A few days later, when Hesta was taken out of the base again, Mr. Elu didn't show up. Chris Mason was alone this time, waiting in her car at the parking lot as usual.
When Hesta approached, Chris casually waved at her from the driver's seat. Hesta froze for a moment, then her eyes widened in disbelief—
The last time they met, Chris's left sleeve had been empty, but now a real arm had grown from it.
Even more astonishingly, the arm that had once been severed wasn't made of steel or wood—it wasn't a prosthetic at all. Hesta watched as Chris smoothly took a cigarette from her pocket with that same left hand, then half-curled her fingers to shield the flame from the lighter. It looked exactly like an ordinary human hand.
"What are you standing there for? Get in," Chris called out.
Snapping out of her daze, Hesta stepped forward, opened the car door, and sat down. Her eyes immediately darted toward Chris's right leg—
Good grief, that leg was back too.
Hesta swallowed hard. "Miss Mason…"
"Mm?"
"Can I… touch your hand?"
Chris blinked, unsure what she meant, but extended her right hand anyway.
"No, the left one."
Chris switched hands. Hesta frowned slightly as she carefully clasped the newly restored left hand.
Up close, it looked almost normal—pale bones beneath the skin, faint greenish veins visible here and there—but upon close inspection, it wasn't hard to tell that it wasn't quite real flesh.
Memories flashed in Hesta's mind. In fact, the first time she'd ever met Chris and shaken her hand, she'd already felt that her touch was unusually strange—
She just hadn't thought much about it at the time.
Chris withdrew her hand. "The old one broke, so I got a new one."
Hesta couldn't find words to describe her shock. To her, this sight was nothing short of a miracle. If Sister Gerden were here, she would surely gasp in horror and furiously condemn such a thing as blasphemy.
Yet Chris's tone was utterly casual, as if she were talking about an umbrella, a clock, or a pair of glasses. Perhaps, in Miss Mason's eyes, the human body was no different from any other tool.
Hesta frowned. "How… how did you do this?"
Chris held the cigarette between her lips and backed the car skillfully. "Ancient technology."
"You mean… from the Golden Age?"
"Uh-huh."
The car sped toward the city center.
It was Sunday, and the city was unusually quiet. Most shops were closed, and the streets were nearly empty. Only the church doors were open, with a few people going in and out.
Hesta looked out the window. "There's no parade today."
"There rarely are on weekends," Chris said softly. "Weekends are for rest. Unless they're protesting their own pay, you'll never get a crowd out on a Sunday."
As usual, Chris parked on the street where The White Ship café was located.
Except for The White Ship, every other shop on the street was shuttered. Rusted iron grilles covered the colorful wooden doors and glass windows, but the metal was plastered with all kinds of graffiti—
from afar, the whole row looked like a long painted mural.
"What I love about The White Ship is that it's open on Sundays," Chris said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Come on, let's get something to eat."
They pushed the door open and stepped inside. Hesta quickly noticed that the woman behind the counter today was someone she hadn't seen before—a plump woman of medium height, probably around Mrs. Lovett's age.
"Chris?" the woman called out immediately. "You're back?"
"Been back since last month," Chris replied. "I've dropped by a few times already, but you were never around."
The woman let out a hearty laugh. "I'm planning to open a new branch down south in Yask New City. I've been busy looking for a good location there, so I haven't been here much."
She came out from behind the counter wearing a green-and-white checkered dress, a pale green headscarf tied over her head, and a thick braid of black hair coiled neatly at the back. She looked brisk and capable.
At first glance, her dark hair and brown eyes instantly reminded Hesta of Berhen, and she couldn't help wondering if this woman might also be from the Fourteenth District.
Yet her accent sounded somewhat like Liz's.
After exchanging a few words with Chris, the woman joined them by the window.
Leaning back in her chair, Chris crossed one arm behind her head and toyed with her ponytail. "Trust me, now's not a good time to open a new branch."
The woman frowned. "I've already got everything ready—why not?"
"Just hold off for a bit," Chris said simply, clearly unwilling to explain further. She turned to Hesta. "This is Mrs. Daria, owner of The White Ship."
Then, gesturing toward Hesta, she added, "And this is a distant relative of Mr. Elu's. She's been staying with me for the past couple of months. Her name is—" Chris paused briefly, "Alice."
"Nice to meet you, Alice," Mrs. Daria said warmly, extending her hand. "Your hair is beautiful—like ivory silk."
Realizing that Chris had given her a false name, Hesta grew nervous. She instinctively leaned back a little to keep Mrs. Daria from noticing that she was wearing a wig.
"Thank you." Hesta gave a polite handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Daria."
"And where are you from, young lady? Same place as Mr. Elu?"
"Yes."
Hesta actually had no idea where Mr. Elu's hometown was, but nodding was the safest response.
Mrs. Daria chuckled. "Then that's not far from where I'm from. Have you ever been to Vilyuchinsk?"
"Where?"
"Vilyuchinsk Wasteland," Mrs. Daria said. "I used to live there. Ever since I moved to Tanyi, I haven't been back in over ten years—it's just too far, too much trouble to return."
Hesta wasn't sure what to say and looked at Chris, who clearly had no intention of helping her out.
So Hesta thought for a moment and said, "I didn't have many chances to travel. It wasn't safe outside."
That answer seemed to satisfy Mrs. Daria. Her gaze softened with affection. "True enough. It's never safe out on the Wastelands. And who would've thought, just a few years back, that even Askia would fall? Such a thriving place… I almost settled there myself."
"You've been to Askia?" Hesta asked.
"Of course! Most of the first settlers who moved to Vilyuchinsk came from Askia."
Mrs. Daria was very talkative. She went on about her ten-odd years in Tanyi, most often lamenting how unbelievably lazy the people there were.
"When I first arrived, there was this old couple across the street who ran a tavern. I figured Sundays must be their busiest time. But one Sunday morning, I saw them out in the yard pulling weeds! I couldn't believe it.
"When noon came and they were still out there, I finally went over and asked, 'Hey, neighbors, what are you doing home?'
"At first, they thought I was scolding them for skipping church and got all flustered. But when they realized I meant their business, they burst out laughing and said, 'Sunday's the Lord's day of rest—no reason to work!'"
Mrs. Daria smacked her thigh and laughed. "Can you believe that? If the tavern's closed on Sunday, when do Tanyi's drunks get their fix? Guess what they told me?"
"What did they say?"
Imitating her neighbors' tone, Mrs. Daria said slowly, "'From Monday to Saturday—you can drink every night!'"
She burst out laughing again. "Imagine that! If you drink yourself stupid on Monday night, how do you get anything done on Tuesday? I used to think the folks back in Vilyuchinsk were lazy, but the people in Tanyi are even worse."
By this point, Chris was already laughing aloud.
"I know, I know," she said, raising her teacup to clink gently against Mrs. Daria's. "The women of Vilyuchinsk would never catch the laziness and debauchery of the Third District. You'll always be the hardest workers!"
---
( End of Chapter )
Hi ✨ for access to additional chapters of
VIPERS VOWS AND VENGEENCE { 30 CHAPTER }
WHY IT NEVER END'S { 30 CHAPTER }
IN NEXT LIFE WE'LL SWITCH { 30 CHAPTER }
Join patreon.com/Imtheone14