Looking through my traffic results, I see there is renewed interest in the school rankings for Online MBAs. That tells me it’s time to get back to work and prepare the 2012 list, but it also reminds me to discuss the importance of such schools. Obviously, people go to school to earn degrees that make them more desirable to employers, for better positions and higher pay, but the decision should also be made in recognition of becoming much more effective at our work.
I’ve been reading George Friedman’s work, “The Next 100 Years”, which includes his opinion that the United States will dominate the century, not only because of our military and geopolitical standing, but also because of our business. That’s important for us, because it means that even if you want to become effective in international business, you have to first master the fundamentals of American business. The Master of Business Administration (MBA) degree, therefore, is not just a key to senior management posts, but is also a critical tool in helping your business gain long-term competitive advantage.
So, how does American dominance translate to your own career? First off, consider that (using Friedman’s data) the U.S. has about 4 percent of the world’s population, but creates 26 percent of all good and services, and 26 percent of the world’s GDP. The U.S. is far and away the world’s largest country for industrial production, is still one of the world’s largest energy producers, and is under-populated by global standards. Friedman says that an economy consists of land, labor, and capital, and on all three counts the U.S. is in very strong condition.
Now, it is true that the credit rating of the United States took a hit last year; as I work with credit analysis in my job, this is a point which must be counted with a lot of weight. But in context, always in context. The credit rating downgrade came from the behavior of the federal government, not the nation as a whole. When President Obama said the U.S. was and would always be a “triple-A” nation, he was correct – but he was also ducking the abysmal lack of responsibility by the federal government. The impact of the credit downgrade, then, comes in two parts. First, no matter how well an individual business is run, that business will be subject to penalties and disadvantages according to how it’s home country runs its policies and pays its own debts. That is tied to the second part; whenever a government messes up, the people will have to pay for the repairs and clean-up, and usually governments do this by punishing corporations, on the lie that penalizing large businesses which employ many people will somehow spare people the cost. History proves rather the opposite, but few politicians will ever admit this, especially since so few politicians have actually worked in or run a private-sector business. In short, success will always be desirable but great success will certainly make you a target for government powers seeking to get someone else to pay for their own blunders. As a result, major corporations will of necessity have to staff their teams with tax professionals able to address the sometimes ridiculous demands from government. This in no means that a company should evade taxes or seek to avoid paying an appropriate amount. In addition to the fact that government tax authorities have vast resources to pursue and punish cheats, the history of business also shows that paying too little also brings a cost in brand recognition and loss of goodwill. The point, though, is that paying too much in taxes does not improve the brand or make customers like you better; quite the opposite. Paying too much in taxes invariably forces a company to raise its prices, harming competitive advantage, and paying too much in taxes just makes your executives look stupid. Also, I should not need to mention that the government is far from eager to refund overpaid taxes, especially when a company does not realize its error.
Coming back to our own focus of interest, managers exist to get things done. Knowing that many companies are multi-national now, the globalization question is pertinent, but also must be folded into the acknowledgement of American dominance. By that I mean the understanding that American business practices are generally accepted worldwide as a standard, to the point that many elite businessmen come to U.S. universities and send their children here to learn business management. It means that Codes of Conduct and Mission Statements will generally have an American flavor to them, even in China and Russia, Brazil and India. It means that the exemplars of business excellence will continue to have names like Exxon Mobil, Kraft, and AT&T. Part of it comes from the long history of American business success, part from the dominance of U.S. business school doctrine, and part from the sheer optimism and energy of American strategy. For the foreseeable future, if you want to succeed globally, think American.
So how to do so as a manager? There are a lot of companies with poor management, for simple but foolish reasons. One example is the practice dubbed the Peter Principle, which promotes people who do a given job to a level above it, until they reach a level they cannot handle. The obvious correction for that is to peer-review managers and include regular training and refreshers for each tier of authority. Another common problem is allowing managers to build silos, preventing cooperation and also denying employees advancement opportunities through other departments and shutting down critical feedback for fear of losing image to executives. The correction there is a more active HR presence, especially by creating career paths for employees to encourage development and moral investment in the company future. Also, managers can help themselves by making sure their staff have access to opportunities. Rather than hurting the manager’s position, acting as mentor and providing support for promotion helps the manager nurture relationships outside his own group and department, not only be helping employees advance in the company, but also providing a talent resource for other managers. In this way the company thrives, inter-department cooperation is excellent, employees see proof of career opportunity and the manager who makes it happen gains trust and support from his team. A manager exists to make things work, and to do so more effectively. Sometimes that means seeking efficiency, but more often it means you need a leader with practical experience who knows from his own work what will and will not produce the desired results. Therefore, the goal should be to seek finding such people as managers, and to be such people ourselves.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
A Thief in Amber (6th draft - still really rough )
Some people are hard to kill. I don’t mean the moral decision to kill, but the difficulty in getting someone to die, who is stubbornly opposed to the idea. Some people are hard to kill because they are physically tough, some have one of those spirits that refuses to quit, and some are just plain durable.
And some spirits exist for the fight.
It was in the early days, before all the betrayals and family intrigues … OK, we always had those going on, but this was back in the days when we still imagined that we played by the rules. You couldn’t attempt to murder a sibling then, without at least feigning innocence, and alliance with genocidal maniacs was only allowed if said monsters were friends of Oberon.
So, when word got out that someone or something was making its way through the halls of Castle Amber at night, killing members of the staff and generally hurting the castle’s reputation for fine dining and keeping folks safe from threats to their safety, the family decided it was time to take matters in hand. And, being expected to take the lead, I did so.
Oberon, as he commonly did, was traveling and away from Amber. Caine and Gerard were at sea and therefore also unavailable. Dierdre and Llewellen on a diplomatic mission for the Golden Circle, Brand, Random and Eric were out of the city for reasons not known to anyone else in the family, or if known not shared with me. That, of course, was also a reason for me to take charge; it would gall Eric no end if I could resolve things before he even heard about them … and give me no end of amusement if I could find a way to suggest he was somehow responsible for the problem. I was in those years when I was trying to show up everyone else, and convinced I looked good doing it. So it was that four princes and two princesses gathered for dinner, as we often did when we wanted to discuss issues of importance, and to imagine ourselves civilized.
The food was fine. The conversation, however, was wholly unsatisfying. It soon became apparent that none of us knew what was really going on, had any idea who or what was behind the attacks, and no one wanted to appear as helpless as we all felt.
After dinner, we all went to the library for drinks, and a second try at strategy. That fell apart as soon we chose our drinks. I watched as we chose different drinks, then different seats. Hell, we weren’t even looking at each other. I tried logic, first sitting with Benedict, who usually presented the best plan for dealing with any threat to Amber, but Benedict was even less talkative than usual. I followed with Julian, who was still angry with me for a prior disagreement, and he refused to even acknowledge my presence.
And so it went until I came to Fiona.
I knew something was about, when she smiled at my approach. Fiona and I never shared amusements or ideals, so a smile from her could only come at my cost. It also struck as strange that she seemed to be enjoying the present crisis. Was she its instigator, or if not, what was the source of her pleasure in this moment? I chose a drink, a seat, and a gambit.
“Hello Fiona,” I said. “You couldn’t just kill your enemies in a duel, like anyone else in the family?”
Fiona glared at me for a moment, then that smile returned as she realized – all too quickly – that I was just trying to draw her out.
“You play at things you do not understand, Corwin,” she answered. “As usual.
“I have no interest in your word games, and I must say I disapprove of your manners, and their lack.”
“I am not playing a game here” I protested, “but hunting the cause and source of our present threat. It is an elusive bird, truth, one which seems to be hidden by at least one of our princesses.”
Fiona smirked and replied, “Whereas wit is a bird that eludes the hand of rather too many princes.”
I shrugged. “Your disapproval concerns me even less than usual, Fi. All things considered.”
She tossed her head, red hair like a fall of flame. “Yet, perhaps it should. All things considered.”
I did things with my own eyebrows, emptied my glass, swung my boots down from the table, and headed for the door.
She chuckled, behind me.
I stopped, refrained from turning, and waited. Fiona could never resist showing the rest of us that she was a step ahead. Or pretending to be.
“You are wearing your blade,” she said. “Good.”
I went out, uttering no clever comments. With at least three murderous ghosts stalking Castle Amber, the time for such things was past.’
Hours passed, as I waited with blade drawn and senses wary, sitting in the hallway outside a row of rooms where I thought an appearance most likely by one or more of our homicidal specters.
I guessed wrong. The most dangerous thing to pass my way that night was an odor wafting from Julian’s room. I could pretend it was some feral scent from our nocturnal attackers, but I am sure it was simply the unwashed aroma of a pair of his dogs. In any case, I saw no spirits floating about, encountered no need to use my weapon, and generally felt like I was wasting my time.
Until I heard Flora scream. Down another hall, and far from my chosen station. Naturally. Or un-naturally. Whatever.
I felt damn foolish as I ran towards Flora’s room, hoping my missed guess would not be a costly mistake.
Fortunately, the volume of Flora’s shouts was not matched by actual peril. That is, Flora was not a passive screamer; when assailed by spirits coming at her, as she claimed, from within the walls, she not only cried for help but began throwing things at her attackers. It was hard to tell if any of them was some effective weapon, or the sheer volume of makeup, jewelry, hair care items and mirrors had thwarted their aggression. For all I knew, Flora had surprised them as much as they surprised her. There was no way to be sure. For the moment, we all relaxed in the discovery that our disembodied attackers seemed able to make mistakes, and we felt more confident that we ourselves were perhaps immune to their threat.
Then Bleys found Julian, more than half-dead in his quarters. Julian did not appear for breakfast, and Bleys was the first to check his rooms. I began to wonder why I had not heard anything from my vigilance post, and why Julian’s dogs had done nothing to defend him.
Also, for some reason Julian had not worn his armor the previous night. That cost him. He had been attacked from behind, as was evident by the burn marks on his back. He had fought off his attackers, but his arms, back, and legs were badly burned. I wished I could ask Julian what he had seen, and how he had fought off his assailants, but he was in a coma from his injuries, or the same thing for practical purposes. Benedict saw to his wounds and set a guard to door, with instructions to call him the instant Julian awoke – or anything appeared that might be the spirit murderers coming to finish the job.
I was not friendly with Julian, but an attack on family trumped personal arguments. Besides, just as I stood to gain from Eric’s humiliation if I could solve a mystery he was not around to handle, so too I would suffer my own humiliation if I could not resolve the problem right in front of me – and if a brother prince died on my watch, especially one I was not close to, I could count on Eric making me pay for it. And Father had made it clear that he counted fratricide as unforgivable. Failing to protect a brother was guilt by omission, and I knew that no defense I could present would clear me unless Julian lived. And I resolved the mystery and destroyed the threat.
