Taube770: переводы

→“Dorothy,” a male’s deep voice called—one that was all-too familiar. “Dorothy, you need to come back. Now.”

→Aunt Em was no longer there to make Dorothy think she could be wrong.

→I could be right. I could have always been right.

→“Stop it!” But she couldn’t control her spinning thoughts.

→“It is real. It is real.”

→“It isn’t real. It isn’t real.”

→Chapter Two

→Dorothy

→Tin made an exaggerated bow and held his breath. When no one screamed or made to attack, Tin dodged the decorative floating balls of light on his way to the tavern. It was better to hurry before they made up their minds on how to respond. The sign for the Peppered Pike hung crooked over the door in elvish writing. He steeled himself for the owner to give him the boot the moment he stepped inside, but he could really do with a night in an actual bed. Right after a drink.

→Tin touched the rings in his hair without meaning to. He refused to hide his face, even if it made things easier, so he dropped his hand and strode straight into the town and through the party. The dancers faltered as they noticed him. Hooves ceased stomping, wings stilled, and soon the music sputtered out as well.

→It seemed a nightly ritual in this part of Oz to greet the dawn with dance, which meant they would be at it all night. He’d never stepped foot in this particular town and wasn’t sure what their reaction to him might be. Sometimes they called for his head, other times they hid inside and bolted the doors. Often it was a mixture of both. Whatever the response to his iron scars, Tin didn’t much care unless it created extra work for himself.

→Glimpses of fae flashed through the trees as he neared the edge of the clearing. Vivid, gem-colored fabric swirled around their lithe bodies. The firelight caressed exposed skin, some pale, some dark, some flecked with scales and others with feathers. Ribbons tied to posts lifted and fell in time with their flawless movements.

→Satisfied, he turned on his heel and walked toward the town for a well-deserved drink. If he could find a room for the night, and someone to buy the gemstones off him before he moved to the next town, all the better.

→He caught the bag with the toe of his boot just before it landed in the dirt. It took every ounce of his meager self-control not to lunge for her throat. Tin opened the bag to be sure it was full of diamonds and not pebbles, though he was confident the brownie wasn’t stupid enough to swindle him. The last person who’d tried that ended up impaled.

→The brownie must’ve sensed the shift in Tin’s thoughts because she made a show of checking the validity of the head. “Fine. It’s done.” She reached down the front of her dress for a small bag. She pretended to weigh it in her hands before tossing it at his feet. “This concludes our business, assassin.”

→Tin cracked his neck. It would be more profitable to kill the brownie and take whatever valuables she owned. She was ancient and barely came to his knee—it would be easy—but if he began killing his clientele, no one would seek him out. It was already hard enough finding work outside of the Emerald City. Country folk weren’t much in the way of intrigue like those in the capital, but they made up for it with their ruthlessness. If the fae here didn’t take care of their own problems, no one would.

→Firelight and music reached the brownie’s cave from the nearby village. When Tin arrived, he found the old female atop a rock outside the opening, swaying to the song as she waited for him. Thin wisps of white hair floated around her molting head. Toenails curled over the ends of her feet. Age spots marked her olive skin, just as red stripes decorated her loose dress.

→His eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath as the moonlight flashed over Tin’s face. The mark of shame—or as Tin thought of it, his badge of honor—was known in every corner of Oz. The Wizard had taken pity on him after Tin’s heart turned back into stone. Instead of being sentenced to death for assassinating eleven fae lords, he’d been branded. Shackled and bound, he’d been unable to escape as liquid iron was dripped slowly onto the side of his face. Each drop had landed at the edge of his cheekbone where it scalded a path across his skin. By the time it was finished and the iron cooled, Tin had been left with a design of wild, twisting silver lines that covered nearly half his right cheek.

→The dwarf was still whistling his merry tune when Tin leapt from his hiding place, axe swinging. His mark flailed and his heavy pack pulled him backward where he landed in a heap. “Wait! I—”

→Tin held his breath and watched his mark close the distance between them. The dwarf had a gnarled beard, ratty, knotted black hair, and a bulbous nose, all of which were coated in dark powder from the mineral mines. Suddenly, Tin regretted not bringing a bag to carry the head in. Mineral powder was even harder to wash from around the kelpie scales than pixie dust. Alas…