Free Cauldron of Ghosts by David Weber, Eric Flint

dried.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, because we made no effort to get them to join the hostilities, they aren’t that mad. Certainly not enough to take the risks involved in producing a major rupture with us. So, everyone agreed to one of the time-honored diplomatic code messages. ‘You don’t get an ambassador, you louses. Just a high commissioner etc., etc. So there.’ I think that’s aimed more at the Star Kingdom than us.”
    “Star Empire ,” Sharon corrected him. She ran fingers through her hair. Short hair, these days. She’d dyed it a nice auburn color since he’d seen her last and cut it back quite a bit. Truth be told, he preferred her hair longer. But that was an age-old tug of war between men and women that men invariably lost once a relationship congealed. Yuri might not be the sharpest pencil in the box when it came to romantic relationships, but he wasn’t obtuse enough to venture into that mine field.
    “I think you’re probably right about Manticore,” she said. “The Erewhonese love their subtle ploys and gestures. ‘See? We made it real clear to Haven that they’re in the dog house, the rotters.’ I’m not sure how much good it’ll do them, though.”
    “Might be quite a bit. The Star Empire’s current prime minister is as sophisticated as they come and he’s probably familiar with Erewhon’s somewhat peculiar mores . And for sure and certain the Winton dynasty will pay attention. They’re no slouches themselves when it comes to hints and veiled messages. You wouldn’t think a royal lineage would have that much in common with a long line of gangsters, but there it is.”
    “Ha! If Victor were here, he’d say they were cut from exactly the same cloth—so why shouldn’t they speak the same patois?”
    That brought a few seconds’ worth of silence. Then Yuri sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I still don’t like the basta—man, but I have to admit I was glad to find out he was still alive. It’s like the old saying: ‘Yeah, he’s a ruthless son of a bitch, but he’s our ruthless son of a bitch.’ ”
    “Are you still holding a grudge, Yuri? La Martine was years ago.”
    “He told them to break my nose. On purpose!”
    “He sure did. That made you a bloody mess—and may very well have kept you alive.”
    Impatiently, Yuri shook his head. “I understand the logic, Sharon. I still don’t like the man. He gave you a beating, too. I was madder about that than I was about my nose. Still am.”
    “Are you aware that he’s been a consistent influence—no small one, either—boosting your career? Mine, too. Ever since La Martine. I’m pretty sure he’s the main reason you got this posting. Kevin Usher listens to him. So does Wilhelm Trajan, although”—she grinned, here—“I don’t think he does so nearly as cheerfully as Kevin does.”
    Yuri looked a bit guilty. “Well . . . Yeah, I sort of figured that out a while ago. Look, I’m not saying my attitude toward Cachat is rational. It’s probably not. Okay, for sure it’s not.” Stubbornly: “I still don’t like him.”
    The com unit on the wall chimed, indicating someone desired a connection.
    Sharon punched the acceptance key. The screen came to life.
    Seeing the familiar face on the screen, Sharon said: “Walter. I assume you called to talk to Haven’s new ambassa—ah, high commissioner and—”
    “—and envoy extraordinary and whatever other twaddle terms we need to keep up appearances.” Walter Imbesi gave Radamacher a quick, almost perfunctory smile. “Actually, no. I’d been planning to give you a day or so to—ah, renew acquaintance—before bothering you with business. But something’s come up that we think is pressing. As in really pressing.”
    Both Sharon and Yuri sat up straight. “Which is . . . ?” said Yuri.
    “It seems Victor Cachat is back from the dead. Presumed dead, rather. Anton Zilwicki also. I have been asked to convey to you the government’s displeasure at