Готовый перевод Нова Проспект / Nova Prospect: Dark City (Цири)

Dark City (Ciri)

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Run. Away from the metal man and the deadly griffin. The image of Novigrad loomed before her eyes, the docks smelling of fresh fish and cheap ale, but the city was slipping away, distorted and distant.

The invisible waves that permeated the metallic world distorted time and space. The forces Ciri had been born to control were unwilling to obey her as if she were back in Bonarte's chains. //"Novigrad!" Ciri thrashed against the invisible barrier. She was helplessly suffocating in the green abyss of the Betweenworlds, woven from the weightless particles of creation.

Avallac'h had warned her of the danger of being suspended between worlds, disorientation, and the panic that invariably followed. The more Ciri tried to breach the wall, the sooner she would be spotted by those who followed in her wake. Vain strokes on space will leave dents in it, along which the hunter in iron armor will come like a hound on a bloody trail.

Ciri stopped resisting and let the river of time throw her ashore - onto the stone floor of the cold dungeon, illuminated by an unnatural orange light. Her body was pierced with pain from the sharp impact against the stone. Ciri suppressed a groan with a tremendous effort of will, for fear of attracting the attention of the dungeon creatures.

She was lying on an oblong stone island with black hollows on either side. As her eyes adjusted to the strange light, Ciri could see majestic marble columns painted with black characters in an alphabet she didn't recognize.

A haggard man with tangled hair was half-reclining against one of the columns in an unnatural, tortured pose. Ciri's appearance out of nowhere did not affect him. He continued to stare at the same point with glazed eyes, as if in a magical trance.

Ciri approached him cautiously, sword at the ready. The stranger raised his cloudy eyes to her.

"I believe in our Lord, Govinda," he said doomedly, staring into the void.

Ciri covered her mouth with her hand in surprise. The stranger was speaking a common language. The paths of Destiny are mysterious. She had managed to escape from the iron cage! The thought cheered Ciri up, and she squatted down beside the unfortunate man. Who or what is keeping him here?

The man must have gone feral from hunger and gloom, forgetting everything but his faith.

"Where are we? Is there a way out of here?" Ciri asked and immediately chastised herself for her rash question. If the stranger had known the answer, he wouldn't be lying at the stone column.

"There's no way out," he confirmed her guess, turning away from the stone column. "Time is a flat circle."

Ciri had barely had time to think about this mysterious phrase when a muffled, rapidly rising rumble came from far away. She jumped up, peering into the darkness of the chasms. The emptiness of the corridors was gaping blackness - that was where the approaching sound was coming from. Only a very large and monstrously fast creature could make such a noise. Its blinding yellow eyes were already glinting in the darkness.

"Hide!" She shouted to the stranger, but he didn't move, only sighed heavily.

The iron worm burst into the dungeon with a wild rumble, making Ciri cringe in horror. Her sword seemed a useless piece of iron against this abomination.

"Zbavicela Square. The next station is Central," said a lifeless voice from everywhere. She was unable to digest the nonsense, but she froze, clutching her sword tightly in her hands.

The worm opened its gaping jaws, a bright light hitting her eyes. The pendulum, like in Caer Morhen. Rolling to the side to dodge the first blow. When she looked directly into the monster's mouth, Ciri saw the red upholstered chairs.

A mirage. She blinked, trying to calm her frantically beating heart.

Not a mirage. Ciri sank to the ground. It was not in her plans to fight an unequal battle with the chairs.

"You'd better use the weed because chemistry makes you sick," the stranger summarized her fight with the worm.

The worm was not a creature. It was some sort of mechanism used by metalmen. For whatever purpose. Ciri felt like a silly little girl again. A feeling that had plagued her back in the royal court.

Avallac'h's warning that in other worlds one must first analyze the situation and only then act had once passed her ears. So it was only now that Ciri realized that the iron bird was hardly a griffin-otherwise the metal man would not have been so calm.

An elderly man in a neat coat and polished shoes stepped out of the worm's mouth - Ciri didn't know what to call the creature, so she continued to call it that. At first glance, he looked like a normal flesh-and-blood man, but Ciri kept her eyes open.

The man looked at her and the man lying by the column with a grimace of ill-concealed disgust and strode quickly away down the stairs she had not seen before. Ciri immediately followed the man. The man glanced around unpleasantly, holding his valise, and nervously quickened his pace.

The blindingly bright morning light hit his face, revealing a strange city like a disturbing dream. Elongated-shaped buildings, glittering inscriptions, huge paintings of screaming, bright colors like vials of poisonous potions. They were painted right on the buildings. The clattering and clanking of the kaleidoscope of iron machinery, of people dressed in colorful clothes made Ciri feel slightly nauseous.

