"Elizabeth Moon. The Speed of Dark " - читать интересную книгу автора

Marjory and starts talking.
"You're interrupting," Lucia says.
"Oh, sorry," Don says, but he still stands there, blocking my view.
"And you're right in the middle," Lucia says. "Please get out from
between people." She flicks a glance at me. I am not doing anything wrong
or she would tell me. More than anyone I know who isn't like me, she says
very clearly what she wants.
Don glances back, huffs, and shifts sideways. "I didn't see Lou," he
says.
"I did," Lucia says. She turns back to Marjory. "Now here, this is
where we stayed on the fourth night. I took this from inside-what about
that view!"
"Lovely," Marjory says. I can't see the picture she's looking at, but
I can see the happiness on her face. I watch her instead of listening to
Lucia as she talks about the rest of the pictures. Don interrupts with
comments from time to time. When they've looked at the pictures, Lucia
folds the case of the portable viewer and puts it under her chair.
"Come on, Don," she says. "Let's see how you do with me." She puts her
gloves and mask back on and picks up her epee. Don shrugs and follows her
out to an open space.
"Have a seat," Marjory says. I sit down, feeling the slight warmth
from Lucia in the chair she just left. "How was your day?" Marjory asks.
"I almost was in a wreck," I tell her. She doesn't ask questions; she
just lets me talk. It is hard to say it all; now it seems less acceptable
that I just drove away, but I was worried about getting to work and about
the police.
"That sounds scary," she says. Her voice is warm, soothing. Not a
professional soothing, but just gentle on my ears.
I want to tell her about Mr. Crenshaw, but now Tom comes back and asks
me if I want to fight. I like to fight Tom. Tom is almost as tall as I am,
and even though he is older, he is very fit. And he's the best fencer in
the group.
"I saw you fight Don," he says. "You handle his tricks very well. But
he's not improving-in fact, he's let his training slide-so be sure you
fight some of the better fencers each week. Me, Lucia, Cindy, Max. At least
two of us, okay?"
At least means "not less than."
"Okay," I say. We each have two long blades, epee and rapier. When I
first tried to use a second blade, I was always banging one into the other.
Then I tried to hold them parallel. That way they didn't cross each other,
but Tom could sweep them both aside. Now I know to hold them at different
heights and angles.
We circle, first one way, then the other. I try to remember everything
Tom has taught me: how to place my feet, how to hold the blades, which
moves counter which moves. He throws a shot; my arm rises to parry it with
my left blade; at the same time I throw a shot and he counters. It is like
a dance: step-step-thrust-parry-step. Tom talks about the need to vary the
pattern, to be unpredictable, but last time I watched him fight someone
else, I thought I saw a pattern in his nonpattern. If I can just hold him
off long enough, maybe I can find it again.