A problem . . .

It was the time before the coming of scribes, when history’s wisdom was held in memory and sung in rhyme. Then wisemen travelled the land trading their wisdom for food, lodging and coin.

It was a time of tribes and small landholdings with crops and livestock and goods produced for trade. Each clanhold was ruled by a chieftain called king or caliph, khan or kerent.

In one such kingdom, the Kerent was distraught. The harvest was weak and the lambs sickly. The pots made of clay from the river had sustained the tribe with trade, but now were deemed inferior to the shiny pots produced by the tribe to the north.

“Those shiny pots are junk,” barked the head potter. “The metal that makes them glint in the sun leaves holes around it in the firing and they leak.”

Nonetheless the main trade path bent north leaving the tribe with fewer traders and less red and yellow coin.

The Kerent’s son, a holdguard, said, “We should invade the northern kingdom and absorb their mines. The metal they produce might make better plows. They have few guards so we would shed little blood.”

The Kerent’s daughter, a storymother, said, “War will not grow our crops nor sell our pots. Rather, we must show the traders our pot’s superiority. Next year the harvest and the lambing may improve.”

The Kerent’s family and his advisers had many opinions, each argued with passion. He retired to his closet more distraught.

There was a small knock. “Father?” He smiled at the meek voice of his youngest daughter. “I don’t know if it will help but Gita said there are three wisemen staying at the inn.”

“Three wisemen travelling together? What magic is this, Min?”

“No Father, not travelling together. They came by different roads. They are causing a disturbance in the inn, each arguing the excellence of his work.”

“Well, never mind. Go. Summon them hither.”

Min ran to the inn, while the Kerent gathered his advisors in the roundhouse hall.

A request . . .

As Min neared the tavern she heard a raucous noise. She entered to find the three wisemen in dispute, while the clanfolk mocked them loudly.

“And the clan grew rapidly for all time after that. My wisdom saved the day!” said one wiseman.

“See there – that wiseman. He knows a thousand ways to love a woman, but cannot get a date,” said one clansman.

“And the tribe absorbed all the neighboring landholdings producing much coin and very few were killed,” said another wiseman.

“See that one over there,” said another clansman “You ask him the time and he borrows your sundial. When he leaves, you find the sundial gone with your coin.”

Min approached the wisemen. “Pardon, sirs. My father the Kerent would speak with you.”

“Which one of us, girl?”

“Why, all of you, sirs.”

“But we are not together. . .” started one.

“Our wisdom is quite different . . .” interrupted another.

“Come let us go,” said the oldest. “The client, this kerent, asked for us all. Let us not disappoint.”

The two younger ones retired to their closets to put on their finest robes. The old man asked Min, “So what is happening that the Kerent wishes to see us?”

A short time later when the young wisemen returned, they heard the old man saying to Min, “And people are leaving the clanhold?” As Min nodded, the old man turned and complimented each of the younger men on their finery.

In the hall . . .

When the wisemen arrived they found the hall full, but the Kerent was not yet in attendance. Some sweet meats and fruit had been laid out and the two younger wiseman made for the table.

Min tugged the older man’s sleeve and introduced him to her brother Gov, the guard, and sister Gita, the storymother. Then she followed as he seemed to wander aimlessly about the room talking with people at random, exchanging pleasantries and asking some pointed questions.

The younger wisemen ate their fill at the sweetmeat table and stood apart in the hall. Each mumbled to himself, perhaps practicing a speech.

When the Kerent arrived, seats were provided for the three wisemen. The two younger wisemen sat, loudly thanking the Kerent. The older wiseman thanked the person who brought the stool and nodded thanks to the Kerent before taking his seat. Min, who had been standing next to the old man, slipped onto the bench next to her father.

The Kerent rose and told the story of the difficulties. “Crops failed…. The lamb birthing was hard…. The lactation of the ewes uneven…. The northern clan’s glinty pots stole the tribe’s trade…. What do you recommend, wisemen three?

Proposal . . .

The first young wiseman rose straightening his indigo robes.

“First, to be clear, we are not together. We have only just met at the inn. I am Micah of the house of Marihn, our wisdom goes back five generations.”

 He spoke of his pedigree, the illustrious clans he served and the success of his cases. His approach was based upon his past successes. “We will meld our wisdom with the specifics of your circumstances and produce ‘The Plan,’ which, as you listen to its song and rigorously follow it, will produce the results you desire.”