The sensation brought her back to her childhood - to the fair in Cintra on the feast of Belletain, her birthday. Ciri rode the huge festive swings, swing after swing until she could no longer stand upright. Kalanthe had only nodded her shoulder when the girl had complained to her in the palace about her persistent dizziness, noting that this was the princess's first lesson in cause and effect. The queen had a way of making Ciri feel like the most unintelligent creature in all of Cintra with a glance.

The city was teeming with people, they were everywhere, loud, hurrying, and extremely discontented with their surroundings. Iron wagons rushed so fast that they made the ground shake and mechanical birds hovered around the sky-high buildings.

Even so, Ciri stood out amid such diversity, armed with a sword and dressed far too warmly. Though the city was hotter than the desert, Ciri was surprised to note that the few Zerrikan women she'd seen were dressed more modestly than the local women. She'd never seen a townswoman wear pantaloons and bare stomachs.

She felt a nasty look on her back. Two young men with heads shaved on the sides like those of the Redans, who were blowing puffs of smoke from metal pipes, were looking at her sword and grinning unkindly.

"Hey, baby, that's a hell of a sword you got there," one of them said mockingly. "Will you fight my dragon?"

Young idlers are the same in all worlds. Ciri lifted her chin wrinkled her nose in disdain and walked away. Without the slightest idea of what to do next, she walked toward the building that reminded her most of her hometown, a low mansion of yellowed marble with the inscription "Warsaw Central Library.

Avallaс'h had told her in one of his endless tedious lectures that in all existing worlds, people organized similar hierarchies. In any society, there are social strata - nobles, mages, priests. Tsiri has already met a priest, and now she needs to find someone who knows about portals and traveling through worlds. To her great displeasure, Ciri had to admit that only a mage could help her.

The world went to her side for the first time. A huge, at least three arshins long, projection of a sorceress on a tall building made Ciri stop. The woman had an exquisite face without a single visible flaw, a fancy hairstyle, and a garment with a standing collar like Philippa Eilhart's. An aura of haughty calm left no doubt that she belonged to the upper class.

The woman smiled charmingly at Ciri and opened her mouth, but no voice was heard. None of the passersby paid attention to the magical projection or showed the slightest interest in what the sorceress had to say. Was the illusion meant for her alone?

The sorceress, as if aware that Ciri couldn't hear her, manifested the inscription on the projection: ++"Expo-2025, Shanghai-Warsaw. Welcome to the new world!".

How could she have known of her arrival? Ciri's heart beat faster with fear that she had been discovered so quickly by the tracks in the interworld.

"Thank you. Who are you?" Ciri addressed the stranger, trying to be as polite as possible.

The projection went black. Had she said something wrong, breaking local unspoken etiquette? Weird as hell, the local people!

Passersby gave her leering glances.

"Kurwa, do you have to stand in the middle of the road?!" Ciri felt an elbow in her rib, not strong, but tangible.

The people of this world were as vile as the Nilfgaardians. Ciri glared at the insolent man, but he had already disappeared into the crowd.

Tsiri thought she should find a tavern first - to quench her thirst and look around at the locals, find the friendliest among them, and try to ask about the world she found herself in. Ciri walked down the cobblestone streets, trying to stay away from the iron wagons flying by.

After a couple of miles, Ciri came to a disappointing conclusion: none of the many buildings looked like taverns, markets, or churches. They were all stone towers, majestic towers that looked like twin brothers. Ciri tried to enter one of them, but a guard immediately blocked her way, demanding a pass. Not wanting to get in trouble with the authorities so quickly, Ciri obediently returned to the street.

The cacophony of sounds and the blazing sun made it hard to concentrate, and thirst and fatigue took over. From time to time, Ciri noticed townspeople taking small bottles out of iron cabinets. One of them stood near the library building.

Ciri could see that people were repeating the same motion: putting their hand to the cabinet, sometimes kicking it - and pulling a bottle of liquid from the bottom of the cabinet. But when Ciri tried to do the same thing herself, the cabinet refused to give her what she wanted, even after a dozen kicks.

This was a world of laws she could not comprehend. Annoyed, Ciri leaned back against the wall of the library, frantically wondering what she should do next. Where in this world would she find food and shelter? Someone who could help her?

The sorceress tried to tell her something, but the projection was interrupted. If there was anywhere to learn how to find local mages, it would be from their less magically talented counterparts, the librarians. Ciri sighed heavily, squared her shoulders, and tried to enter the building.

The brute at the entrance to the buildings stopped her, casting a questioning glance at the sword. Ciri found the demand to leave her weapon at the entrance to the temple of knowledge fair.

