Free The Potter of Firsk and Other Stories by Jack Vance Page B

green felt, traditional effects of gambling since the eighteenth century.
    He turned his eyes around the room, enjoying the thousand various hues and tones. He looked up to the ceiling, ground-glass glowing in the patterns projected by a monster kaleidoscope, wonderfully intricate, ever-changing—plasma-yellow, blues, bottle-greens, ardent red; blazing orange rosettes, shimmering waves of violet-blue, dart-pointed stars, bursting and fading, merging into expanding circles, bars and bands.
    In contrast, the carpet was a dull dark gray, without shadow, and across walked richly clad men and women in gorgeous tunics, jackets of pigeon-blood, the blue-green of moderate ocean depth, black. Along the far wall ran three tiers of balconies, and here small parties ate, drank, watched the play below.
    Magnus Ridolph surveyed the vast hall from end to end, speculated on the profits yielded by the multifarious tables. They must be enormous, he mused, looking down the ranks of flushed, nervous faces, alternately elated and dejected. And all funneled into the pocket of Acco May. Acco May was a man feared everywhere in the Commonwealth, a man linked in the public imagination to a thousand crimes. And yet, whatever form Acco May’s raids took, he was never within reach when the accounting came, and no positive proof existed to incriminate him.
    Magnus Ridolph brought himself back to the matter at hand. He carefully inspected one of the roulette wheels, timed the spin of the wheel, estimated the mass and radial throw of the ball, undertook a few mental calculations, turned away. The margin of error was such that he might as well gamble outright.
    He retraced his steps past the race-track, catching as he passed the flash of tiny dark-brown forms, and entered the other wing. He passed more roulette tables, a device of meshing whirling disks, and paused beside a large globe full of liquid and swimming balls of various colors—a game known in the hall as Lorango.
    As he watched, the balls slowed, floated jostling up to the top of the globe, where they formed a pyramid, one ball at the apex, three immediately below, then seven, and finally a layer of thirteen, all glowing like jewels in a shaft of light from beneath.
    The device was operated by a young man with seal-smooth blond hair and narrow brown eyes, dressed in the green and white uniform of the hall. The balls having settled into their places, he called the winning colors.
    “Silver wins; vermilion, sapphire and flame, under; gold, royal, topaz, zebra, opal, emerald and jet, third.”
    Magnus Ridolph stepped closer. A ball selected correctly for top place, he noted, paid 24 to one; in the second layer, eight to one; in the third layer, three to one. Even money, he thought, except for the odds in the third layer, which slightly favored the house. Then he noticed a small sign:
    When white ball wins, house collects all bets, except those bets placed on white.
     
    “Make your bets,” called the blond operator. He pressed a button, the globe spun. “No more bets.” The globe stopped short, the balls spun on, finally sought their places. The operator called the results.
    “Indigo wins; jet, fawn, ruby, under; harlequin, diorite, aqua, ivory, amethyst, teal and olivine, third.”
    Chips changed hands.
    “Make your bets,” called the operator. Magnus Ridolph unobtrusively pulled a stop-watch from his pocket.
    “No more bets.” The globe spun, reached its maximum speed, halted. The balls whirled on. Magnus Ridolph looked at the stopwatch. 10.23 seconds. The balls settled into place. He checked his watch again. 32.01 seconds.
    “White at top,” called the operator. “House takes all bets.”
    Magnus Ridolph timed the globe several times more, noted the results in a small black book.
    Next he turned his attention to the globe. From his case he took a camera, and filmed the entire sequence three times.
    He replaced the camera, considering what other information he needed. The liquid