"Shane Tourtellotte - String of Pearls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tourtellotte Shane)

"However," Bunwadde said, catching him at the threshold, "I don't mean to frustrate your hobby. I will
see to it that you get to play."
****
Milinor cupped her hand over the raised edge of her tile dish, and lowered her head. "Don't peek," she
said, with a crafty look.

Marcus didn't protest his innocence, but leaned back in his chair to show he wasn't looking over her
hand. It gave him a twinge in his knees. The furniture in the upstairs study room was scaled for the
children. That made it a little better for humans than the adult furnishings, but it was still built wrong for
him.

While Marcus rubbed a sore leg, Milinor picked up five tiles and arranged them on the board. She then
sat, looking at them, frowning. When Tropid came in to collect some books, she called out to him, "Is
this right?"

Tropid looked at the board, then briefly at Marcus. "It would not be fair for me to say, Milinor. This is
your game, not mine."

"But you told me the last time!"

Tropid grew stern. "Remember, Milinor, your father said you could have these games with Marcus if you
behaved yourself."

Pouting, Milinor turned away from Tropid and pressed "Lustep." The play was good, lifting her spirits
and extending her lead to twenty-nine.

Marcus looked his dish over again. He still didn't have anything very promising, except one play through
Milinor's last sentence that would use all his tiles, in the unlikely event that the computer accepted it.

It was late in the game. Without this play, he would probably lose. If he made it, and it stayed, he was
almost sure to win after all. If it got kicked off, he was certain to lose, and he was just as sure how
Milinor would react, whatever Tropid might think.

Bunwadde would like it if he lost. Indeed, he expected it. He held Marcus's playing in contempt, and
Marcus was growing sure that Bunwadde held him in contempt.

He and Pesh were downstairs now, combing through his product descriptions. Marcus was useful to him,
praiseworthy as far as he furthered Bunwadde's business, but nothing more. How could he be worth
more? He was only human.

Marcus stopped himself. Was that injured pride talking? Was he taking all the little wounds he had borne
and building them into a grand edifice of paranoia and self-pity?

The Kevhtre had humans overawed, and he was starting to fall into that mindset, the helpless victim. Even
if Bunwadde were deliberately belittling him, this was just how he would want Marcus to feel. Well, he
wouldn't play that role. He wouldn't be helpless, or afraid.
He scooped up all his tiles and laid them down the board, all the way to the bottom row. Milinor
moaned, but he eschewed anything that could even seem like gloating, and hit the button.