I spoke to Benedict again, and – while cryptic – his comments included suggestions on where I might try my next vigil, and when I might expect to meet my foes.
It was very late, or rather early, before one of the walls opened in a place where it should not have done, and something that was both silver and shadow joined me.
Grayswandir felt good in my hand as I put down what I was finished drinking anyway, and waited.
Patience, they say, is a chiefly a virtue for statues, but I’d made more than my share of mistakes, thus far, and blood is hell to get out of good rugs.
Came a whisper, out of darkness. “Corwin, is it time?”
A fight for my life, I expected. Temporal confusion from the spooks, I have to admit, I did not see coming.
“No, go back to sleep,” I tried. OK, not a brilliant strategy, but I was tired and didn’t expect the question anyway.
There was a moment of silence, then the forms began to take shape. I expected something, I don’t know, human-like and perhaps demonic. These were, after all, undead spirits seeking to kill the living. Nor was I wrong.
Not exactly.
The attackers swirled into the room like sentient fog, and quickly surrounded me. I suddenly realized something was behind me, taking more substantial shape, and – I felt dread rush up my spine – preparing to strike me the same it had attacked Julian.
Something like lightning flashed, and surprised me. Mostly because the lightning came from inside the room … from Grayswandir.
I jumped to my feet, swinging up Grayswandir with one arm as I threw the book behind me into the – face? – of my posterior assailant. I heard the book smack into something, which swore as if hurt, and I pivoted, putting my back against the wall while swinging my sword into a guard position. Then I stopped.
That was a mistake.
The spirits, once the sword, stopped moving, resumed their attack, and I felt a crackle of something hot shoot past my head, striking the wall hard as if a crossbow bolt. Something else, like a burning lasso, wrapped my boots and tried to trip me. I hopped reflexively, brought my sword up again and swung it about me as if trying to burn cobwebs with a torch.
And shadows fled before me, and I was alone.
My book was on the floor, blackened. Damn. I watched lightning flicker and wondered if I would ever know what I fought, or why. Family politics seemed as tiresome as ever.
Three ghosts, Benedict had said, and had been on the brink of saying more ere his face had smoothed and he’d turned away.
Which meant he’d recognized the one he’d seen.
So had the lamplighter, before the ghost that slew him caught up with him and burned his skull bare, from within.
Coln had died, before that, and one of the cooks. Seven maids, or more by now, since.
Then they started on us. Flora had almost fallen to one, and then Julian. Almost.
We’re tough meat, we of Amber.’
Speaking of meat, I found myself famished. Deciding between preparing for a second round with the spooks, alerting the rest of the family to my attack, and getting an early breakfast, the stomach spoke with the greatest authority. Besides, I was somehow sure the attack for the night was done, and I needed to think through what had just happened before I spoke to anyone else. If one of us was behind the attacks, I had no intention of giving out thoughts on how to make sure I was properly killed next time.
I made my way to the kitchen and found it empty, as I hoped it would be. A half-dozen eggs, some cheese, ham and the appropriate spices produced a passable omelet, which I ate with coffee I made while I thought over the attack. I’m a good enough cook, but the quality of thoughts I considered diminished my appetite a bit.
I realized that I had to share my encounter, with at least one person. The attacks on Flora, then Julian so close afterwards showed that anyone could be next, and I had to help protect the innocent. If only I could be sure none among us was the guilty …
I decided on Benedict. He had shared the plan to catch out the spirits, so I already owed him a report on the attack for that reason. Also, he was the least likely to try a sneak attack on any of us – and if he had, his victims would not have survived. No, this was not Benedict’s trick, whatever it was.
I found him sitting with Julian. Julian remained still and lifeless, to all appearances. Enough to make his usual loquacity and stiff behavior seem positive ebullient. Benedict was not much more enthusiastic. I think I knew why. Julian was not so strong as some of us, but a prince of Amber should not be laid low this easily by anything. He seemed not to be resting, so much as lying helpless. That could be any one of us, even Benedict, and I could see that in Benedict’s thin, grim face.
“No change, Corwin,” said Benedict, as I entered the bedroom.
“So I see,” I answered. “But I have news for you.”
I handed Benedict the scorched book from my encounter as he rose from his seat. He looked at it, then met my eyes with his own.
“You encountered them, then?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Yes, but unlike you, I did not recognize any of them” I said, watching for a reaction to my observation. But Benedict remained solemn and still, as was his usual mood, even in happier times.
I waited for him to speak, but Benedict simply held my gaze, and after a moment. I continued.
“Yes, I was attacked,” I said. “Where you said they would likely be, and only an hour or so after the time you predicted. Which makes me curious, of course, how you knew …?”
I somehow expected Benedict to smile at being prescient, but he remained solemn. I also expected him to provide more helpful information, but I was wrong on that count as well.
“What do you know about this, Corwin?” asked Benedict, his left hand casually resting on the hilt of a dagger he had on his belt. There was no menace in his tone, but Benedict was clear in his meaning.
“Of the attacks? Nothing to speak of, Benedict.” I replied. “I told you my thoughts the last time we spoke, and I am trying to free us from who or whatever is attacking us.”
“Convenient, though,” remarked Benedict, “that you were the closest to Julian of us all, and yet you saw and heard nothing when he was attacked.”
“I know,” I protested, “and you know I would have arranged an alibi if I were going to attack Julian. Like, say, being away from Amber during the attacks?”
Benedict shook his head in irritation.
“Don’t start that stupid game again, of plots and intrigue, Corwin.”
“I won’t,” I replied, “as long as you agree to stop accusing me of being behind the attacks I’m trying to stop.”
Benedict sighed.
“All right,” he agreed. “But you were attacked, yourself, yet you have not yet told me about it.”
So I did. Including my reluctance to trust the full story to anyone in our family who might be the plotter behind the ghosts.
Benedict sighed again.
“I hate to agree with you on this, Corwin” he said, “but I sense that these attacks are part of something larger.
“And until we find a way to stop it, our danger will only grow.”
“So how do you think you escaped –” Benedict stopped and glanced down at Julian’s unmoving figure.
“Grayswandir” I said simply. “They’re afraid of it, for some reason.”
I remembered something just then.
“And I think Fiona knows they are afraid of it.” I continued. “The evening before Flora and Julian were attacked, she commented on my blade.”
Benedict grimly nodded.
“Go speak to Fiona” he said. We rose together, and he stopped for a moment in thought.
“Be direct,” he advised, “She will think she’s ahead of us, and she might be, but she might lose some of her nerve if you give her reason to think she could have missed something important.
“Good luck, Corwin” said Benedict. “Call me on my trump if you need me, but no matter what, be careful.
“Your blade may help protect you from these ghosts, but you still have to find the hand behind the spirit.” With that, Benedict turned his attention back to Julian.
But Fiona had anticipated more than my fight with the ghosts. Her room was empty, but she left a note in a sealed envelope addressed to me.
Of course, being Fiona, she had put a spell on the envelope which prevented anyone from opening it without saying the right phrase. I tried the normal and predictable phrases I knew she had used in the past to goad brothers and sisters, and since it was addressed to me I included ones she had taunted me with, like ‘Fiona is wise, Corwin tells lies’, that kind of thing. A tired and juvenile game, but Fiona liked to play that kind of thing often.
But this time there were no such games. Fiona had laughed the last time we spoke, but it seemed her mood had changed by the time she wrote her note. I called up Benedict on his trump and explained the situation. He had no advice except to tell me to keep trying.
I kept at it for more than an hour, then threw down the envelope muttering, “I give up”.
The seal appeared and broke on the envelope. I seized it and pulled out the note.
‘Corwin, hello’ began the note. ‘That you are reading this proves either that I am a great fool and feared for no good cause, or that you are as strong as I believed … or as lucky.
‘I have left the Eternal City for the present, because the forces you fight are as unpredictable as they are strong. I know them well enough to give you information, and well enough to flee them while they present a threat to us all. My craft and skills are useless as weapons against them. You, however, have the means to resolve the matter, and sufficient luck that I trust you will survive. I have bet much on your success.’
I smiled grimly at Fiona’s confidence in betting my life on the matter.
‘Trust your sword but not your brothers’, the note continued, and I chuckled at Fiona repeating such a well-known maxim among us, ‘except one whose sword suits the need even better than your own. Ask him nicely …’
I stopped and pondered for a moment who the hell Fiona could mean, then went back to the last part of the note.
‘… and strike you both one step to the LEFT of where you normally aim. Strike twice, but not at yourself.
‘Good luck, Corwin.’
If I did not know her better, that last line would have made me wonder about Fiona’s state of mind. I handed the note to Benedict, rather than have to read those instructions out loud.
Benedict read the note twice, or else slowly, then looked me in the eye.
“She wrote this for you, Corwin. Any idea how she knew you’d be the one to find it?”
“None.” I replied. “Anymore than how she knew you’d be here.”
“She wrote nothing of me” protested Benedict.
“I think she did” I said. “That line about a sword better-suited than my own. With Eric and Brand not here, she has to have meant you.”
Benedict paused in thought for a moment, then nodded sharply.
“Actually, Corwin, she might know my weapons better than I do – at least one of them. I know of a blade which might help here, but I am surprised that Fiona would know of it.”
“She seems to know a lot more than she is revealing,” I commented . “Is that blade of your accessible?”
“Oddly, yes” said Benedict. “Fiona asked about it just last week, when all of this was still largely unknown for the threat it has become.
“It makes me wonder how she considered the threat,” he pondered. “As much as I hate to cast suspicion, Corwin, this point concerns me.”
“I also wonder,” I agreed, careful not to go further with my thoughts. I could not help but wonder, though, if my sister had not started something she found she could not control.
Benedict stopped to Julian’s door, said a few words and handed something small to the guards he had posted. Then he strode away, ostensibly to collect the blade he mentioned.
As I stood in the hall thinking what to do next, I heard a noise, and realized Julian was stirring. As I went to his doorway, one guard moved to stop me but the other waved him away, saying Benedict had cleared me.
“But no one else,” I heard him warn, as I entered Julian’s room.
Julian was conscious, and aware of his injuries. Every other word seemed an oath as he took stock of his condition. He attempted to get out of bed, then quickly thought better of that idea. As he settled back into bed, Julian noticed me for the first time.
“Here to gloat?” he inquired.