The young wiseman was a powerful speaker. Looking around the room many heads were nodding including the Kerent’s daughter Gita. When he finished some applauded.

The Kerent asked “How much for such a plan?”

“One hundred yellow coins and seventy red ones.” Someone gasped.

Another . . .

The Kerent turned to the next wiseman whose dazzling robe had a yellow metal thread woven through it.

“What say you young yellow robes? What caused our problem and what should we do?”

“I shall answer Great Kerent. I am Tychin. My wisdom is often called the future of all wisdom.”

Tychin told of his metal-tipped plows and unique seeds, his sheep bladder gloves to assist in lamb birth, his messaging systems of horns and code to communicate with shepherds in the hills, and his metal thread, like that in his robes that could be used to decorate the clan’s “functional, but drab pottery.”

The potter snorted, but there were many nods especially among the younger clanfolk, including the Kerent’s son Gov.

“Do you have any weapons among these tools?” Gov asked.

“”Yes, made from a new metal that mixes the red metal with a grey metal from across the sea. The alloy is very strong and holds a sharp edge!”

“And how much do these new things cost?” asked the Kerent.

Yellow robe recited a price list he never totaled, but Min, who was proud of her new skill at “sums,” whispered in her father’s ear, “If you buy it all, it will be over two hundred yellow coins.”

“And will you teach my people how to use these new tools?”

“Oh, the tools are self-explanatory, Great Kerent. But if your folk cannot learn them I will provide user training at the end. Of course, that would be extra.”

The Kerent stroked his chin. He seemed ready to leave the hall, when Min tugged at his robe and nodded toward the older wiseman still sitting quietly on his stool.

“What of you, grandfather?” he huffed. “What do you think caused our problems and what should we do about them?”

The last . . .

“I do not know, sir. I have only just arrived in your clanhold. I have seen many problems in my years walking the clay, but I have learned that while there are some similarities between them, each problem is each unique. May I ask you a question?”

The Kerent nodded.

“How was the weather this year? Was it unusually hot or cold?” The Kerent shook his head thoughtfully.

“Have you changed anything in how you worked this year?

The Kerent nodded. “The shepherds moved their summer pasture up the river.”

“And we ran out of the clay by the village and started with a new patch up river,” blurted the potter.

 “Ah. How do people feel about these problems?”

“How do they feel?! How should I know?”

“We might ask some, but are there any indications?”

“Some people complain, some are leaving the clanhold. Questions, questions, questions!” said the Kerent. “When are you going to tell us what the problem is and what we have to do?”

“As I said, sir, I don’t know what the problem is nor what caused it. . . yet. If I were able to determine that so quickly you surely would already know the answer, for you and your people are smart and I am just an old man, but. . .”

“Yes?”

“If you will feed and house me for a year, pay two yellow coins per month to be placed in a jar. . and if you assign your children, the potter, a shepherd and a metalworker to work with me. . . I believe I can help to reverse this kingdom’s misfortune.”

“For just room and board and twenty-four yellow coins?” asked the Kerent.

“Well, no. The coins are your commitment to work with me. If at any time during the first nine months you decide you no longer require my services, I will take what is in the jar and depart. After nine months you must commit to let me complete our work together.

“At year’s end we will look at your clanhold’s fortunes compared to how we account for them when we begin. If your fortunes are up, you will pay me twenty percent of what they are up or the coins in the jar, whichever is greater. If they are the same or down, pay me the amount in the jar less what they are down.”

Micah snorted, “The old man just wants a place to live for a year.” People laughed.

“No one can solve this using the same old tools?” Tychin sneered. The crowd murmured

The Kerent drew himself up to his full height and said, “I have heard your proposals. I will consult with my advisors and let you know in the morning. Your lodging, food, and drink at the inn will be paid by the clanhold.”

Gita the storymother walked over to Micah. Gov the clanguard walked over to Tychin. The old wiseman seemed to wander aimlessly around the room talking to people at random. Min quietly slipped her hand into her father’s and kept pace with him as he strode from the hall.

 

From the storyfather. . .

I end this fable before the decision because, in the “real world,” there are clients who would hire the pedigreed strategy consultant, those who would hire the innovative technology consultant and those who would hire the process consultant. These are not mutually exclusive or collectively exhaustive categories, but they do suggest preferences for solving problems.

What do you think the Kerent will decide? Would you make the same decision?