The city knew no shortage of funds. The decoration of the library was worthy of an imperial palace. White marble, sofas upholstered in black brocade, a sculpture of a local sage at the entrance. There were strange mirrors on the tables - rectangular, small, with a smooth black surface.

The head librarian - the assumption of his supremacy was based on the fact that he sat on a dais and looked down on everyone - tried hard to ignore the visitor. Ciri had to cough twice before the heavyset man in the Novigrad double monocle deigned to look up at her.

"Good afternoon! Can you tell me where I can find a mage?"

Ciri decided to make politeness her main weapon in this hostile world. The man raised his eyebrows ironically and smiled in an unpleasantly mocking smile. But Ciri didn't let the cold reception wipe the polite expression off her face.

"Excuse me, what does the pani want?"

All the strangers she met spoke to her as if she were insane, even though they understood her language. Ciri took a deep breath and repeated it more clearly:

"I need a mage."

The man set aside the dry yellowed parchment with the illustrations and smiled radiantly.

"Pannochka, I'll be honest, I don't know any of them personally, but our mayor is a real magician," the man leaned back in his chair and put his foot on his leg in a familiar manner. "Japan has more robots than people, and we still have roads made of shit and sticks. Black magic, damn."

The last person Ciri wanted to mess with was a witch doctor. Any mention of dark wizards brought up the heart-wrenching memory of a glass eye.

"I'd rather do without black magic," Ciri added less confidently, unable to make the connection between magic and roads made of shit and sticks.

"What are you interested in?" The man asked, staring at Ciri suspiciously. So suspiciously that Ciri thought of witch hunters and mentally scowled. "Are you planning to defeat the dragon?"

"There were so many references to dragons in this world - so there must be more of them here than on the Continent. How much could she tell him? Ciri didn't like the man, but he was a librarian, and therefore the only one of the locals she'd met who could help her."

"No," Ciri continued very carefully, "I need to discuss magical matters with him," the man looked at her with a blank stare. Ciri thought no magician would give her an audience with such general wishes, so she clarified: "A journey through the worlds."

//"That sounded stupid," she thought with annoyance. She was not the only one who looked at her with bewilderment and pity. Other people in the library began to listen to their conversation.

"Yeah, pannochka," he said thoughtfully, keeping his eyes on her locket, "you really need a mage. I know one. He is very interested in magical matters. So much so that he'll arrange your personal transportation."

If worlds are similar in more than just language, such cordiality usually doesn't bode well. Is there something wrong here - witch hunters? But how could witch hunters turn a blind eye to mage projections in the middle of a city? The man drummed his fingers on the table and reached for the black metal rectangle.

"Thank you, but I can manage on my own," Ciri tried hard not to sound arrogant. "How do I find him?"

The man brought the rectangle to his ear, and addressed the void:

"Hello. There's a girl here persistently looking for a mage to discuss traveling worlds. No, she's calm. But come anyway."

Ciri caught the sound of her interlocutor's voice, barely audible from the rectangle. A megascope. In this world, everyone has their megascope. It was unlikely she would be pursued by mage hunters in such a case. The thought that something in this strange world was finally starting to make sense made her breathe easier.

"How long? Wonderful. Because I have to work."

But why would the local mage suddenly welcome her with open arms? Ciri noticed out of the corner of her eye that everyone around her was watching her too closely as if expecting her to escape.

"Don't worry," the librarian assured her, saying the words very slowly and keeping his eyes on her, "he's been expecting you. He'd been warned about your visit."

Just like the sorceress from the projection. The mages had ears everywhere, they'd noticed her movements in the interworld. She'd have to talk to this mage, whoever he was. She couldn't run away from something she didn't know for long in an unknown world.

The librarian gestured for her to take a seat on the wide brocade-covered sofa. In a strangely friendly gesture, he offered her the coveted drink from the cupboard. The taste was cloyingly sweet, and her nose tickled unpleasantly. Ciri resisted the urge to spit out the vile liquid.

Thanking the librarian politely, Ciri pushed the flask to the corner of the table. If the food here was as disgusting as the drinks, she'd be in trouble.

The wizard's servants appeared immediately, dressed in the rough cloth robes of novices. Their question about identification stumped Ciri. Who in their right mind would carry an excerpt from a church book? The novices looked at each other and were even more polite to her.

Climbing into the iron wagon, which on closer inspection appeared to be a relative of a carriage, was uncomfortable, but Ciri banished the fear in her thoughts. If things got too bad, she could teleport away.

