Мор - ученик смерти

           HummokM’guk,asmallflat-facedmanfromoneoftheHublandishtribeswhoseskillatdicewasfamedwherevertwomengatheredtogethertofleeceathird,pickedupthediceandglaredatthem.HesilentlycursedWa,whoseownskillatswitchingdicewasequallynotoriousamongthecognoscentibuthad,apparently,failedhim,wishedapainfulanduntimelydeathontheshadowyplayerseatedoppositeandhurledthediceintothemud.

           ’Twenty-onethehardway!’

           Wascoopedupthediceandhandedthemtothestranger.AsheturnedtoHummokoneeyeflickeredeversoslightly.Hummokwasimpressed–he’dbarelynoticedtheblurinWa’sdeceptivelygnarledfingers,andhe’dbeenwatchingforit.

           Itwasdisconcertingthewaythethingsrattledinthestranger’shandandthenflewoutofitinaslowarcthatendedwithtwenty-fourlittlespotspointingatthestars.

           Someofthemorestreetwiseinthecrowdshuffledawayfromthestranger,becauselucklikethatcanbeveryunluckyinCrippleWa’sfloatingcrapgame.

           Wa’shandclosedoverthedicewithanoiseliketheclickofatrigger.

           ’Alltheeights,’hebreathed.’Suchluckisuncanny,mister.’

           Therestofthecrowdevaporatedlikedew,leavingonlythoseheavy-set,unsympathetic-lookingmenwho,ifWahadeverpaidtax,wouldhavegonedownonhisreturnasEssentialPlantandBusinessEquipment.

           ’Maybeit’snotluck,’headded.’Maybeit’swizarding?’

           IMOSTSTRONGLYRESENTTHAT.

           ’Wehadawizardoncewhotriedtogetrich,’saidWa.