EvilFairy: переводы

→“Waterproof boots and coats,” he said. “Fishermen, likely.”

→“No kidding. Dive Bar of the Damned.” I frowned. “They look like locals to you?”

→“Huh,” Carlos noted. “That’s not odd at all.”

→It didn’t take long. Within five or ten minutes, a silent column of men, twenty strong, came down the road, their feet crunching through the half-frozen sleet. Clint was at the head of the column with another man, a very tall, very lean character with a captain’s peaked cap, leathery skin, and the dull, flat eyes of a dead fish. They marched up to the Elbow Room and filed inside, neat as a military unit on parade. No one said a word the entire time.

→We found a shadowy spot next to a building within sight of the Elbow Room. I flicked up a veil to make sure we wouldn’t be observed, and we settled down to wait.

→I tilted my head to one side. “Mmm. What gave it away?”

→He offered me a sudden, mischievous smile. “Hi, Molly.”

→I stopped in my tracks and stared at him for a moment.

→“Of course I am,” Carlos said. “But I figured the Winter Lady would think this was a balmy day.”

→“Aren’t you cold?”

→“Is it?” Carlos asked.

→The sound of it hitting the ground and the sidewalks and roads was a wet rattle. I didn’t need to, but I hunched my shoulders as if against the cold and dropped my chin down to my neck as much as I could. “Goodness, this is brisk,” I said.

→So we left and started trudging through the sleet.

→The yacht began to slow and then slewed to one side, throwing a wave of icy spray toward the rocky shore. It handled too well to be a mortal craft, but out here, where few eyes could see, the Sidhe who piloted her were only so willing to be inconvenienced by seas that would have daunted experienced mortal captains and advanced mortal vessels.

→<i>“Witless,”</i> I sputtered.

→I might have sounded a bit like this guy I know. Maybe a little.

→“You never get a second chance to make a first impression,” I said, rolling my eyes.

→“Appearances matter, young lady,” Mab said, her voice hard-edged. “First impressions <i>matter</i>.”

→I didn’t need them any more than Mab needed the furs, but it seemed like it would be simpler to blend in—to a point, anyway.

→We weren’t around any mortals at the moment, but we were technically moving through the mortal world, among the Aleutians, and Mab was dressed in mortal clothing. The Queen of the Winter Court of the Fey wore white furs and a big, poufy white hat like you might see on a Northern European socialite in an old Bond movie. No mortal alive would have been wearing white heels on the frozen, dripping, bucking deck of the yacht in those seas, in the beginnings of a howling winter storm, but she was Mab. She would take the path of least resistance when practical, but her willingness to tolerate the possible alarm and outrage of the human race extended only so far. She would wear what she felt like wearing. And at the moment, it would seem that she mostly felt like wearing an expression of stern disapproval.