“Not at all,” I assured him. “I’m glad you’re going to be OK.”
Julian groaned.
“After I can move without searing pain, I might come to share that opinion,” he muttered. “For now I count myself glad to have survived the experience.”
“What can you tell me?,” I asked, deciding not to mention my own attack.
Julian opened his mouth, then closed it.
“I am not sure I am ready to discuss that,” he said.
“Even with lives at risk?” I countered.
“Even so,” said Julian. He held my gaze for a few moments, then closed his eyes and sighed.
“Look, Corwin,” said Julian, “I can’t say I like you, and I have reason to be wary of who may be behind all this.
“I am especially vulnerable just now, even with Benedict’s protection.”
“What if I can help?” I asked.
“You don’t know what you are saying,” retorted Julian. “I can hold my own against any man, I warrant, but if you had faced what I had to face, you would better understand what you are against.”
“But he has,” broke in Benedict, who had returned to the room. “This is one reason I trust him in this.”
“I see no injuries on Corwin” responded Julian. “Convenient, don’t you think, that our brother here could escape unscathed, the spirits which have killed many and almost killed me.”
“Fiona supports Corwin,” answered Benedict.
Julian stared at Benedict, then shook his head.
“No offense, Benedict, but it would mean more to me to hear that from Fiona herself.”
“She is not here,” answered Benedict, “but she left a note for Corwin, and I have read it. Fiona trusts Corwin.”
Julian barked a short, harsh laugh.
“Fiona trusts no one, brother – surely you know that by now.”
“In this,” returned Benedict, “she does.”
Julian said nothing for a few moments, and Benedict and I stood by as well rather than break into his thoughts. Julian stared holes into me with his cold, blue eyes, but I held my silence, as did Benedict.
“One thing,” said Julian, when he was ready to speak again, “I have to know, is just how Corwin faced these ghosts and is no worse for the encounter, yet the ghosts remain.”
“The same reason,” broke in Benedict before I could answer, “that I faced them myself early on, yet could not resolve the matter then.
“These are not honorable enemies, to take risk along with opportunity, but more on the level of jackals, striking when they have the chance, but fleeing if the moment turns against them.”
Julian peered at Benedict with renewed suspicion.
“I heard that this happened,” he said, “but disbelieved it because I know you are more efficient, than to leave an enemy standing after the fight.”
Benedict shrugged.
“You have seen how they move, how they attack.” he reminded Julian. “If we knew their lair, I would attack right now.
“But we lack enough information, partly -” Benedict stopped and looked at me pointedly before turning back to Julian – “partly because we have not been open enough with each other about what we have encountered.”
Julian looked uncomfortable, Benedict looked concerned, and I tried my best to hide my confusion. All three of us had been attacked, but I could not imagine what I knew that I had not told to Benedict. That implied that Benedict believed that I and Julian knew something about the matter that we had kept private, and that he had withheld that same information from the family but believed Julian and I were in on his secret.
Julian stared hard at Benedict.
“Are you saying that we should tell the rest of the family that Osric and Finndo have come back to haunt us?” demanded Julian.
Oh, my. Julian’s question threw a switch in my mind and turned on a light. One of my attackers had looked like family, and now I thought on it could well have been the form of the late Osric. Come to that, Finndo was fond of using a crossbow, and the shot taken at me in our brief contest had sounded like a bolt hitting the wall.
Benedict looked uneasily at the door.
“If they have, then they are truly ghosts,” he said. “I saw them die, many years ago.”
Benedict seemed about to say more, but stopped himself. Julian and I looked at each other, then Julian said to Benedict, “If we are to be open, I should hope you would also choose to share what you know, brother.”
Benedict sighed.
“It’s not really relevant, and I have never shared what happened in that war.”
He turned away from us, as if to leave, but stopped, still facing away.
“If I come to believe that the way Osric and Finndo died is important to resolving this situation, then I will tell you directly.
“For now, I can only ask you to trust my judgment, that their appearance means something else.”
Again Julian and I looked at each other. Neither of us was happy about it, but Benedict, aside from Gerard, was the most trustworthy of us, and in any case neither Julian nor I could do much to compel Benedict to share his secrets. Damning, though, that we were once again at an impasse.
For some reason, there was no attack that night. Of course, we had no sleep, since we could not know we would be left alone, and by morning we were ragged and ill-tempered. Benedict had suggested that Flora leave the palace for a time, which was received with ill grace. But since the suggestion came from Benedict, she agreed to take up residence temporarily in a chateau near Arden. Bleys and I agreed to meet after breakfast with Benedict and Julian, to give ourselves the illusion of planning and action, though I still had little idea how we should proceed.
Julian was healing well, I saw, and looked better rested than the rest of us. Benedict seemed to be thinking the same thing, as I caught him make a small, wry, grin, as he took his seat next to Julian’s bed.
“Well, Julian,” began Bleys, “It looks as if you are most fit of us at the moment.
“Are you ready for battle, then?”
Julian did not smile at Bleys’ quip, but silently reached to his left where, concealed by a blanket, he had a loaded crossbow ready.
“Brother, those look to be silver” remarked Benedict.
“Aye,” answered Julian softly. “All things considered, we may need this much and more.”
“We may have something more,” I suggested. Julian looked up at me, and I looked pointedly at Benedict. Benedict said nothing for a moment, as if thinking a decision through, then nodded and said “Perhaps we do. I take it, Corwin, you mean the Scythe of Scissus?”
“I think I do,” I replied. “We’re never going to win, just waiting on them to come to us.
“So, once brother Julian is up to it, I suggest the four of us hunt down the three of them.”
“But to do that,” said Julian, “we have to know how to find them.”
“I have an idea how we can do that,” I answered, staring hard at Bleys. Bleys looked surprised for a moment, then glanced away.
“Corwin, a word in private, if you will,” he asked.
Benedict and Julian were surprisingly agreeable to this request, probably because I surprised them by implying we could find our attackers. Bleys and I exited the room and made our way down the hall to a parlor with no one nearby. I gestured to a seat then sat at the same time as Bleys. I then waited for him to speak first.
He did not want to, I could see, hoping I would reveal something, but since Bleys had asked for the conference, the weight was on him and we both knew it. The question, hanging in the air, was how much did I know, and how much did Bleys believe he could keep hidden?
“How did you know?” Bleys finally ventured.
“For one thing,” I answered, “you are the only one of us here who has not yet been attacked.
“For another, you and Fiona clearly knew more than you let on.
“So, the decision to be made,” I said sternly, “is whose side you are on.”
“Damn it Corwin,” yelled Bleys, “that’s a rotten thing to suggest-”
“But true, near as I can tell,” I retorted. “If you are with us, Bleys, it is time to carry your weight. You know how to find these specters, and our survival may well depend on us hunting them down before they hunt us down again.”
Bleys and I stared at each other for a long time, before he dropped his gaze to the floor. He then waited some more, either trying to decide what he could conceal, or how to explain what he knew. Either way, I knew Bleys was, as always, putting himself first in priority.
“You understand the concept of the Ouija Board?” he asked. I nodded.
“Well, some of us –” Bleys stopped as if he expected me to ask who was involved, but I said nothing – “some of us began to wonder if you could do the same thing with Trumps.”
“You don’t need a spirit guide to contact people through the Trumps” I said.
“You do if they are dead,” answered Bleys. And I suddenly understood.
“You son of a bitch,” I muttered. “You called up Osric and Findo, didn’t you?
“That’s why we keep seeing them.
“So what did you say that made them angry?”
“Well …” Bleys hesitated, “at first they seemed happy that we remembered them. But they shortly became angry with us, especially when their master became involved.”
“Their master?” I inquired, though it rang a bell. There had been three of them, and one certainly seemed to direct and lead the others.
“So what’s their beef?” I asked Bleys. “They weren’t exactly speaking to me when they attacked, just the banal bit of trying to kill me.
“I’m pretty sure I never said or did anything to offend or provoke our departed predecessor siblings.”
Bleys nodded. “It’s the influence of their master,” he confirmed.
“And who is that?” I demanded.
“I don’t know his name,” protested Bleys, “but he seems to have known Oberon … as an enemy. And he poisoned the minds and spirit of Osric and Finndo against him, and against us as well.”
“How did you learn this?” I asked, “And why did you not want to speak in front of Benedict and Julian?”
“Because of Benedict,” answered Bleys. “They really hate him, and I think he has been their target all along, once they realized they could not get to Oberon.”
“They can’t get to Oberon?” I repeated. “Why not?”
“They are limited to the castle grounds,” answered Bleys. “The magic that brought them here has limits. They cannot leave the castle grounds, they must kill or harm to gain power, and they fear silver and the early powers.”
Bleys gaze fell to Grayswandir as he said that last part.
“So my sword can protect me?” I asked.
“Only at night,” warned Bleys. “You’d need Brand’s blade to be protected during the day.
“Fortunately, the specters prefer to attack at night.”
“Fortunately?” I asked him, thinking of the earlier victims.
“For our purposes, yes” answered Bleys coldly.
[ to be continued …]
And some spirits exist for the fight.
It was in the early days, before all the betrayals and family intrigues … OK, we always had those going on, but this was back in the days when we still imagined that we played by the rules. You couldn’t attempt to murder a sibling then, without at least feigning innocence, and alliance with genocidal maniacs was only allowed if said monsters were friends of Oberon.
So, when word got out that someone or something was making its way through the halls of Castle Amber at night, killing members of the staff and generally hurting the castle’s reputation for fine dining and keeping folks safe from threats to their safety, the family decided it was time to take matters in hand. And, being expected to take the lead, I did so.
Oberon, as he commonly did, was traveling and away from Amber. Caine and Gerard were at sea and therefore also unavailable. Dierdre and Llewellen on a diplomatic mission for the Golden Circle, Brand, Random and Eric were out of the city for reasons not known to anyone else in the family, or if known not shared with me. That, of course, was also a reason for me to take charge; it would gall Eric no end if I could resolve things before he even heard about them … and give me no end of amusement if I could find a way to suggest he was somehow responsible for the problem. I was in those years when I was trying to show up everyone else, and convinced I looked good doing it. So it was that four princes and two princesses gathered for dinner, as we often did when we wanted to discuss issues of importance, and to imagine ourselves civilized.
The food was fine. The conversation, however, was wholly unsatisfying. It soon became apparent that none of us knew what was really going on, had any idea who or what was behind the attacks, and no one wanted to appear as helpless as we all felt.
