Fortune's Observer

 The reception had a long curved desk at the front of it, two security guards stood at one end of it, and three well-dressed, frazzled-looking people behind hit.  Two of them, both women, were sitting on expensive looking office chairs and frowning and the third, a man in a dark-blue suit, was standing just behind them, leaning over the shoulder of the left-most women and seemingly glaring at something.

The desk was made of wood and artfully curved to draw customers along from the entrance and towards the arch that led into the main casino room.  The lighting was subdued at the entrance, where Rafael and Sylvie were standing and it brightened and became more yellow as it approached the casino rooms, where the security guards were standing.  A tall vase behind the desk contained a bunch of sad, withered looking flowers but there was still a strong perfume in the air.  The nearest security guard noticed them and nudged his partner who was staring at his shoes.  The second guard looked up, sighed heavily, and plodded over.

“We’re closed,” he said, sounding like he wanted to sigh again.  “Who let you in?  Was it Derek?  I’ll have his bloody guts for pulling this stunt again.”

“We were asked to come here—“ said Rafael, his eyes narrowing.  Sylvie, who had a good feel for his mood, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and he tried to shrug her off.

“We’re still closed.  Talk to your friend about your invitation and come again when we’re open.”

“Sure,” said Rafael.  “Nothing I’d like more.”

“We’re here to meet Pech,” said Sylvie, tightening her grip on Rafael’s shoulder as he tried to turn and walk away.  “Probably about the reason that you’re closed right now.”

The other security guard looked up now and started watching them, but he didn’t come over.

“Why didn’t he say that?” complained the security guard who was talking to them.  “What’s the point in coming in here like that and not telling me what you’re here for, eh?”

“That’s enough,” said one of the women behind the desk.  She stood up, revealing that she was dressed in the same dark-blue suit as the man behind her.  “Could you identify yourselves, please?  While I’m sure you are here to see Pech we are a licensed casino and we are required to follow certain procedures before allowing anyone admission.”

Sylvie produced her warrant card and squeezed Rafael’s shoulder until, with less grace, he produced his.  The woman from the reception desk studied them both, then took them behind the desk and carefully scanned them.  There was a short pause, then a double-beep from the computer.

“Thank-you,” she said.  “I was expect— well, that is to say— ah, it’s sort of— no-one told us what to expect.”  She fumbled her way to a conclusion.  “I think I was expecting you to be in uniform,” she said. “That would have made things clearer all round, you see.”

“The silent security guard slipped out a minute ago,” whispered Rafael.  He was nearly soundless, but since Sylvie was gripping his shoulder the words were as clear as if he’d been speaking them into her ear.

“Uniforms are problematic for the Mage Squad,” said Sylvie.  Rafael winced; ‘mage squad’ was what the tabloid press called them.  “In some cases a uniform can be a positive hindrance.  So we have a little more leeway in what to wear.”

“Quite,” said the woman with a look of incomprehension.  “Well, please stand over there,” she gestured to the far side of the reception area, next to a shiny, chromed coffee machine sitting on a dresser, “and help yourself to coffee if you’d like some.  Pech will be… here soon.  I hope.”

Rafael had barely had time to start fiddling with the coffee machine’s settings before there was a soft cough behind him and he and Sylvie turned round.

“Pech,” said a middle-aged man, holding out a hand.  He was shorter than both of them, had a bald spot on the back of his head, and there was a smell like a damp towel hanging around him.

“Malacosa,” said Sylvie, shaking his hand.  As soon as he turned away she wiped her hand discretely on the back of her skirt; his hand was so clammy as to be almost wet.

“Perdito,” said Rafael, also shaking his hand.  “No-one’s told us why you want us here.”

“Blunt,” said Pech, grinning and revealing coffee-stained teeth.  “Nice.  Don’t get a lot of that here.”

“That’s not an answer,” said Rafael.  He was also looking for somewhere to wipe his hand, but Pech hadn’t taken his gaze off him.

“Not here,” said Pech.  He didn’t look round but both the others felt as though he had.  Sylvie nodded once, to herself; Pech had a strong thaumic shadow.  “Too many people wouldn’t understand what we’re talking about and I don’t like having to keep stopping and answering questions.”

“Me neither,” said Rafael.  “Where then?”

“My office.”

Pech’s office had a nameplate on the door but neither Rafael nor Sylvie had time to read it as it was blurred with a secrecy charm.  Both of them could have broken it easily, but not without Pech noticing.  It was a small room with a desk piled high with small white boxes and a chair on which a coat and gloves had been discarded.  A tiny table in one corner held a fist-sized quartz crystal and there was another chair, with a broken leg, tucked in underneath.  There were no windows and a pervasive smell of day-old toast.

“Sorry about the mess,” said Pech without sounding sorry at all.  “The casino is supposed to come and collect all the confiscated items every couple of days but they’re always behind on them.  And then there’s the current situation, which has been going on for—“ he checked his watch— “a little over thirty hours now.”

“What’s the situation?” said Rafael, sounding just a touch aggressive.

“No-one’s winning,” said Pech.

“Isn’t that always the case?” asked Sylvie.  She moved a little closer to the crystal on the small table.

“No,” said Pech.  “You might be thinking of the house edge, I guess?  That’s built-in.  The idea is that customers win or lose according to the whims of chance, and the house takes a tiny sliver from the money they gamble with as payment for providing the services and entertainment.  If customers only ever lost no-one would play after a short while.  Just like if they only ever won they’d stop playing too because it would be boring, but no-one’s supposed to get the chance to find out.”

“So what do you do then?” said Rafael.  He looked around the room.  “Stop people cheating?”

Pech nodded.  “That’s a big part of it,” he said.  “People come up with the most amazing ideas of how we’re cheating them, and then they try and ‘make things fair again’ by cheating themselves.”  He patted the boxes on the table.  “Each box has a gadget or magical item in it that someone’s tried to sneak in.  We get most of them at the doors or reception, but every now and then someone puts some real effort into it, spends some serious money and we have to catch them on the floor.  It’s amazing how much effort they’ll put into trying to beat a game of chance when the same effort at their day job would get them a double promotion and a bonus.”

“What’s the other part of it?” asked Sylvie, sounding a little distracted.  The quartz crystal felt like it was beckoning her.

“I’m Fortune’s Observer,” said Pech.