The iron wagon took her to the wizard's manor in a flash, and what a place it was! It was a five-story building of dark stone, with well-maintained, beautifully trimmed flowerbeds in front of the entrance. The wizard had countless servants. They were all polite and obliging, dressed in identical robes.

The audience had to wait so long that Ciri couldn't help but wonder why transportation had been called for her with such urgency.

When the door to the mage's chamber finally opened, Ciri saw a man of no age. He reminded her of Myszowór - the same warm, fatherly smile, the same mischievous light in his eyes. He held out his hand to her. Ciri wasn't used to being greeted like that, but she shook the broad, rough palm.

"Good day, panny. Professor Angus Bumby."

He pointed to a wide chair behind his exquisite, clear glass desk. The mage was talking on the megascope to the very enchantress from the market square - but he interrupted the conversation by pressing a black rectangle button. His servant brought a tray of beautiful porcelain cups into the room, and Ciri was pleased to note that they were not brown, sweet liquids, but something that smelled like herbal decoction.

"Tell me, what brings you to me?"

Professor Bumby sat down across from Ciri. She had never seen a mage so cordial or arrogant before - it was disconcerting enough that she wondered if he was lying to her. Why would a stranger be so polite to her?

"Nanneke from Ellander."

She's not stupid enough to be called by her real - known in more than one world - name.

"It is beautiful," the mage replied thoughtfully, "fantasy-like. Like Galadriel."

Ciri found no apparent connection between the names and looked around the room for magical artifacts, but found nothing similar. The mage's quarters looked more like a scientist's office, with a lot of books and fancy diagrams on the walls.

"Were you looking for someone who knows about traveling across worlds?" Professor Bambi asked softly and, without waiting for an answer moved the porcelain cup closer to Ciri. She pretended not to notice the gesture. Poisoners are always more polite than the most courteous servants.

"Yes. Are you good at this?" Ciri preferred to find out more about the mage and the world before giving information about herself.

"I've seen a lot of travelers in my time - across worlds, across time."

The thought seemed to make him sad - he sighed heavily and shook his head, writing something down on a piece of paper.

"Where is your home, pani...may I call you simply Nanneke?"

The mage asked the question too calmly as if the answer didn't really interest him, and he was asking out of common courtesy.

There was a persistent knock. His maid opened the door and peered into the room.

"Margojata, not now."

The woman made fearful eyes and nodded at Ciri, putting her fist with the little finger and thumb extended to her ear. Professor Bumby smiled guiltily, promised Ciri he'd be right back, and walked out of the office, closing the door tightly.

The mage was talking to the sorceress on his magoscope hanging on the wall - Ciri trusted female sorceresses much more, so she pressed the big black button in an attempt to communicate. The sorceress's face appeared before her at once - Ciri could finally hear her voice, as cold as Jennyfair's when she told her off.

"There was a terrorist attack Friday night on the Sharif Industries headquarters in Detroit."

Ciri was taken aback by these unexpected words. She could only understand three words of the sentence. She preferred to remain silent and listen to the woman whose projection was staring at her judgmentally.

"Although there were no casualties, there was significant economic damage to the company."

The figure of the sorceress was replaced by a vaguely familiar landscape. A chill ran down Ciri's spine.

A suspect is being sought in connection with the terrorist attack.

Her heart skipped a couple of beats and raced as she saw herself from a bird's eye view - trembling, pointing her sword at the metal man. It couldn't be, how could it be possible?

It was hard to understand her speech, but Ciri knew exactly what the word "wanted" meant. She was wanted, and the only reason Professor Bambi was so welcoming was the generous bounty already placed on her head.

As long as she could remember, she had been hunted and chased. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't had that constant trembling thought in her head: to run. Until they caught her. Until they handed her over to the bastards who had plans for her: to inseminate her, to marry her, to finish her off.

Running. She looked out the window. It was too high to jump. Ciri staggered from her attempt to escape into the interworld, hunger, and fatigue taking their toll. When the door was ajar, she jumped out and ran down the spiral staircase.

But she hadn't even run ten paces when the mage's servant stabbed her in the shoulder with something sharp, leaving her sprawled on the floor. Instead of the expected pain, Ciri felt an unhealthy sense of calm and drowsiness.

They poisoned her. The poison flowed through her veins, making Ciri weak, powerless, and unable to move. Her eyes swam, but the dizziness didn't make her fearful. On the contrary, for the first time, it seemed to Ciri that everything would be all right if she just got some sleep.

//"You need to rest, pani," Professor Bambi's voice came to her from far away, turning into a dull, metallic scrape. His acolytes lifted her by her arms and carried her to an unknown destination. Cintra. The swing of the swings.

//"...You need to get some rest."

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