“You may be correct,” Rabenstrange said after a moment. “On the other hand, unlike you, I’ve met the lady. When she speaks, it’s usually worth taking the time to listen. And the one thing she doesn’t do—or, at least, will never do well—is lie.

“As for what Troubadour’s sensors might be able to tell her about our strength, my concerns are strictly limited. In fact, in some respects, I’d prefer for her to have an accurate appreciation of our strength. The sorts of ‘mistakes’ which have plagued us since that idiot Gortz got himself killed in Zoraster are dangerous, Zhenting. And more than just in terms of the additional people they’ve already killed.

“The Emperor may fully intend to secure our frontiers, and he may even be willing to go to war with the Star Kingdom in order to accomplish that if he must, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t prefer to do it without any more bloodshed. Nor do I care to be responsible for any more deaths that can possibly be avoided. Let her deliver whatever message she wishes me to have. And let her see what strength we have. If there is some way we can prevent further loss of life, then by all means let us explore the possibilities. And if knowing how powerful our forces are makes her more cautious or encourages her to press her own superiors for authority to concede the Emperor’s demands, so much the better.”

“But, Herr Herzog,” Isenhoffer protested, “she’s a Grayson steadholder. She’ll insist upon bringing her armsmen to any meeting, and you know what the Emperor’s feelings about anything like that have been since the Hofschulte affair.”

“I do, indeed.” Rabenstrange frowned again. Then he shrugged. “Explain the Emperor’s conditions to her, Zhenting. If she can’t accept them, then we’ll be limited to an electronic meeting.”

· · • · ·

“I don’t like it, My Lady,” Andrew LaFollet said stubbornly.

“And I’m afraid I don’t recall asking you if you liked it,” Honor replied, and her voice was considerably tarter than usual.

“But especially now,” LaFollet began, “with tensions so high, it’s—”

“Especially now,” Honor said implacably, “it’s particularly important that there not be any incidents. Or any indication that I distrust Herzog von Rabenstrange in any way. This subject is no longer open to debate, Andrew.”

LaFollet had opened his mouth. Now, he shut it. His expression hovered somewhere between mulish and profoundly disapproving, but he recognized the end of the discussion. He and Spencer Hawke exchanged glances, and then he turned back to Honor.

“All right, My Lady,” he half-sighed. “We’ll do it your way.”

“I know we will,” she replied serenely.

· · • · ·

The fregatten kapitän escorting Honor from the superdreadnought Campenhausen’s boat bay was perfectly courteous, but he clearly had his reservations about this entire business. The fact that the holsters of her three accompanying armsmen were conspicuously empty had apparently reconciled him somewhat, but from the look he’d given Nimitz, the ’cat’s reputation had preceded him. Apparently the fregatten kapitän wasn’t any too certain that he shouldn’t have been considered as much a weapon as the armsmen’s pulsers. On the other hand, he obviously wasn’t prepared to argue the point on his own authority.