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

boots, rolled up his pants, and dipped his feet in the tub, to be polite.

"Most of it's too large for us humans, or creates awkward postures. It would be impractical, meaning
sales would be for novelty alone. That could support sending a few items to create a scarce market with
premium prices, but even that is questionable because for the same mass and bulk, you could ship other
items that would bring much higher profits."

Bunwadde sat silently for a few moments, before giving an affirmative hum. "Very sensible, if I
understand you correctly. Good work, Marcus."

The compliment felt good, almost uncomfortably so. "Thank you," he just said.

"You've earned a bit of relaxation." Bunwadde handed back the inventory list. "Would you like a game
with me tonight?"

In the first press of work, he had forgotten about String of Pearls. "Very much, Bunwadde."

"Good. We'll make it right after dinner." He slid deep into the tub, until just his upturned snout and half his
head showed above water.

Marcus wanted time to practice, but supper was imminent, and he ate with the family. Right afterward,
Bunwadde asked him to bring his board upstairs. Odd that he didn't want to use his own board, but
Marcus didn't mind.

Bunwadde was in his home office, shifting items off a sturdy table, when Marcus came up. "Bring over
those chairs." Marcus got them, and met Bunwadde and the table in the middle of the room.
The furniture, of course, was sized and shaped for Bunwadde. Marcus felt like a child sitting there, and
an uncomfortable one. "A practical example," he said, "regarding the furniture."

Bunwadde laughed. "You've made your point. Ready?"

He turned on the board. "Tazpet nulh chomaken," it announced in a chipper voice already familiar to
Marcus. "Uredha lustodon?"

"Tra lustodon," Bunwadde answered. Two players.

"Kuss. Groa vat lusto tragi."

The board had randomly chosen Bunwadde to play second. Smiling, Marcus reached into the bag,
picking out tiles one by one. Soon he had eight arrayed in his dish, and he passed the bag to Bunwadde.
As Bunwadde picked his tiles, Marcus hunched over the dish, and shuffled tiles around.

A minute later, he picked up six tiles. The first went at the apex; the others ran down the right-hand side
of the triangular grid. The first and last tiles went on their own colors, doubling their values.

Marcus tapped the "Lustep" button. "Eighteen," said the board. The score flashed on a display between
the grid and the bottom of the turntable.

"Good," Bunwadde said. He turned the board his way, as Marcus drew, then suppressed a frown. Too
much violet-black in his dish. He'd have a tough time playing all those nouns without a conjunction: he