After dinner, we all went to the library for drinks, and a second try at strategy. That fell apart as soon we chose our drinks. I watched as we chose different drinks, then different seats. Hell, we weren’t even looking at each other. I tried logic, first sitting with Benedict, who usually presented the best plan for dealing with any threat to Amber, but Benedict was even less talkative than usual. I followed with Julian, who was still angry with me for a prior disagreement, and he refused to even acknowledge my presence.
And so it went until I came to Fiona.
I knew something was about, when she smiled at my approach. Fiona and I never shared amusements or ideals, so a smile from her could only come at my cost. It also struck as strange that she seemed to be enjoying the present crisis. Was she its instigator, or if not, what was the source of her pleasure in this moment? I chose a drink, a seat, and a gambit.
“Hello Fiona,” I said. “You couldn’t just kill your enemies in a duel, like anyone else in the family?”
Fiona glared at me for a moment, then that smile returned as she realized – all too quickly – that I was just trying to draw her out.
“You play at things you do not understand, Corwin,” she answered. “As usual.
“I have no interest in your word games, and I must say I disapprove of your manners, and their lack.”
“I am not playing a game here” I protested, “but hunting the cause and source of our present threat. It is an elusive bird, truth, one which seems to be hidden by at least one of our princesses.”
Fiona smirked and replied, “Whereas wit is a bird that eludes the hand of rather too many princes.”
I shrugged. “Your disapproval concerns me even less than usual, Fi. All things considered.”
She tossed her head, red hair like a fall of flame. “Yet, perhaps it should. All things considered.”
I did things with my own eyebrows, emptied my glass, swung my boots down from the table, and headed for the door.
She chuckled, behind me.
I stopped, refrained from turning, and waited. Fiona could never resist showing the rest of us that she was a step ahead. Or pretending to be.
“You are wearing your blade,” she said. “Good.”
I went out, uttering no clever comments. With at least three murderous ghosts stalking Castle Amber, the time for such things was past.’
Hours passed, as I waited with blade drawn and senses wary, sitting in the hallway outside a row of rooms where I thought an appearance most likely by one or more of our homicidal specters.
I guessed wrong. The most dangerous thing to pass my way that night was an odor wafting from Julian’s room. I could pretend it was some feral scent from our nocturnal attackers, but I am sure it was simply the unwashed aroma of a pair of his dogs. In any case, I saw no spirits floating about, encountered no need to use my weapon, and generally felt like I was wasting my time.
Until I heard Flora scream. Down another hall, and far from my chosen station. Naturally. Or un-naturally. Whatever.
I felt damn foolish as I ran towards Flora’s room, hoping my missed guess would not be a costly mistake.
Fortunately, the volume of Flora’s shouts was not matched by actual peril. That is, Flora was not a passive screamer; when assailed by spirits coming at her, as she claimed, from within the walls, she not only cried for help but began throwing things at her attackers. It was hard to tell if any of them was some effective weapon, or the sheer volume of makeup, jewelry, hair care items and mirrors had thwarted their aggression. For all I knew, Flora had surprised them as much as they surprised her. There was no way to be sure. For the moment, we all relaxed in the discovery that our disembodied attackers seemed able to make mistakes, and we felt more confident that we ourselves were perhaps immune to their threat.
Then Bleys found Julian, more than half-dead in his quarters. Julian did not appear for breakfast, and Bleys was the first to check his rooms. I began to wonder why I had not heard anything from my vigilance post, and why Julian’s dogs had done nothing to defend him.
Also, for some reason Julian had not worn his armor the previous night. That cost him. He had been attacked from behind, as was evident by the burn marks on his back. He had fought off his attackers, but his arms, back, and legs were badly burned. I wished I could ask Julian what he had seen, and how he had fought off his assailants, but he was in a coma from his injuries, or the same thing for practical purposes. Benedict saw to his wounds and set a guard to door, with instructions to call him the instant Julian awoke – or anything appeared that might be the spirit murderers coming to finish the job.
I was not friendly with Julian, but an attack on family trumped personal arguments. Besides, just as I stood to gain from Eric’s humiliation if I could solve a mystery he was not around to handle, so too I would suffer my own humiliation if I could not resolve the problem right in front of me – and if a brother prince died on my watch, especially one I was not close to, I could count on Eric making me pay for it. And Father had made it clear that he counted fratricide as unforgivable. Failing to protect a brother was guilt by omission, and I knew that no defense I could present would clear me unless Julian lived. And I resolved the mystery and destroyed the threat.
I spoke to Benedict again, and – while cryptic – his comments included suggestions on where I might try my next vigil, and when I might expect to meet my foes.
It was very late, or rather early, before one of the walls opened in a place where it should not have done, and something that was both silver and shadow joined me.
Grayswandir felt good in my hand as I put down what I was finished drinking anyway, and waited.
Patience, they say, is a chiefly a virtue for statues, but I’d made more than my share of mistakes, thus far, and blood is hell to get out of good rugs.
Came a whisper, out of darkness. “Corwin, is it time?”
A fight for my life, I expected. Temporal confusion from the spooks, I have to admit, I did not see coming.
“No, go back to sleep,” I tried. OK, not a brilliant strategy, but I was tired and didn’t expect the question anyway.
There was a moment of silence, then the forms began to take shape. I expected something, I don’t know, human-like and perhaps demonic. These were, after all, undead spirits seeking to kill the living. Nor was I wrong.
Not exactly.
The attackers swirled into the room like sentient fog, and quickly surrounded me. I suddenly realized something was behind me, taking more substantial shape, and – I felt dread rush up my spine – preparing to strike me the same it had attacked Julian.
Something like lightning flashed, and surprised me. Mostly because the lightning came from inside the room … from Grayswandir.
I jumped to my feet, swinging up Grayswandir with one arm as I threw the book behind me into the – face? – of my posterior assailant. I heard the book smack into something, which swore as if hurt, and I pivoted, putting my back against the wall while swinging my sword into a guard position. Then I stopped.
That was a mistake.
The spirits, once the sword, stopped moving, resumed their attack, and I felt a crackle of something hot shoot past my head, striking the wall hard as if a crossbow bolt. Something else, like a burning lasso, wrapped my boots and tried to trip me. I hopped reflexively, brought my sword up again and swung it about me as if trying to burn cobwebs with a torch.
And shadows fled before me, and I was alone.
My book was on the floor, blackened. Damn. I watched lightning flicker and wondered if I would ever know what I fought, or why. Family politics seemed as tiresome as ever.
Three ghosts, Benedict had said, and had been on the brink of saying more ere his face had smoothed and he’d turned away.
Which meant he’d recognized the one he’d seen.
So had the lamplighter, before the ghost that slew him caught up with him and burned his skull bare, from within.
Coln had died, before that, and one of the cooks. Seven maids, or more by now, since.
Then they started on us. Flora had almost fallen to one, and then Julian. Almost.
We’re tough meat, we of Amber.’
Speaking of meat, I found myself famished. Deciding between preparing for a second round with the spooks, alerting the rest of the family to my attack, and getting an early breakfast, the stomach spoke with the greatest authority. Besides, I was somehow sure the attack for the night was done, and I needed to think through what had just happened before I spoke to anyone else. If one of us was behind the attacks, I had no intention of giving out thoughts on how to make sure I was properly killed next time.
I made my way to the kitchen and found it empty, as I hoped it would be. A half-dozen eggs, some cheese, ham and the appropriate spices produced a passable omelet, which I ate with coffee I made while I thought over the attack. I’m a good enough cook, but the quality of thoughts I considered diminished my appetite a bit.
I realized that I had to share my encounter, with at least one person. The attacks on Flora, then Julian so close afterwards showed that anyone could be next, and I had to help protect the innocent. If only I could be sure none among us was the guilty …
I decided on Benedict. He had shared the plan to catch out the spirits, so I already owed him a report on the attack for that reason. Also, he was the least likely to try a sneak attack on any of us – and if he had, his victims would not have survived. No, this was not Benedict’s trick, whatever it was.
I found him sitting with Julian. Julian remained still and lifeless, to all appearances. Enough to make his usual loquacity and stiff behavior seem positive ebullient. Benedict was not much more enthusiastic. I think I knew why. Julian was not so strong as some of us, but a prince of Amber should not be laid low this easily by anything. He seemed not to be resting, so much as lying helpless. That could be any one of us, even Benedict, and I could see that in Benedict’s thin, grim face.
“No change, Corwin,” said Benedict, as I entered the bedroom.
“So I see,” I answered. “But I have news for you.”
I handed Benedict the scorched book from my encounter as he rose from his seat. He looked at it, then met my eyes with his own.
“You encountered them, then?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Yes, but unlike you, I did not recognize any of them” I said, watching for a reaction to my observation. But Benedict remained solemn and still, as was his usual mood, even in happier times.
I waited for him to speak, but Benedict simply held my gaze, and after a moment. I continued.
“Yes, I was attacked,” I said. “Where you said they would likely be, and only an hour or so after the time you predicted. Which makes me curious, of course, how you knew …?”
I somehow expected Benedict to smile at being prescient, but he remained solemn. I also expected him to provide more helpful information, but I was wrong on that count as well.
“What do you know about this, Corwin?” asked Benedict, his left hand casually resting on the hilt of a dagger he had on his belt. There was no menace in his tone, but Benedict was clear in his meaning.
“Of the attacks? Nothing to speak of, Benedict.” I replied. “I told you my thoughts the last time we spoke, and I am trying to free us from who or whatever is attacking us.”
“Convenient, though,” remarked Benedict, “that you were the closest to Julian of us all, and yet you saw and heard nothing when he was attacked.”
“I know,” I protested, “and you know I would have arranged an alibi if I were going to attack Julian. Like, say, being away from Amber during the attacks?”
Benedict shook his head in irritation.
“Don’t start that stupid game again, of plots and intrigue, Corwin.”
“I won’t,” I replied, “as long as you agree to stop accusing me of being behind the attacks I’m trying to stop.”
Benedict sighed.
“All right,” he agreed. “But you were attacked, yourself, yet you have not yet told me about it.”
So I did. Including my reluctance to trust the full story to anyone in our family who might be the plotter behind the ghosts.
Benedict sighed again.
“I hate to agree with you on this, Corwin” he said, “but I sense that these attacks are part of something larger.
“And until we find a way to stop it, our danger will only grow.”
“So how do you think you escaped –” Benedict stopped and glanced down at Julian’s unmoving figure.
“Grayswandir” I said simply. “They’re afraid of it, for some reason.”
I remembered something just then.
“And I think Fiona knows they are afraid of it.” I continued. “The evening before Flora and Julian were attacked, she commented on my blade.”
Benedict grimly nodded.
