleverly trying to dodge the cold aura radiating from his leader, got caught anyway.
"Hand over your jacket."
"M-my jacket, sir?"
The jacket he meekly offered bore no medals—just a single black stripe marking him as a lowly private.
Dever shrugged off his own uniform and handed it over.
"Wear this till I get back. Dump it anywhere. Oh, and the helmet too."
A flicker of unease crossed the private's face. Anyone could tell it was the Army Commander's by the medals alone, but Dever didn't care.
He crammed himself into the other uniform, pulling the helmet low. He glanced at Beth once more, then dashed down the stairs the moment her back turned.
By the time Beth looked around, all she saw was a familiar-looking figure exiting the front door. A man that tall—could it be Dever? But she shook her head, dismissing the unlikely thought.
Her busy hands paused.
Replaying that fleeting glimpse, she could've sworn she saw gray hair brushing by. Nah. Beth brushed off the stray thought.
Any sane person would at least stay put until their wounds healed.
Beth had already forgotten. Dever rarely acted sane by her standards.
"What the hell's with that outfit? Robbed on the way here?"
Dever shrugged and removed the helmet pulled low over his head. He tousled his hair lightly before perching on a chair.
"Where is he?"
"On his way."
No sooner had the words left than a stretcher was carried into the barracks.
On it lay a man little more than rags.
"Well, technically being carted in."
Dever ignored the quip and turned the burly man's jaw this way and that. He slapped the cheeks a few times, and the eyes that cracked open slammed shut again.
"No tricks. Open your eyes."
The dry command finally made the brute's eyes flutter open.
"P-please... spare me."
His trembling voice belied his massive frame.
"Why'd you smash your own face?"
Dever lifted a thick ankle and let it drop in midair, drawing a groan from the brute.
"Cut his tendons. It'll save on sentry manpower."
"You call that a joke?"
"Dead serious."
Dever glanced at the nightstand. He flipped through the piled documents without much interest.
"I'm sending you back alive."
The papers were packed with memorandums disguised as treaties. After a year-plus war started by Kovah's preemptive strike, the end was predictable.
Dever forced a pen into the brute's hand.
"Wh-what's this?"
The brute blinked up, jaw mush from pressure. No way this idiot could make sense of the documents.
Dever gripped the hand like he might sever it and scrawled with the pen.
"Take him away."
The guarding soldiers smartly lifted the stretcher at the curt order.
"Wait."
Dever recalled something and halted them.
"Does that one get treatment from the medics too?"
"I made sure. Don't let him die till the paperwork's done."
Dever slowly ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. The bulging then deflating made him look off-kilter.
"Prisoners go into strict isolation from now on. Medics too, no exceptions. Dismissed."
Once the prisoner was gone, Dever focused on the papers. Dozens required the Army Commander's signature in blank spots.
All wars were just mud crawling at life's bottom, yet they ended with a veneer of civility. Ridiculous.
But even that farce was Dever's privilege alone.
"This crap's almost over too."
The final page of countless treaties bore the Cliff family signature in his sharp script.
It was a hectic day. Everyone at the hospital spent off-hours under Dixie's orders washing and sorting warehouse supplies.
"Never. Ever. Again. Parties."
Aines spat the words through gritted teeth, summing it all up.
Beth was just as exhausted, but the music from the phonograph made for decent compensation. She sat on the stairs, listening intently.
The unexpected melody lifted the spirits of soldiers and wounded alike passing through the hospital. An old song, but it evocatively recalled the peaceful pre-war days.
Beth headed down the familiar corridor with medicine and bandages in hand. By the fourth floor, the music had faded, but it was better than nothing.
I wonder if it reaches the isolation room. I hope so.
Not even her gift, yet Beth's heart floated buoyantly. But the moment she opened the door, it crashed.
Gone again.
No sign of Dever anywhere in the room. Her morning suspicion, brushed off as unlikely, solidified into certainty.
She strode to the window and flung it open. He'd even changed clothes—deliberately deceiving her. Sure enough, there he was, strolling across the hospital backyard.
How does he command an army without listening? Or maybe he commands because he doesn't.
Beth grumbled nonstop in her head and grabbed the ointment tin from her pocket.
A dull thunk as it hit made the man look up.
"Busted."
His face showed no surprise whatsoever, contrary to his words. No helmet or subordinate's jacket—he'd given up hiding.
"Cold out. Shut the window."
Dever approached the woman glaring down from the fourth floor. Even from afar, her flushed, fuming face was clear.
Reaching the wall below, he braced one hand against it. A tingle ran up his spine; he ducked his head briefly, then looked up to find Beth still there.
Dever tilted his head slightly.
"Bit high to climb up."
Too high to reach.
"Come down."
Now, he didn't want to back off.