There was a polite reverence in the crowd, the type of excitement well-coached children would generate on Christmas morning when the gift turned out to be mittens. Joachim returned the nods and waves with equal politeness, as if he understood—he was only Joachim, for which he apologized. He found his seat just as—and this caused a kind of snapping-to— Princes Eitel Friedrich and Adalbert arrived together. It was rare to have three princes traveling together, though Eitel Friedrich and Adalbert were inseparable. Horsemen, lovers of armament, the first to join a hunt, and rumored to have broken the hearts of many noblewomen, they made this a gayer affair.

Then a woman in the highest risers shouted “Oskar,” and she was shushed, for it was impossible that Prince Oskar was here: he was known to be suffering from the gout. And yet here he was, easing down the aisle and leaning gratefully on a cane. Four princes!

Duncan attempted to interpret what four princes meant to him. He had no scale to guide him until he considered that he would be jealous of a rival who had four princes attend a show. With a smile, he took a lucky draw on his saddle-blanket flask, and then another. Luckily, he had another flask in his boot.

Then portly August Wilhelm arrived, followed by the even beefier Wilhelm III, each of them ruddy with perspiration, glancing back and forth among their siblings with discomfort, as if trapped in a long receiving line. The crowd barely had time to analyze their clothing, their choice of hats and campaign decorations, before everyone realized the entire generation had come, including the most beloved: last in line, holding her own skirts, was Vickie, Princess Viktoria Luise, the youngest of the Hohenzollerns.

This was unbelievable—the audience fell into an almost nonsensical walla, storekeepers in the distant seats turning to servant girls sitting beside them to confirm what they were seeing. Princess Viktoria Luise! Her cameo resplendent in shopwindows, her method of hair braid (die diplomatische Wellung) imitated but never perfectly, Viktoria Luise had once shed a single tear and caused her father to tear apart the Transvaal Republic to find her a perfect blue diamond. Which she now wore in a band that went around her finger, as did everything else. She issued a challenging look at Percy Duncan, who shored up his spine to become Wild Duncan Cody. He gave her a courtly nod, which she did not return. He considered this a draw.

There were six princes and a princess. He did not think to ask why there were so many. He noted again there was no Kaiser, and this somehow made him relaxed. No one had yet botched a cue, the most thrilling acts were to come, the seven royal siblings might as well have come from a folktale, and Duncan had drained only two of his flasks.