“Go speak to Fiona” he said. We rose together, and he stopped for a moment in thought.
“Be direct,” he advised, “She will think she’s ahead of us, and she might be, but she might lose some of her nerve if you give her reason to think she could have missed something important.
“Good luck, Corwin” said Benedict. “Call me on my trump if you need me, but no matter what, be careful.
“Your blade may help protect you from these ghosts, but you still have to find the hand behind the spirit.” With that, Benedict turned his attention back to Julian.
But Fiona had anticipated more than my fight with the ghosts. Her room was empty, but she left a note in a sealed envelope addressed to me.
Of course, being Fiona, she had put a spell on the envelope which prevented anyone from opening it without saying the right phrase. I tried the normal and predictable phrases I knew she had used in the past to goad brothers and sisters, and since it was addressed to me I included ones she had taunted me with, like ‘Fiona is wise, Corwin tells lies’, that kind of thing. A tired and juvenile game, but Fiona liked to play that kind of thing often.
But this time there were no such games. Fiona had laughed the last time we spoke, but it seemed her mood had changed by the time she wrote her note. I called up Benedict on his trump and explained the situation. He had no advice except to tell me to keep trying.
I kept at it for more than an hour, then threw down the envelope muttering, “I give up”.
The seal appeared and broke on the envelope. I seized it and pulled out the note.
‘Corwin, hello’ began the note. ‘That you are reading this proves either that I am a great fool and feared for no good cause, or that you are as strong as I believed … or as lucky.
‘I have left the Eternal City for the present, because the forces you fight are as unpredictable as they are strong. I know them well enough to give you information, and well enough to flee them while they present a threat to us all. My craft and skills are useless as weapons against them. You, however, have the means to resolve the matter, and sufficient luck that I trust you will survive. I have bet much on your success.’
I smiled grimly at Fiona’s confidence in betting my life on the matter.
‘Trust your sword but not your brothers’, the note continued, and I chuckled at Fiona repeating such a well-known maxim among us, ‘except one whose sword suits the need even better than your own. Ask him nicely …’
I stopped and pondered for a moment who the hell Fiona could mean, then went back to the last part of the note.
‘… and strike you both one step to the LEFT of where you normally aim. Strike twice, but not at yourself.
‘Good luck, Corwin.’
If I did not know her better, that last line would have made me wonder about Fiona’s state of mind. I handed the note to Benedict, rather than have to read those instructions out loud.
Benedict read the note twice, or else slowly, then looked me in the eye.
“She wrote this for you, Corwin. Any idea how she knew you’d be the one to find it?”
“None.” I replied. “Anymore than how she knew you’d be here.”
“She wrote nothing of me” protested Benedict.
“I think she did” I said. “That line about a sword better-suited than my own. With Eric and Brand not here, she has to have meant you.”
Benedict paused in thought for a moment, then nodded sharply.
“Actually, Corwin, she might know my weapons better than I do – at least one of them. I know of a blade which might help here, but I am surprised that Fiona would know of it.”
“She seems to know a lot more than she is revealing,” I commented . “Is that blade of your accessible?”
“Oddly, yes” said Benedict. “Fiona asked about it just last week, when all of this was still largely unknown for the threat it has become.
“It makes me wonder how she considered the threat,” he pondered. “As much as I hate to cast suspicion, Corwin, this point concerns me.”
“I also wonder,” I agreed, careful not to go further with my thoughts. I could not help but wonder, though, if my sister had not started something she found she could not control.
Benedict stopped to Julian’s door, said a few words and handed something small to the guards he had posted. Then he strode away, ostensibly to collect the blade he mentioned.
As I stood in the hall thinking what to do next, I heard a noise, and realized Julian was stirring. As I went to his doorway, one guard moved to stop me but the other waved him away, saying Benedict had cleared me.
“But no one else,” I heard him warn, as I entered Julian’s room.
Julian was conscious, and aware of his injuries. Every other word seemed an oath as he took stock of his condition. He attempted to get out of bed, then quickly thought better of that idea. As he settled back into bed, Julian noticed me for the first time.
“Here to gloat?” he inquired.
“Not at all,” I assured him. “I’m glad you’re going to be OK.”
Julian groaned.
“After I can move without searing pain, I might come to share that opinion,” he muttered. “For now I count myself glad to have survived the experience.”
“What can you tell me?,” I asked, deciding not to mention my own attack.
Julian opened his mouth, then closed it.
“I am not sure I am ready to discuss that,” he said.
“Even with lives at risk?” I countered.
“Even so,” said Julian. He held my gaze for a few moments, then closed his eyes and sighed.
“Look, Corwin,” said Julian, “I can’t say I like you, and I have reason to be wary of who may be behind all this.
“I am especially vulnerable just now, even with Benedict’s protection.”
“What if I can help?” I asked.
“You don’t know what you are saying,” retorted Julian. “I can hold my own against any man, I warrant, but if you had faced what I had to face, you would better understand what you are against.”
“But he has,” broke in Benedict, who had returned to the room. “This is one reason I trust him in this.”
“I see no injuries on Corwin” responded Julian. “Convenient, don’t you think, that our brother here could escape unscathed, the spirits which have killed many and almost killed me.”
“Fiona supports Corwin,” answered Benedict.
Julian stared at Benedict, then shook his head.
“No offense, Benedict, but it would mean more to me to hear that from Fiona herself.”
“She is not here,” answered Benedict, “but she left a note for Corwin, and I have read it. Fiona trusts Corwin.”
Julian barked a short, harsh laugh.
“Fiona trusts no one, brother – surely you know that by now.”
“In this,” returned Benedict, “she does.”
Julian said nothing for a few moments, and Benedict and I stood by as well rather than break into his thoughts. Julian stared holes into me with his cold, blue eyes, but I held my silence, as did Benedict.
“One thing,” said Julian, when he was ready to speak again, “I have to know, is just how Corwin faced these ghosts and is no worse for the encounter, yet the ghosts remain.”
“The same reason,” broke in Benedict before I could answer, “that I faced them myself early on, yet could not resolve the matter then.
“These are not honorable enemies, to take risk along with opportunity, but more on the level of jackals, striking when they have the chance, but fleeing if the moment turns against them.”
Julian peered at Benedict with renewed suspicion.
“I heard that this happened,” he said, “but disbelieved it because I know you are more efficient, than to leave an enemy standing after the fight.”
Benedict shrugged.
“You have seen how they move, how they attack.” he reminded Julian. “If we knew their lair, I would attack right now.
“But we lack enough information, partly -” Benedict stopped and looked at me pointedly before turning back to Julian – “partly because we have not been open enough with each other about what we have encountered.”
Julian looked uncomfortable, Benedict looked concerned, and I tried my best to hide my confusion. All three of us had been attacked, but I could not imagine what I knew that I had not told to Benedict. That implied that Benedict believed that I and Julian knew something about the matter that we had kept private, and that he had withheld that same information from the family but believed Julian and I were in on his secret.
Julian stared hard at Benedict.
“Are you saying that we should tell the rest of the family that Osric and Finndo have come back to haunt us?” demanded Julian.
Oh, my. Julian’s question threw a switch in my mind and turned on a light. One of my attackers had looked like family, and now I thought on it could well have been the form of the late Osric. Come to that, Finndo was fond of using a crossbow, and the shot taken at me in our brief contest had sounded like a bolt hitting the wall.
Benedict looked uneasily at the door.
“If they have, then they are truly ghosts,” he said. “I saw them die, many years ago.”
Benedict seemed about to say more, but stopped himself. Julian and I looked at each other, then Julian said to Benedict, “If we are to be open, I should hope you would also choose to share what you know, brother.”
Benedict sighed.
“It’s not really relevant, and I have never shared what happened in that war.”
He turned away from us, as if to leave, but stopped, still facing away.
“If I come to believe that the way Osric and Finndo died is important to resolving this situation, then I will tell you directly.
“For now, I can only ask you to trust my judgment, that their appearance means something else.”
Again Julian and I looked at each other. Neither of us was happy about it, but Benedict, aside from Gerard, was the most trustworthy of us, and in any case neither Julian nor I could do much to compel Benedict to share his secrets. Damning, though, that we were once again at an impasse.
For some reason, there was no attack that night. Of course, we had no sleep, since we could not know we would be left alone, and by morning we were ragged and ill-tempered. Benedict had suggested that Flora leave the palace for a time, which was received with ill grace. But since the suggestion came from Benedict, she agreed to take up residence temporarily in a chateau near Arden. Bleys and I agreed to meet after breakfast with Benedict and Julian, to give ourselves the illusion of planning and action, though I still had little idea how we should proceed.
Julian was healing well, I saw, and looked better rested than the rest of us. Benedict seemed to be thinking the same thing, as I caught him make a small, wry, grin, as he took his seat next to Julian’s bed.
“Well, Julian,” began Bleys, “It looks as if you are most fit of us at the moment.
“Are you ready for battle, then?”
Julian did not smile at Bleys’ quip, but silently reached to his left where, concealed by a blanket, he had a loaded crossbow ready.
“Brother, those look to be silver” remarked Benedict.
“Aye,” answered Julian softly. “All things considered, we may need this much and more.”
“We may have something more,” I suggested. Julian looked up at me, and I looked pointedly at Benedict. Benedict said nothing for a moment, as if thinking a decision through, then nodded and said “Perhaps we do. I take it, Corwin, you mean the Scythe of Scissus?”
“I think I do,” I replied. “We’re never going to win, just waiting on them to come to us.
“So, once brother Julian is up to it, I suggest the four of us hunt down the three of them.”
“But to do that,” said Julian, “we have to know how to find them.”
“I have an idea how we can do that,” I answered, staring hard at Bleys. Bleys looked surprised for a moment, then glanced away.
“Corwin, a word in private, if you will,” he asked.
Benedict and Julian were surprisingly agreeable to this request, probably because I surprised them by implying we could find our attackers. Bleys and I exited the room and made our way down the hall to a parlor with no one nearby. I gestured to a seat then sat at the same time as Bleys. I then waited for him to speak first.
He did not want to, I could see, hoping I would reveal something, but since Bleys had asked for the conference, the weight was on him and we both knew it. The question, hanging in the air, was how much did I know, and how much did Bleys believe he could keep hidden?
“How did you know?” Bleys finally ventured.
“For one thing,” I answered, “you are the only one of us here who has not yet been attacked.
“For another, you and Fiona clearly knew more than you let on.
“So, the decision to be made,” I said sternly, “is whose side you are on.”
