by Rick Cook
Wiz cleared his throat.
"Ah, associate actually," the sometime bard amended hastily. "A specialist in another area, but quite competent I assure you."
The man snorted and turned his attention completely to Llewllyn.
"Ah, yes," the young man said, "it so happens I have a special amulet, hewn from the heart of the black oak that grows by the Southern Swamp, prepared by the great wizard Actantos himself. A sure cure. And I can let you have it for just…"
Wiz cleared his throat more forcefully.
"But I’m sure you don’t need anything so powerful," he finished hurriedly. "Now suppose you tell me what led up to the cursing."
"Will this really help?" The man sounded skeptical.
"Magic is a matter of information," Llewllyn assured him. "The more information the more effective the magic."
"Well, Werner’s a surly one. Got his skill in magic from his gran on his momma’s side. She was a first cousin once removed of Old Lady Fressen, and…"
Llewllyn cut short his reminiscences. "On the other hand, there is such a thing as too much information. Perhaps you can skip ahead to the day the curse was laid."
"That was nigh on two week ago, when I caught Werner picking my whiffleberries."
"He was in your orchard?"
"No, no. The whiffleberry bush is right by the garden wall and some of it hangs over into his garden. Well, since time immemorial there’s been an agreement that what’s on his side of the wall belongs to him. But I look out this afternoon and here’s Werner poaching. He had a whole limb pulled over to his side, he did and he was clearly taking berries that were on my side of the wall."
"And you confronted the, ah, miscreant?"
"Of course I confronted him! I’ll not stand for anyone taking what’s mine. Well, he denied it, he did, claimed the berries were on his side of the wall and never mind my pointing out the branch near broken off where he’d pulled on it so hard. He protested he wasn’t poaching and I pointed out to him that a man’d put his thumb on the scales when folks was buying, as everyone knows he does, mind you, why a man like that couldn’t be trusted nohow."
To Wiz it sounded like both parties needed a good talking to and he couldn’t for the life of him see what whiffleberries had to do with magic or curses. Of course, he admitted, he’d never heard of whiffleberries before and maybe they had some magic property and… Then something Llewllyn said, or rather the way he said it, jerked his attention back to the conversation.
"So you expected him to steal the berries when you weren’t looking?" Llewllyn asked in a carefully neutral voice.
"Stayed in the back of the house the whole day to watch the bush," their client confirmed. "Only came into the shop in front when a customer called. Even watched most of that first night, expecting him to come sneaking over the wall."
"And you still think he will plunder your whiffleberry bush?" Llewllyn prompted in the same tone.
"The berries are still there, ain’t they? As soon as his miserable curse has me worn down I expect he’ll come creeping over the wall some night and make off with the whole lot of them."
"Hmm," Llewllyn said, and rubbed his chin. "Hmm," he said again.
Their client leaned forward anxiously. "Can you help me?"
"Oh, of course," Llewllyn said with an airy wave of his hand. "Not that it is not a difficult problem, mind you, but you have come to the right place. I have the perfect answer for you." He leaned over the table toward the man.
"First, I shall place a curse on the whiffleberries. By magic or by stealth the thief may make off with them, but they will do him no good. For if he should partake of the stolen fruit, his bowels shall loosen, his intestines shall bloat and he shall pass the night in the most intense suffering. Fear not, for your berries shall be guarded by the most puissant magic."
Llewllyn held up a finger. "But understand, such curses are most powerful. To protect yourself you must not go into your garden, nay, even look into your garden for the next fortnight."
The man shifted uneasily. "That might be hard. The privy’s back there."
"Oh, for that, of course. But do not linger and do not so much as look out your back window at the whiffleberry bush for fourteen days, you understand? I’d suggest you spend your time in your shop as much as you can. Fear not, business will pick up as soon as I lift the curse."
The man nodded.
"Now as for the curse on you, I must lift it gradually lest the powers invoked rend you limb from limb." The man went slightly pale and nodded again.
