Five: A Sudden Career Change
Never tell them the truth until you check to find out what the truth is today.
The Consultants’ Handbook
“You still here?”
Wiz jerked awake and there was Malkin standing just outside his cell.
“Of course I’m still here. I’m in jail!”
Malkin shrugged. “So? You’re a wizard, aren’t you? Why don’t you just magic yourself out of here?”
“I can’t do that,” Wiz said miserably.
“Well, don’t you know other wizards? They could get you out of here.”
“I can’t do that either,” Wiz said.
“Why not?”
“I just can’t. I’ve got to solve these people’s problems.”
“Look,” said Malkin, obviously exasperated, “the folk hereabouts don’t want you to solve their problems. They want to stake you out like a pig at a barbecue.”
“I can’t run away,” Wiz said simply. “I’ve got to stay, don’t you see?”
“I see they’re right,” Malkin said. “Them as says wizards is all cracked.”
She was right, he knew. The smart thing would be to magic himself out of the place, walk the Wizard’s Way back to the castle and return with enough help to clean up the whole situation. But he couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t. There had to be a better way and he had to find it on his own. Malkin sniffed and Wiz looked miserable as he pondered the trap he was in.
And then, in a blinding flash, he had it!
The misery and indecision were gone and his brain shifted into overdrive as he saw the possibilities. He started to smile. Then he started to grin. Then his expression became positively maniacal with glee.
Like most programmers, Wiz preferred straight talk and plain dealing. But he wasn’t a fanatic about it. It was obvious the only thing straight talk and plain dealing would get him in this situation was a quick trip to The Rock.
Malkin edged away from the bars. “Are you all right?”
“Never better,” he assured her. “Never better. It’s just the solution is so obvious.”
“What is it then?”
“Well,” he told Malkin slowly. “There’s reality, and then there’s Creative Reality.”
“Creative reality?”
“It’s kind of like Creative Accounting-except they don’t send you to prison if they catch you at it.”
“Meaning what?” the girl said with a frown.
“Meaning that a true master of Creative Reality borrows their watch and tells them what time it is, and then gets paid for it,” Wiz told her. “That’s the first rule of Creative Reality. You make people pay you to solve their problems-and then you make them like it.”
“But these people don’t want you to solve their problems,” Malkin said in the same exasperated voice. “They want you for a sacrifice.”
Wiz’s smile got even broader. “That’s normally the way it is for the masters of Creative Reality. Kind of the job’s ground state.”
“The only thing that’s going to get ground is you if you don’t get out of here.”
“Oh, not at all. Look, the first secret of consulting-that’s what we call applied Creative Reality-is that people don’t need an outsider to tell them what to do about their problems. They know they’ve got problems and they usually know what their choices are. What they don’t know is how to get from where they are to a place where they have made a choice. So they bring in a consultant and most of the time half the people in the organization don’t want advice, they want a scapegoat-a sacrifice. Now they’ve got an outsider in the game they can blame their troubles on. But the game’s rigged against him from the first.”
Now Malkin was intrigued rather than exasperated. “Yeah. So?”
“So what the successful consultant does, once he’s dealt into the game, is cheat like mad.”
“I still don’t see . . .” Malkin began, but there was some commotion on the stairs as the warder made his way up. The thief slipped into an adjacent cell the instant before the warder’s head poked through the floor, quickly followed by the rest of him. He stood by the stairway, drew himself to unaccustomed attention and announced: “His Honor, Mayor Hendrick Hastlebone, Lord Mayor and head of the wool merchants guild and the honorable members of the city council.
Mayfortunesmileonthehonorablemayorandcouncilors.” Then he relaxed and slumped again.
The mayor was a portly individual with basset eyes, a substantial paunch and a considerable appreciation of his own importance. He was dressed in a short robe of green velvet trimmed with gold. Around his neck hung a heavy, gaudy gold chain of office topped off with a jeweled and tasteless medallion.
One of his councilors was tall and lean, one was short and bald and the others were pretty much nondescript. They wore either the short robe and hose like the mayor or long robes with deep hanging sleeves and they all had heavy gold chains around their necks, only slightly less gaudy than the mayor’s. They advanced in a tight knot with the mayor in the lead until they stood before Wiz’s cell.
Wiz stood waiting for them, not quite leaning against the wall, but giving the impression that he was completely at ease. He watched the mayor carefully and just as the man drew breath to speak he cut him off.