“Damn it Corwin,” yelled Bleys, “that’s a rotten thing to suggest-”
“But true, near as I can tell,” I retorted. “If you are with us, Bleys, it is time to carry your weight. You know how to find these specters, and our survival may well depend on us hunting them down before they hunt us down again.”
Bleys and I stared at each other for a long time, before he dropped his gaze to the floor. He then waited some more, either trying to decide what he could conceal, or how to explain what he knew. Either way, I knew Bleys was, as always, putting himself first in priority.
“You understand the concept of the Ouija Board?” he asked. I nodded.
“Well, some of us –” Bleys stopped as if he expected me to ask who was involved, but I said nothing – “some of us began to wonder if you could do the same thing with Trumps.”
“You don’t need a spirit guide to contact people through the Trumps” I said.
“You do if they are dead,” answered Bleys. And I suddenly understood.
“You son of a bitch,” I muttered. “You called up Osric and Findo, didn’t you?
“That’s why we keep seeing them.
“So what did you say that made them angry?”
“Well …” Bleys hesitated, “at first they seemed happy that we remembered them. But they shortly became angry with us, especially when their master became involved.”
“Their master?” I inquired, though it rang a bell. There had been three of them, and one certainly seemed to direct and lead the others.
“So what’s their beef?” I asked Bleys. “They weren’t exactly speaking to me when they attacked, just the banal bit of trying to kill me.
“I’m pretty sure I never said or did anything to offend or provoke our departed predecessor siblings.”
Bleys nodded. “It’s the influence of their master,” he confirmed.
“And who is that?” I demanded.
“I don’t know his name,” protested Bleys, “but he seems to have known Oberon … as an enemy. And he poisoned the minds and spirit of Osric and Finndo against him, and against us as well.”
“How did you learn this?” I asked, “And why did you not want to speak in front of Benedict and Julian?”
“Because of Benedict,” answered Bleys. “They really hate him, and I think he has been their target all along, once they realized they could not get to Oberon.”
“They can’t get to Oberon?” I repeated. “Why not?”
“They are limited to the castle grounds,” answered Bleys. “The magic that brought them here has limits. They cannot leave the castle grounds, they must kill or harm to gain power, and they fear silver and the early powers.”
Bleys gaze fell to Grayswandir as he said that last part.
“So my sword can protect me?” I asked.
“Only at night,” warned Bleys. “You’d need Brand’s blade to be protected during the day.
“Fortunately, the specters prefer to attack at night.”
“Fortunately?” I asked him, thinking of the earlier victims.
“For our purposes, yes” answered Bleys coldly.
[ to be continued …]
Friday, December 23, 2011
Thoughts on Christmas in the Corporate Age
I was driving my daughter to the dentist today, and noticed how many businesses are open. Now, it's true that tomorrow is Christmas Eve, so that today is just "Friday" for a lot of people, and if you don't happen to be Christian there's nothing really special about this holiday anyway. Then again, there was a time when everyone in the United States understood that the Christmas season was a time of celebration, so that if you were not Christian or even particularly religious, you could still celebrate a time to enjoy family and share goodwill. After all, the early Christians celebrated Christmas at a time when the guys in power were celebrating the Winter Solstice, to avoid notice of their own faith, so the holiday has always been more about the spirit than the specific faith. Some Christians will not like that, I expect, since the modern spirit seems to demand an Imperial Christ who commands us all to surrender to the True Faith. For me, though, I recall a Christ who was remarkably subtle and gentle about other beliefs. Not that Christ did not believe in His own Gospel, but that Jesus understood from the start that faith must be born of love and charity, not demands and threats. Anyway, my point is that I am old enough to remember when everyone could enjoy the season and get a sense of God's love for all people.
I don't think I have to go into detail to observe that things have changed a lot over the years. The mercenary aspect has been around for a very long time, even the original version of "Miracle on 34th Street" and "It's A Wonderful Life" understood how people obsess over money and possessions, and many judge a holiday by the profit in their bank accounts. And I notice that there are a lot of good people going around spreading the true spirit by helping others, like the layaway Good Sams paying off balances at stores, or the Salvation Army's tireless work to help those who need it year-round, but especially at Christmas. But I have also noticed how many people are stressed out. My family went to Costco and we saw a lot of angry drivers and rude shoppers, cutting off other cars and shoving in front of other shoppers, and store employees who looked harried and worn out. I remember back when I ran movie theaters, and how tough it could be to get through the holidays with rude and selfish customers who showed no courtesy to my staff or other patrons. OK, so that's been around for a long time, I get it. And I have to mention, there seem to be an awful lot of people with Christian symbols and stickers on their cars who show no sign f Christ in how they actually behave and speak. Just saying, folks.
But there's the corporate aspect as well. My company's GM sent out a pretty standard Christmas wish email yesterday, but it was in sharp contrast to his behavior during the weeks before then. I get it, end of year coming up and he's under a lot of pressure to make his projected numbers. But he was a bit rude in how he addressed his people, especially in his demands from managers. No sense getting too worked up in that, but I did notice that we had expectations told to us that had no input from us, and therefore were not only unreasonable but impossible to attain. Since I try very hard to always deliver everything I promise, I don't much like being issued a standard which could not possibly be accomplished, nor to be issued expectations that show no attention to my own estimates and reports throughout the year. Again, I understand the pressure people can get under, but it's just plain unprofessional to ignore your own people's reports on what is in range and why.
I bring that up, because in talking to folks that seems to be happening a lot in companies, expectations issued that are unrealistic and create stress for no good purpose and, long-term, damage working relationships between executives and managers. To put it another way, the first fifty weeks of the year give you a good idea about what can be done during the last two, and unrealistic demands are bad on every level. Also, the stress of trying to find a way to meet these year-end expectations spills into family and the community. One reason for the holiday season, I think, is that just as we need a weekend after working all week, at the end of the year we need to decompress a bit, not ratchet up the pressure for the sake of an artificial financial target. And we see that in ways we something might originally see as good; stores that are open longer hours instead of giving their employees more time off, and fewer businesses that close for holidays. I'd rather have the inconvenience of having to get my shopping done by December 23rd and risk not having the pumpkin pie on Christmas, than to see stores demand their employees ignore their families and the holiday in the chase to get more money.
You shouldn't have to be Christian to put away greed for just a few days.
I don't think I have to go into detail to observe that things have changed a lot over the years. The mercenary aspect has been around for a very long time, even the original version of "Miracle on 34th Street" and "It's A Wonderful Life" understood how people obsess over money and possessions, and many judge a holiday by the profit in their bank accounts. And I notice that there are a lot of good people going around spreading the true spirit by helping others, like the layaway Good Sams paying off balances at stores, or the Salvation Army's tireless work to help those who need it year-round, but especially at Christmas. But I have also noticed how many people are stressed out. My family went to Costco and we saw a lot of angry drivers and rude shoppers, cutting off other cars and shoving in front of other shoppers, and store employees who looked harried and worn out. I remember back when I ran movie theaters, and how tough it could be to get through the holidays with rude and selfish customers who showed no courtesy to my staff or other patrons. OK, so that's been around for a long time, I get it. And I have to mention, there seem to be an awful lot of people with Christian symbols and stickers on their cars who show no sign f Christ in how they actually behave and speak. Just saying, folks.
But there's the corporate aspect as well. My company's GM sent out a pretty standard Christmas wish email yesterday, but it was in sharp contrast to his behavior during the weeks before then. I get it, end of year coming up and he's under a lot of pressure to make his projected numbers. But he was a bit rude in how he addressed his people, especially in his demands from managers. No sense getting too worked up in that, but I did notice that we had expectations told to us that had no input from us, and therefore were not only unreasonable but impossible to attain. Since I try very hard to always deliver everything I promise, I don't much like being issued a standard which could not possibly be accomplished, nor to be issued expectations that show no attention to my own estimates and reports throughout the year. Again, I understand the pressure people can get under, but it's just plain unprofessional to ignore your own people's reports on what is in range and why.
I bring that up, because in talking to folks that seems to be happening a lot in companies, expectations issued that are unrealistic and create stress for no good purpose and, long-term, damage working relationships between executives and managers. To put it another way, the first fifty weeks of the year give you a good idea about what can be done during the last two, and unrealistic demands are bad on every level. Also, the stress of trying to find a way to meet these year-end expectations spills into family and the community. One reason for the holiday season, I think, is that just as we need a weekend after working all week, at the end of the year we need to decompress a bit, not ratchet up the pressure for the sake of an artificial financial target. And we see that in ways we something might originally see as good; stores that are open longer hours instead of giving their employees more time off, and fewer businesses that close for holidays. I'd rather have the inconvenience of having to get my shopping done by December 23rd and risk not having the pumpkin pie on Christmas, than to see stores demand their employees ignore their families and the holiday in the chase to get more money.
You shouldn't have to be Christian to put away greed for just a few days.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Christmas and the AR Manager
For most folks, Christmas is a happy time. Kids getting out of school, family coming in from all around, and the workplace is lighthearted and in a party mood. Unless, of course, you are finishing up the fiscal year and getting heat from above to accelerate your efforts to bring in revenue and reduce debt. In my case, that means collecting before the end of the year on your hardest cases, and to reduce our bad debt. This month I have been challenged to reduce Bad Debt by 80 percent in a single month and to reduce DSO to a full 12 days lower than it was at the end of October.
Went again to the dentist this week, part three of four in my Why It’s Bad to Break a Tooth adventure, complete with root canal and costs for a crown. I got my ‘temporary crown’ today, which is a white plastic thing which looks like a mini tooth tarp. At least it’s better than what I had before. But any day which includes getting your teeth drilled is one I’d like to get past.
But back to the job. In any company, some of your customers won’t pay all they owe, and some won’t pay at all. Obviously, if you knew they would do this you would not sell to them, or at least you would try very hard to address in advance whatever caused them to refuse payment. But all sorts of problems come up, ranging from errors by your company to out-and-out thieving by a customer. So the first problem is sorting out what happened, which is where all good collections work starts.
It should be obvious, of course, that by the time a balance becomes Bad Debt, you have something that cannot easily be sorted out. Looking at my own Bad Debt Leaderboard, I see late delivery, contract terms disputes, repair complaints and customers trying to hide from their debts as the top reasons why an account gets into Bad Debt.
The fun thing about these issues, is that most of them are simple enough to work out. If we have made a mistake, we make things right, by either repairing the product, replacing it, or refunding the money after it’s returned. Now I will admit that sometimes some of our people would promise a credit then forget about it, but I have also found customers who claimed to have returned product, then when asked for proof of delivery, it finally comes out that they never returned it and it’s been sitting on their warehouse floor for months. What both sides have in common on these things is a real strong reluctance on some folks’ part to admit when they made a mistake.