"You must stuff your pillow with catnip and place a sprig of tansy under it. This evening I will perform certain mystical operations to banish the invisible demons which are plaguing you. You must drink a cup of wine each night and go to bed at your accustomed time. Over the next two or three nights the curse will dissipate."
"That’s all?"
"For you, yes. My part will be much more difficult, but never fear, it will be accomplished."
The man stood and reached for the purse on his belt. "Wonderful! What do I owe you?"
Wiz cleared his throat again.
"Oh, nothing," Llewllyn told him. "Our fees are paid by the town council."
"Then may Fortuna smile upon the honorable council!" the man exclaimed and hurried out.
"Okay," Wiz said after the man was out of earshot. "I understand about the pillow. Catnip’s good for helping you sleep. I understand why you told him to spend time in his shop, to get his business back, and I understand why you told him not to keep watching that bush, to relieve his anxiety…"
Llewllyn arched an eyebrow. "Do you not believe in the Sparrow’s magic?"
"What I just saw was another branch of magic, what I call applied psychology-which by the way you have a talent for-" Llewllyn acknowledged the compliment with a gracious nod, "-but what was that business about a curse on anyone who steals those whiffleberries? The bloating, suffering and stuff?"
"Those are the usual effects of eating green whiffleberries," Llewllyn said dryly. "And if you were from these parts, and if you were not distracted by some stupid neighborhood feud, you would know that whiffleberries will not ripen for another moon or so."
Wiz looked at his assistant. "You may have more talent for this than I thought."
Next, not at all to Wiz’s surprise, was the chicken man. He strutted through the door, neck out like a bantam rooster, and two chickens clutched in his skinny hand. He nodded to the two consultants and plunked the two birds down on the table. The birds squawked and shifted and tried to stand up, something they couldn’t quite manage with their feet tied together. So they settled for sitting on the table and complaining in an undertone.
"I’m here about my chickens," he announced. "They still won’t lay eggs." He jabbed a bony finger at Wiz, "And don’t give me none of your lip about dragons, boy, the mayor hisself says you’re to help me."
I’ll bet the mayor loved having someone to palm you off on, Wiz thought, but he only nodded pleasantly. "I wouldn’t dream of it now that the council has renegotiated the contract. My associate here will take care of your problem."
The man scowled at Llewllyn. "He’s younger than you are," he grumbled. "Prettier too."
Llewllyn simply nodded and picked up one of the chickens. "Hmm," he said stroking the bird’s feathers. He prodded the fowl gently. "Ah, yess." Then he studied the bird’s eyes. "Quite so," he said, lifting the chicken higher to study its feet. "Uh huh."
By this point the chicken was thoroughly confused by these goings-on, and Wiz and the bird’s owner weren’t much better.
"Yes," Llewllyn said at last, "I see the problem clearly."
"If you can do that you’re better than the rest of them so-called magicians," the chicken man said. "But what are you going to do about it? That’s what I want to know."
The bard put the chicken down on the table. "Why my good man, I’m going to solve your problem. That’s what we wizards, ah, consultants, are here for. Now this is a difficult case. The cause
s are obviously complex and subtle. I will not go into the boring details, but suffice it to say that the cure is straightforward. Simply pluck a sprig of tansy and place it above the door to your henhouse."
"That’s it? That’s all?"
Llewllyn smiled a superior smile. "The secret is in knowing the cure, not in performing it." Then he leaned over the clucking chickens and waggled his finger under the man’s nose. "But this is most important. Do not go into the hen house until the moon has waned and waxed again. Feed and water your chickens outside the coop but otherwise do not go near them."
"Why?"
"Because during this delicate period it would not be safe. You might contract the dread-" his voice lowered to a near whisper "-chicken pox."
"Oh, right. Of course. I’ll do just as you say. Thank you sir. Thank you." With that the man gathered his chickens and strutted out.
"Chicken pox, huh?" Wiz said when the man had left, birds dangling.
