Soul Music - Pragmatist

'Get them more than five miles from a decent tailor and a mirror, and they go all to pieces,' Clete added. He stared at the poster. 'Free,' he muttered. 'Did you put it about that anyone who plays at this Festival is right out of the Guild?'

'Yes, sir. I don't think they're worrying, sir. I mean, some of 'em have been getting together, sir. See, they say since there's a lot more people want to be musicians than we'll allow in the Guild then we should-'

'It's mob rule!' said Clete. 'Banding together to force unacceptable rules on a defenseless city!'

'Trouble is, sir,' said Satchelmouth, 'if there's a lot of them . . . if they think of talking to the palace . . . well, you know the Patrician, sir . . .'

Clete nodded glumly. Any Guild was powerful just so long as it self-evidently spoke for its constituency. He thought of hundreds of musicians flocking to the palace. Hundreds of nonGuild musicians . . .

The Patrician was a pragmatist. He never tried to fix things that worked. Things that didn't work, however, got broken. The only glimmer of hope was that they'd all be too busy messing around with music to think about the bigger picture. It had certainly worked for Clete.

Then he remembered that the blasted Dibbler man was involved. Expecting Dibbler not to think about anything concerning money was like expecting rocks not to think about gravity.

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Soul Music - p197