So my partner and I have lowered DSO from about 72 earlier this year all the way down to 54 right now, and we’ve cut about a hundred thousand out of bad debt, not including adjustments made for credit memos owed by Sales. Trouble is, we’re expected to cut DSO down to 50 by end of year, and cut another hundred thousand of Bad Debt in the next eight business days. Considering our Best Possible DSO (DSO based on just invoices not yet due, assuming every single customer pays on time and all issues and disputes are resolved with payment) looks to be around 52 at year-end, we’ll need to do the impossible to meet the standard. As for Bad Debt, considering most of the remaining debt comes from product that was delivered late and the rest is for customers who don’t answer calls, we’d need a sequel to Mission:Impossible to get that done by December 30.
Ho ho ho becomes ow ow ow.
Anyway, that's sort of why I have not posted anything. The rest of my life has been even more boring, although I may have some comments regarding Age Discrimination in talking about my wife's job, depending on how things work out.
Best wishes to all, and to all a Merry Christmas.
Went again to the dentist this week, part three of four in my Why It’s Bad to Break a Tooth adventure, complete with root canal and costs for a crown. I got my ‘temporary crown’ today, which is a white plastic thing which looks like a mini tooth tarp. At least it’s better than what I had before. But any day which includes getting your teeth drilled is one I’d like to get past.
But back to the job. In any company, some of your customers won’t pay all they owe, and some won’t pay at all. Obviously, if you knew they would do this you would not sell to them, or at least you would try very hard to address in advance whatever caused them to refuse payment. But all sorts of problems come up, ranging from errors by your company to out-and-out thieving by a customer. So the first problem is sorting out what happened, which is where all good collections work starts.
It should be obvious, of course, that by the time a balance becomes Bad Debt, you have something that cannot easily be sorted out. Looking at my own Bad Debt Leaderboard, I see late delivery, contract terms disputes, repair complaints and customers trying to hide from their debts as the top reasons why an account gets into Bad Debt.
The fun thing about these issues, is that most of them are simple enough to work out. If we have made a mistake, we make things right, by either repairing the product, replacing it, or refunding the money after it’s returned. Now I will admit that sometimes some of our people would promise a credit then forget about it, but I have also found customers who claimed to have returned product, then when asked for proof of delivery, it finally comes out that they never returned it and it’s been sitting on their warehouse floor for months. What both sides have in common on these things is a real strong reluctance on some folks’ part to admit when they made a mistake.
So my partner and I have lowered DSO from about 72 earlier this year all the way down to 54 right now, and we’ve cut about a hundred thousand out of bad debt, not including adjustments made for credit memos owed by Sales. Trouble is, we’re expected to cut DSO down to 50 by end of year, and cut another hundred thousand of Bad Debt in the next eight business days. Considering our Best Possible DSO (DSO based on just invoices not yet due, assuming every single customer pays on time and all issues and disputes are resolved with payment) looks to be around 52 at year-end, we’ll need to do the impossible to meet the standard. As for Bad Debt, considering most of the remaining debt comes from product that was delivered late and the rest is for customers who don’t answer calls, we’d need a sequel to Mission:Impossible to get that done by December 30.
Ho ho ho becomes ow ow ow.
Anyway, that's sort of why I have not posted anything. The rest of my life has been even more boring, although I may have some comments regarding Age Discrimination in talking about my wife's job, depending on how things work out.
Best wishes to all, and to all a Merry Christmas.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Catching Up A Little
It's been a busy year!
Sorry for the long delay, I got really busy with work and while I knew it was a while since my last post, well missing a whole month is not a good thing.
Of course, better to miss a month of blogging than miss work or family. I also admit I have been paying a lot of attention to Baylor Football, especially the fantastic run by RG3, Robert Griffin III, as he won the Heisman Trophy and the Bear's first 9-win season in decades.
So, a bit of catching up. After a long hot, dry summer, we finally got a bit of cold and rain - and the battery died on the truck. I also broke a molar back around Thanksgiving, which means I have been to the dentist twice for what is going to be a 3-part root canal. Here's a thought - if waterboarding is out for interrogating terrorists, let's give 'em root canals. Just a thought.
But back to The Job. Those who have read my work, or more precisely put up with me, know I am a Credit Manager. The last month of the year is always a bit stressful, with trying to accomplish all the things your boss promised the board you'd do this year. DSO was 72 earlier this year, got it all the way down to 56, but of course I have been told I am expected to get it all the way down to 50 by end of year, something which won't even be mathematically possible if we ship the product amount we are projected to do, but there you are. The big challenge, though, is to address Bad Debt. Put simply, Bad Debt is the money owed which gets really old and usually has big problems associated with it. In my case, the biggest chunk-o-bucks in Bad Debt right now is stuck in a few accounts we have in a branch in the Pacific (can't toss out details here, for what should be obvious reasons). We've been negotiating with the customers to try to address some of this, and in one case the customer is just not speaking with us in an effective way.
Should never have loaned my magic wand to that Potter kid. Looks like I will need it to meet the expectation.
Sorry for the long delay, I got really busy with work and while I knew it was a while since my last post, well missing a whole month is not a good thing.
Of course, better to miss a month of blogging than miss work or family. I also admit I have been paying a lot of attention to Baylor Football, especially the fantastic run by RG3, Robert Griffin III, as he won the Heisman Trophy and the Bear's first 9-win season in decades.
So, a bit of catching up. After a long hot, dry summer, we finally got a bit of cold and rain - and the battery died on the truck. I also broke a molar back around Thanksgiving, which means I have been to the dentist twice for what is going to be a 3-part root canal. Here's a thought - if waterboarding is out for interrogating terrorists, let's give 'em root canals. Just a thought.
But back to The Job. Those who have read my work, or more precisely put up with me, know I am a Credit Manager. The last month of the year is always a bit stressful, with trying to accomplish all the things your boss promised the board you'd do this year. DSO was 72 earlier this year, got it all the way down to 56, but of course I have been told I am expected to get it all the way down to 50 by end of year, something which won't even be mathematically possible if we ship the product amount we are projected to do, but there you are. The big challenge, though, is to address Bad Debt. Put simply, Bad Debt is the money owed which gets really old and usually has big problems associated with it. In my case, the biggest chunk-o-bucks in Bad Debt right now is stuck in a few accounts we have in a branch in the Pacific (can't toss out details here, for what should be obvious reasons). We've been negotiating with the customers to try to address some of this, and in one case the customer is just not speaking with us in an effective way.
Should never have loaned my magic wand to that Potter kid. Looks like I will need it to meet the expectation.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Occupied Wall Street, Unoccupied Brain
Pretty much everyone has seen or heard about the mob of malcontents camping out near Wall Street. Well, attention was their goal, so far as I can tell. The mob was not very strong in working for any specific change, and their communication skills were and are execrable. The people saying these ‘occupy’ stunts are puerile attempts to distract the public from the current Administration’s blunders and failures rings true, but even so, the complete inability to convey an effective message or mission by these jokers makes their whole effort a waste of time by any reasonable standard.
But speaking of the election, when everything is said and done, the most important factor, as in most elections, is the economy. A great many pundits and self-proclaimed ‘experts’ have addressed the economy in great detail, but in the political sense the economy can be understood as the national condition on three points of concern:
1. Unemployment
2. Inflation
3. Debt
The biggest stage, as should be obvious, is Unemployment. Inflation can be serious, as can debt, but it all starts with jobs. Economics, at its core, is all about money in motion. Someone has to spend money for anyone to make money, and it has to make sense for the participants. This is, coming back to the protesters, one of the reasons why their hatred of the American system is misplaced and wrong – envy of an efficient system and those who succeed in work, attacks the people who can best help the unemployed find work, and destabilizes the economy instead of finding answers. The OWS protesters, including those who have copied their tactics in other cities and countries, at best are ignorant and selfish, and at worse know they are liars and parasites. Harsh words for someone who claims to just want to work, granted, but the protesters do not want work, at least they don’t want work in the classic sense of wanting a chance to earn money and prove they can add value to their nation and community. Instead, careful attention to what the protesters actually do and say shows that they what good things handed to them, or at the least they expect people who have succeeded in business to be punished for hard work and initiative. They rail against ‘Corporate Greed’, but when pressed for specifics they resort to broad stereotyped attacks against the largest employers and best-established firms, with absolutely nothing for evidence. They claim that they represent “99 percent” of the nation/world, but again provide no evidence to support the claim, and their demographics suggest they are so far from the truth as to make the claim laughable. If all the protesters were tallied in the U.S., for example, they come up to only a few thousand members, well short of one-hundredth of one percent of the population, let alone ninety-nine. This does not touch the rather obvious observation that the protesters are the same in demographic – they are urban, young and unemployed with little (if any) experience or significant job skills, they are liberal in political orientation, they demand punishment of the wealthy on no basis other than the assumption that wealth is wrong, while simultaneously demanding jobs and money for themselves.
The OWS crowd could be dismissed for the nauseous parasites they are, except for two things. One is the fact that the media has tried to play the OWS stunt into a legitimate grassroots movement; particularly noticeable is how the MSM sells OWS as similar to the TEA Party, which is nothing short of a bald-faced lie. Where the TEA Party is a true populist movement, and wholly American in its spirit and creation, OWS was designed and initially driven by the Canadian firm Adbusters, which as a by-the-way has come under fire in the past for promoting anti-Jewish bigotry. Gives one a sense of their true values, perhaps.
The TEA Party operates in a spirit of increasing citizen participation in election, and demanding that Congress adhere to constitutional limits and principles, while OWS demands punitive action against selected targets, and seems to have no concern whether the government has authority for such action, or whether due process is followed. Whether the groups’ demographics, mission, or tactics are considered, it is clear that the TEA party is American, responsible, and accountable, while the OWS is none of these things.
Supporters of the OWS protests may reasonably claim that the protesters simply want jobs. While I do believe the OWS participants, the ones on the street, do in fact want jobs, they’re going about it the wrong way. The tactic of demanding something you want, without first showing how you will earn it, is always foolish, but to do so as a mob appeals to precisely zero potential employers, excepting criminals and political thuggery movements. What’s worse, in this age of instant information, people who participate in the OWS have damaged their profile for any potential employer. To be blunt, I can scarcely imagine any potential hiring manager considering OWS participation to be anything but a red flag which would cause the application to be rejected out of hand. It’s not that the hiring manager would have to agree with my politics, or even find the OWS position unreasonable; it’s just that when so many people apply for any available position, any potential liability could be disastrous, and so the job-seeker who engages in such behavior damages his personal credibility.