Llewllyn shrugged. "Not my most inspired invention, I will admit, but it should suffice."
"And tansy?"
"The stuff’s a roadside weed around here and it stinks. The smell makes them think it’s powerful. Like putting alum in medicine so it will taste bad."
"What do you think he’s going to do if his chickens don’t improve?"
"Oh, they will improve." Llewllyn’s face screwed up as if he was thinking of something unpleasant. "My Lord, I have a certain experience with chickens. The only thing wrong with those birds is that he is pestering them to death. If he leaves them alone they will settle down and all will be well. And if not-" Again the shrug. "I will simply tell him he must obtain a coal black cock without a speck of white upon him. That should occupy him for a few moons."
Their next client was a heavyset young woman with a bad complexion and a red nose. She ventured through the door as if she was afraid that the two men would bite her. In one plump hand she held a handkerchief which looked as if it had seen recent use. Wiz decided that was a bad sign.
Llewllyn didn’t seem to notice. He rose and made a sweeping bow to their client. "Come in young lady. Please sit and tell us what has brought you to us."
The young woman twisted her hanky and bit her lip. "I don’t know," she said in an undertone. "It’s such a small thing, really."
Llewllyn’s smile grew even brighter. "There is no problem too small for us, dear lady. We are here to serve your every wish. Please be seated and tell us about it."
Thus encouraged the girl eased herself down into the chair.
"Well, I, I hardly know where to begin."
"Begin wherever you feel like, dear lady," Llewllyn said gently. "The magic will tell me the rest."
"There is the young man," the girl said in a low voice.
"Ah," Llewllyn nodded. "A special young man? Perhaps one who does not notice you?"
"How did you know?" the girl asked.
"Magic tells me many things. But do go on."
"Well," the girl relaxed in her chair, "he’s our neighbor you see…"
By the time Wiz left fifteen minutes later Llewllyn and the girl were head-to-head across the table. He hadn’t given her any advice that Wiz could see, just a lot of encouragement, but she seemed to think he had the answer to everything from her love life to the riddle of Dark Matter-or she would have if she’d known what Dark Matter was, Wiz thought.
Obviously his new assistant had a future in this end of the business. Now if Wiz could just keep him from bilking the customers or trying to practice unauthorized magic, he’d have one less thing to worry about.
That morning the director of the FBI had a lot of things to worry about. As her assistants filled her in on Clueless Pashley’s latest exploit, she stubbed out her cigarette and lit a new one. She was back up to a pack-and-a-half a day and headed rapidly for two packs. Her fingers were stained, her breath stank, she had burn holes in her clothes and twice she had nearly set her desk on fire when she missed an ash tray.
"Where is this clown now?" she asked Paul Rutherford when he finished his report.
"The local office bailed him out," her assistant said. "They’ve got him stashed in a safe house to keep him away from the newspapers."
This was a public relations disaster.
"Senator Halliburton’s office called this morning. His committee wants to hold hearings on violating civil rights in national security cases. This Judith Conally and the science fiction writer are going to be his star witnesses."
A public relations disaster and a political nightmare, the director amended. "Could this get any worse?"
"Only if Pashley gets back out on the street," Rutherford ventured. The director glared at him and he wilted. "Uh, no ma’am, I don’t think it’s likely to get much worse."
Unbidden a snatch of a country song came into the director’s head. You gotta know when to hold ’em, and know when to fold ’em. She hated country music.
"All right." She mashed out the half-smoked cigarette. "Settle!"
"Settle?"
"That writer’s case against us. Tell the Justice Department to settle with him. And settle with this Conally woman. Make apologies, blame it on a rogue agent. But settle."
"Ma’am," Rutherford said carefully, "that sets a very bad precedent."
"It will set a worse precedent if the director of the FBI murders an agent," she growled. "Just pay whatever it takes."
