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

True as it was, it stung. "I understand," he said in Vetra. "We do need to discuss what specifically my
work with you will entail."

"Naturally." Bunwadde reeled off several of the tasks, with scatterings of details. Marcus needed some of
those details filled in, which meant asking unplanned questions. He was torn between deliberate slowness
that would sound mentally dense, and the quick fluency of Bunwadde that he could not pretend to have.

He muddled on, doing his best. If Bunwadde found his syntax dim-witted or funny, he didn't make it
obvious. If Marcus sensed certain hesitations before Bunwadde's answers, and a slower speech pattern
to make himself clear to the human, maybe he was being paranoid.

Soon they were at Bunwadde's house, not far from the river that ran through Aghrelowa. It looked
modest for someone as rich as he, but Marcus knew the two floors above ground surely topped a full
floor below, and maybe more. "Very pretty," he said about what he could see.
Everyone got out. "Make sure the girls are there, Tropid," Bunwadde said, and the driver headed inside.
Marcus retrieved his luggage, and started to follow. Bunwadde motioned him back with a huge,
six-fingered hand. After a moment, he started ahead himself, with Marcus close behind.

He found a mist falling in the foyer, his host stretching his neck about as it drizzled onto him. Spying
Marcus, Bunwadde shut off the mister. "Not a human indulgence, I forget. Come, let's meet everyone."

A Kevhtre woman stood waiting in the main hallway, with two children behind her. They inched toward
Bunwadde as he came up, their eyes fixed on Marcus. "Here is our guest, Platp," he told his mate,
"Marcus Parrish."

Marcus took this as his cue. "Greetings, Pesh Bunwadde Platp Mur-Kendi-Kelht. I am honored to join
your household for this time." Again, his words were scripted.

Pesh--as with Bunwadde, Marcus would be using the more formal name--was closer to his height, but
still nearly two meters. Her skin was more silvery than her mate's. Her robe was fuller, more like a dress,
ample for the girls still hiding behind it.

Marcus bent at the knees, bringing himself to the children's level. "Good day, Pesh Milinor
Mur-Aghrelowa. Good day, Pesh Movedhor Mur-Aghrelowa."

Milinor, the elder, finally looked him in the eye. "Good day," she said, abrupt to rudeness. Movedhor
stayed shyly quiet.

"Forgive them," Pesh said as Marcus stood. "They've never met a human before. It's a long way from
Earth. I hope the voyage was pleasant for you."

"My trip here was comfortable." He was repeating the canned statement, and he felt Bunwadde had to
notice. He forged onward. "Interstellar ships have little space, but they find ways to compensate. Unless
you really detest--"

Pesh's face went pinched for a brief moment. Milinor laughed, a stuttering, high-pitched bark. Movedhor
began to imitate her sister.

"Stop that, children," Bunwadde said. They did, looking contrite.