This comes back, as well, to the question of corporate integrity. I will readily admit that there are a large number of companies which I consider to be void of ethics, but even so the corporate identity in general protects employees better than do most private businesses. To see what I mean, consider harassment. A private business is not well-equipped to address harassment, because if it happens the perpetrator is likely to be the owner, and even when a private company chooses to investigate allegations of harassment, they seldom have professional HR tools to do so properly. In a corporation, however, not only are there enough safeguards built in to create a culture of compliance, the potential cost of litigation and range of management between floor and C-suite insure that as a practice, harassment will be strongly discouraged and punished where found.
The same effect exists in compensation. Although corporations are commonly vilified in the media for executive pay and bonuses, most observers fail to note that standardized pay scales also protect raises and bonuses for most other levels of position. In short, while private firms may fluctuate greatly in how much they pay their employees, corporations generally pay for what the work is worth to the company. At low pay, this means the employee must demonstrate superior skills or work to move into the desired pay range, but for proven performers and star employees, corporations generally make sure the employee is paid well enough to make competing firms less attractive. The problem for the OWS mob, is that unskilled labor and lack of a work ethic do not produce attractive opportunities, and these undisciplined people are not yet willing to improve their skill set or work hard enough to stand out and show excellence in their profile. The sum effect of their protest is to damage their own employment prospects. This demonstrates that while they may “occupy” parks or landmarks, the brains of these miscreants are quite empty.
But speaking of the election, when everything is said and done, the most important factor, as in most elections, is the economy. A great many pundits and self-proclaimed ‘experts’ have addressed the economy in great detail, but in the political sense the economy can be understood as the national condition on three points of concern:
1. Unemployment
2. Inflation
3. Debt
The biggest stage, as should be obvious, is Unemployment. Inflation can be serious, as can debt, but it all starts with jobs. Economics, at its core, is all about money in motion. Someone has to spend money for anyone to make money, and it has to make sense for the participants. This is, coming back to the protesters, one of the reasons why their hatred of the American system is misplaced and wrong – envy of an efficient system and those who succeed in work, attacks the people who can best help the unemployed find work, and destabilizes the economy instead of finding answers. The OWS protesters, including those who have copied their tactics in other cities and countries, at best are ignorant and selfish, and at worse know they are liars and parasites. Harsh words for someone who claims to just want to work, granted, but the protesters do not want work, at least they don’t want work in the classic sense of wanting a chance to earn money and prove they can add value to their nation and community. Instead, careful attention to what the protesters actually do and say shows that they what good things handed to them, or at the least they expect people who have succeeded in business to be punished for hard work and initiative. They rail against ‘Corporate Greed’, but when pressed for specifics they resort to broad stereotyped attacks against the largest employers and best-established firms, with absolutely nothing for evidence. They claim that they represent “99 percent” of the nation/world, but again provide no evidence to support the claim, and their demographics suggest they are so far from the truth as to make the claim laughable. If all the protesters were tallied in the U.S., for example, they come up to only a few thousand members, well short of one-hundredth of one percent of the population, let alone ninety-nine. This does not touch the rather obvious observation that the protesters are the same in demographic – they are urban, young and unemployed with little (if any) experience or significant job skills, they are liberal in political orientation, they demand punishment of the wealthy on no basis other than the assumption that wealth is wrong, while simultaneously demanding jobs and money for themselves.
The OWS crowd could be dismissed for the nauseous parasites they are, except for two things. One is the fact that the media has tried to play the OWS stunt into a legitimate grassroots movement; particularly noticeable is how the MSM sells OWS as similar to the TEA Party, which is nothing short of a bald-faced lie. Where the TEA Party is a true populist movement, and wholly American in its spirit and creation, OWS was designed and initially driven by the Canadian firm Adbusters, which as a by-the-way has come under fire in the past for promoting anti-Jewish bigotry. Gives one a sense of their true values, perhaps.
The TEA Party operates in a spirit of increasing citizen participation in election, and demanding that Congress adhere to constitutional limits and principles, while OWS demands punitive action against selected targets, and seems to have no concern whether the government has authority for such action, or whether due process is followed. Whether the groups’ demographics, mission, or tactics are considered, it is clear that the TEA party is American, responsible, and accountable, while the OWS is none of these things.
Supporters of the OWS protests may reasonably claim that the protesters simply want jobs. While I do believe the OWS participants, the ones on the street, do in fact want jobs, they’re going about it the wrong way. The tactic of demanding something you want, without first showing how you will earn it, is always foolish, but to do so as a mob appeals to precisely zero potential employers, excepting criminals and political thuggery movements. What’s worse, in this age of instant information, people who participate in the OWS have damaged their profile for any potential employer. To be blunt, I can scarcely imagine any potential hiring manager considering OWS participation to be anything but a red flag which would cause the application to be rejected out of hand. It’s not that the hiring manager would have to agree with my politics, or even find the OWS position unreasonable; it’s just that when so many people apply for any available position, any potential liability could be disastrous, and so the job-seeker who engages in such behavior damages his personal credibility.
This comes back, as well, to the question of corporate integrity. I will readily admit that there are a large number of companies which I consider to be void of ethics, but even so the corporate identity in general protects employees better than do most private businesses. To see what I mean, consider harassment. A private business is not well-equipped to address harassment, because if it happens the perpetrator is likely to be the owner, and even when a private company chooses to investigate allegations of harassment, they seldom have professional HR tools to do so properly. In a corporation, however, not only are there enough safeguards built in to create a culture of compliance, the potential cost of litigation and range of management between floor and C-suite insure that as a practice, harassment will be strongly discouraged and punished where found.
The same effect exists in compensation. Although corporations are commonly vilified in the media for executive pay and bonuses, most observers fail to note that standardized pay scales also protect raises and bonuses for most other levels of position. In short, while private firms may fluctuate greatly in how much they pay their employees, corporations generally pay for what the work is worth to the company. At low pay, this means the employee must demonstrate superior skills or work to move into the desired pay range, but for proven performers and star employees, corporations generally make sure the employee is paid well enough to make competing firms less attractive. The problem for the OWS mob, is that unskilled labor and lack of a work ethic do not produce attractive opportunities, and these undisciplined people are not yet willing to improve their skill set or work hard enough to stand out and show excellence in their profile. The sum effect of their protest is to damage their own employment prospects. This demonstrates that while they may “occupy” parks or landmarks, the brains of these miscreants are quite empty.
Saturday, October 01, 2011
A Virtual Walk Through My Office
I get comfortable writing about things, and sometimes forget that the reader may not know me as well as I think. I've been writing from time to time about business and economics, but have not explored the ways different people in the same company might see the situation. Also, some folks have written me (thank you) about their MBA search, and it might be useful to consider the ways that degree can be used. Rather than try to cover a comprehensive spectrum, I'd like to walk you through my company's corporate office and 'visit' the different officers who make our business run.
We are a mid-sized multinational corporation, and a joint venture partner with a very large multinational. That means we operate autonomously, but with boundaries and of course we operate by our own written policies and procedures. Without considering everyone - we have about 60 people working at our corporate headquarters, which is also a warehouse from which we can ship product - the main roles at the top functional level are the General Manager, Operations Manager, various regional Sales Managers, our Warehouse Manager, our Defects Manager, Purchasing Manager, our Controller, Accounting Manager, Accounts Payable Manager, Remittance Manager, our HR Manager, and me, the Global Credit Manager. I'm going to cover these in a series of posts, but let's start with the General Manager.
Before our Joint Venture was finalized, we had a CEO, but when the JV went into effect the role changed gradually, and now we have a General Manager, roughly equivalent to a Division Vice President in authority at the parent corporation. The GM is responsible for everything our comnpany does, and signs off on everything from budgets and projections to the actual results. He gets instructions and approvals in general from the corporate headquarters, then uses the authority of his position as he sees fit. On the rough side, he is personally responsible for everything we do, but he also has broad authority within his boundaries to get the job done. He can, for example, go over budget to a degree, but he'd better not surprise the parent company. He has to get AFE's prepared and approved for capital expenses ahead of time, which is something I work on, but budgeted expenses are generally in his control. Our GM has an MBA from Harvard and a Bachelor's from Texas, and had about 15 years management experience in project sales and operations before taking on his current role. His normal hours are around 8 AM to 7 PM, except when a project is in the works, when he may work later. The hours are misleading, though, since he has to be available by email/phone pretty much 24/7. The GM role is high-level, which means he has to be aware of performance vs projections, understand deadlines and assign/delegate tasks as needed to meet them. He has to be VERY tactful and able to work with sometimes conflicting requirements, and to meet with major customers whenever appropriate.
(to be continued)
We are a mid-sized multinational corporation, and a joint venture partner with a very large multinational. That means we operate autonomously, but with boundaries and of course we operate by our own written policies and procedures. Without considering everyone - we have about 60 people working at our corporate headquarters, which is also a warehouse from which we can ship product - the main roles at the top functional level are the General Manager, Operations Manager, various regional Sales Managers, our Warehouse Manager, our Defects Manager, Purchasing Manager, our Controller, Accounting Manager, Accounts Payable Manager, Remittance Manager, our HR Manager, and me, the Global Credit Manager. I'm going to cover these in a series of posts, but let's start with the General Manager.
Before our Joint Venture was finalized, we had a CEO, but when the JV went into effect the role changed gradually, and now we have a General Manager, roughly equivalent to a Division Vice President in authority at the parent corporation. The GM is responsible for everything our comnpany does, and signs off on everything from budgets and projections to the actual results. He gets instructions and approvals in general from the corporate headquarters, then uses the authority of his position as he sees fit. On the rough side, he is personally responsible for everything we do, but he also has broad authority within his boundaries to get the job done. He can, for example, go over budget to a degree, but he'd better not surprise the parent company. He has to get AFE's prepared and approved for capital expenses ahead of time, which is something I work on, but budgeted expenses are generally in his control. Our GM has an MBA from Harvard and a Bachelor's from Texas, and had about 15 years management experience in project sales and operations before taking on his current role. His normal hours are around 8 AM to 7 PM, except when a project is in the works, when he may work later. The hours are misleading, though, since he has to be available by email/phone pretty much 24/7. The GM role is high-level, which means he has to be aware of performance vs projections, understand deadlines and assign/delegate tasks as needed to meet them. He has to be VERY tactful and able to work with sometimes conflicting requirements, and to meet with major customers whenever appropriate.
(to be continued)
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