Seventeen: Invitation To an Auto-de-Fe
At --- Bullshit Is Our Most Important Product
graffiti on the lavatory wall
at a major consultantcy
Wiz got home just after noon to find the mayor sniffling on his doorstep. At first Wiz thought someone had died. Then His Honor produced a well-used handkerchief from his sleeve and blew his nose again.
Wiz invited the man in. As they crossed the threshold Malkin was just coming up from the kitchen. They eyed each other with mutual distaste for a moment and the mayor put a protective hand on his chain of office.
"You wanted to see me, Your Honor?" Wiz asked, as much to break the tension as anything else.
"I came to warn you, Wizard." He stopped, his face screwed up and he sneezed thunderously.
"What? That it’s pollen season?"
The mayor sniffled and wiped his watering eyes. "No, it’s Dieter. He’s moving against you in the council. At our next meeting, two days from today, he plans to call for your resignation."
There was nothing Wiz would have liked better than to resign. But since his resignation would doubtless be followed immediately by his condemnation to The Rock, it didn’t seem like a good idea to follow his desires.
The mayor looked even more like a basset hound than usual. "He’s gathering votes on the council. I’ll support you, of course, but it will be close, I’ll tell you that."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Could you perhaps be at the meeting? You know, talk to them the way you did before."
"Of course. Can you get me some time on the agenda before the vote?"
After the mayor departed, sniffling and mumbling, Malkin looked at her boss. "Well, O great Wizard, what are you going to do now?"
"I am going to do what any consultant does when he gets into trouble," Wiz said. "I am going to give a presentation."
Malkin snorted. "If I was you I’d give a thought to a quick escape. You heard the mayor. Dieter’s got enough votes on the council to have your guts for garters."
"Maybe now he does. But the council will have to take a formal vote and they won’t do that until they hear me out because there’s always the chance I’ll come up with a miracle. A successful presentation doesn’t just impart information. It changes attitudes."
"Look," Malkin said slowly and carefully, as if explaining something to a small and none-too-bright child, "Dieter wants to be cock of this dungheap and get more money from taxes. Ol’ Droopy wants to stay cock of the dungheap and he doesn’t want more taxes. Cross either one of them and you’re a dragon’s breakfast. Now how
in blazes is this presentation of yours going to change any of that?"
"Presentations don’t change things," Wiz said airily, "they just change perceptions."
"And just how do they do that?" she demanded.
"Generally by confusing the issue."
The tall girl chewed on that for a while. "Well," she said at last, "if you’re set on this, I want to be there when you make this presentation of yours."
Wiz quirked a smile. "An expression of loyalty?"
"No, I want to see which way it goes so I can get out of here while they’re still busy tearing you to pieces."
"Oh, it won’t come to that," Wiz assured her. I hope! "Before this is over I’ll have them eating out of my hand."
Malkin eyed him under raised brows. "Maybe, but my question is how many fingers you’re going to have left on that hand."
Bright colors and pretty pictures, Wiz thought. That’s the essence of a successful presentation. He looked at the code taking shape in glowing characters above his desk and sighed. Especially when you don’t have any content.
The conventional wisdom was that the more images, graphically displayed numbers and visual tricks you packed into a presentation, the more effective the presentation. Of course the logical implication of that is that the average executive has the attention span of a three-year-old and the analytical skills of a magpie. Normally Wiz would have found that a very depressing reflection. Just now it was comforting. The only thing standing between him and doom in an utterly impossible situation was his ability to sling creative bullshit.
It would certainly be well-illustrated bullshit. Using the spell Danny had developed so long ago and far away, he had set up an Internet connection back to what he still thought of as the "real world" and set an ftp demon to downloading graphics files from sites all around the world. He already had a library of hundreds of images and they were still coming in.
Even so, it was slow going. Wiz was the sort of programmer who had always preferred substance to form. Here the substance was that he had to use form to cover the fact that he had no substance. That meant writing a bunch of new tools. With the council meeting the day after tomorrow Wiz was going to have to bust his butt to save his neck.