“Good of you gentlemen to come.”
The mayor was caught with his mouth open. He closed it, scowled and tried again.
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Wiz Zumwalt.”
“A wizard?” one of the councilors interjected. Mayor Hastlebone glared over his shoulder, but Wiz and the others ignored it.
“I’m a wizard by training, but by profession I’m a consultant. I solve other people’s problems for a living.”
The mayor raised an eyebrow. “Most folks have enough to do solving their own problems.”
“That’s why we consultants are so rare. And so much in demand.”
The mayor snorted.
“Now, I understand that you have a problem with dragons,” Wiz said. “I can show you how to rid yourselves of your dragon trouble-for a very reasonable fee, of course.”
“Of course,” said one of the councilors, the lean one, an individual with an oily manner and a puce wool robe that clashed horribly with his complexion.
“What makes you think you know how to handle dragons?” the mayor demanded.
“I come from the Valley of Quartz-Silicon Valley-and we have no problems at all with dragons there.”
“We have our own ways of handling dragons,” one of the councilors said.
“I’m sure you do,” Wiz said, assuming a manner he had seen so many times when consultants made a pitch. “And what you’ve accomplished here is really remarkable-all things considered. But perhaps you could benefit from a more professional, scientific approach to your problem.”
“How did you get here?” a hatchet-faced man in a malachite green robe demanded in a tone that indicated he knew the answer perfectly well.
“By dragon. It’s a very expeditious manner of travel.” Wiz smiled. “You ought to try it sometime.”
That set them buzzing. The mayor turned his back and the whole group huddled together, muttering to one another. Once or twice someone poked his head up out of the pack and craned his neck to get a better view of their visitor. Wiz stayed where he was and tried desperately to look as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Very well,” Mayor Hastlebone said finally. “If-if you can completely rid the valley of dragons, what would be your fee?”
“One tenth of the town’s produce for a year,” Wiz said as blandly as he could manage.
“Preposterous!”
“Hardly. The dragons cost you more than that in a bad year and probably almost that much in most years.”
“Absurd,” said the mayor, with a little less conviction.
“Quite reasonable, actually.”
“It would be worth it if he succeeded,” said one of the councilors, a portly man in a forest green short robe and rose pink hose.
“Utter nonsense,” said another councilor.
“Are you afraid he might succeed?” asked a silver-haired man in sea blue.
The mayor’s face turned red and a vein in his temple started to throb.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” interposed a pudgy man with a rim of white hair around a sweat-shiny scalp. “Suppose it got about that this wizard had made his offer and we had refused out of hand? Can we afford not to let him try?”
The councilors nodded and muttered among themselves and even the mayor seemed momentarily lost in thought.
“Very well,” Hendrick said at last. “You shall have your opportunity. But,” and he stepped close to the bars and wagged his finger under Wiz’s nose, “we expect results. We only pay for results.”
The fact that he didn’t haggle over the price told Wiz the mayor didn’t expect him to complete the assignment successfully.
“Plus room and board, while I work,” Wiz said.
The mayor opened his mouth to object, caught the mood of the council and merely nodded.
“Oh yes, I’ll need a local assistant.”
Hendrick didn’t look pleased. “Don’t know that I can spare anyone.”
“What about the young lady over there?” Wiz pointed to Malkin, sitting demurely in her cell. “I believe she is available.”
The mayor turned to look at Malkin and a smile spread slowly over his face. Wiz didn’t need to read minds to know he saw a way to get rid of two thorns in his side when Wiz failed.
“Very well. Warder! Release the prisoner into this wizard’s keeping.”
As soon as the cell door was unlocked Malkin threw herself about the mayor’s neck, weeping and thanking him for his generosity. Since she was nearly half a head taller than the mayor, the result was incongruous to say the least.
Mayor Hendrick was still trying to brush her off when someone burst into the office below shouting for the watch.
There was a mutter of conversation downstairs and then two sets of feet came pounding up the staircase.
“Dragon!” panted the lean straw-haired man in the lead. “Dragon’s hit the Baggot Place. Got Farmer Baggot and his whole family.”
“Ate them all?” demanded the mayor.
“Not yet,” the man gasped. “Least not when I left. He’s got them penned in the farmyard.”
The mayor turned back to the cell and smiled at Wiz in a way that wasn’t at all pleasant. “Well, Wizard,” he said, “it seems you face your first test.”