fuckyouall: переводы

→Galerider added their snores to the general rumbling hum - a sound answered by the tiny batowls that nested in the gaps between the joists.
Next to him, Ratbit smacked his lips together noisily, and rolled onto his other side. Sagbutt let out a rasping snort, while further down the line of hammocks, Spillins muttered something in his sleep and gave a small, high-pitched giggle.
Quint glanced across at the garret alcove, where Maris was sleeping. The faint glow of her tilder-oil lamp had faded an hour earlier and, from behind the spider-silk drapes, nothing stirred. Quint turned over in his hammock and pulled his greatcoat around him with a shiver. Despite the warm air and sonorous snoring, he could still feel the dreadful chill of the cliff quarry, and whenever he closed his eyes, the hideous shrieking face of an edge wraith seemed to loom at him out of the darkness.
Sleep, he thought miserably, seemed impossible, even in this warm, safe place.
Just then, from out of the darkness there came a long, agonized groan - like that of a tilder, a hunter's crossbow bolt buried in its neck, breathing its last. Quint sat up. There it was again, coming from behind the curtain of the garret alcove next to the one where Maris was sleeping.
Quietly, Quint climbed out of his hammock and tiptoed along the narrow rafter to the safety of the garret balcony. He paused for a moment outside the alcove, only to hear the terrible groan once more. Quint pulled back the curtain and stepped inside.

→The rafters high up above the drinking hall of the Tarry Vine tavern were festooned with hammocks of every shape and size. Grubby spider-silk sheets, which could accommodate several crews, swayed gently beside the hanging-pockets favoured by waifs, oakelves and the lighter sleepers, while in the garret alcoves, captains and quartermasters enjoyed all the privacy that a hanging-drape could provide.
There was, however, no escaping the snuffling, snoring and muttered sleep-talking of the hundreds of sleeping sky pirates. And yet, as their growling snores mingled with the warm woodhop-scented air that rose up from the brewing cellars far below, a heady, hypnotic atmosphere was created that induced sleep in all but the most troubled occupants of the rafters.
Quint lay on his back, staring upwards. Above him, the two sides of the steeply sloping roof came together in the shadows, looking, he mused, like the upturned hull of a great sky ship. On either side of him, the crew of the

→quarry, then luring those foul wraiths to devour us.' His eyes took on a steely intensity as, once again, he surveyed the gathering around the table. 'But thanks to you, my loyal crew, we survived to continue the hunt.'
Quint swallowed anxiously. Maris cupped his hands in her own beneath the table-top, and squeezed.
'I intend to hunt him until I catch him,' Wind Jackal said, his voice now a deathly quiet whisper. 'I shall never give up - and if you value me as your captain, you will follow me in this quest. If not, you are free to go, right now...'
The crew glanced at one another. None of them had ever seen their beloved captain in such a state before. Spillins smiled half-heartedly. Steg Jambles picked up his half-empty glass of woodale, raised it to his lips -then returned it to the table, untouched.
'We're with you,' said Maris, breaking the silence.
Under the table, Quint squeezed her hand.
'Wind Jackal!' came a cheery voice from the staircase. 'How are you?'
Everyone turned, relieved, to see the young sky pirate Thaw Daggerslash coming down the stairs from the upper balconies. Smiling broadly, he nodded in turn at the assembled crew.
'It's good to see all of you,' he said. His gaze lingered on Quint and Maris. 'You must be the son I've heard so much about,' he said. 'And you ... Who might this beautiful young lass be?' he asked.
'My name is Maris. Maris Pallitax,' said Maris a little stiffly. 'My father used to be ...'