Duncan could think of nothing. It was less about a real royal family than the idea of one. Who knew if one was fat actually or if another wept himself to sleep. That word “royalty” was more important than its servant word “reality.” Seven royal siblings, a Kaiser, a Kaiserin—no puns or allusions came to mind. “If I had but seven chances to …” he thought. “Behold, the seven ages of… Were there seven seas upon which, as you see, plus of course your parents …”

“Please, Cody, do go on, old chap.”

The Kaiser had spoken quickly, with a slight deflective ring to it, as if dismissing his own importance. Duncan nodded, so that his hat came down below his eyeline.

“Old Mexico! Yee-haw!”

All went well for many pleasant minutes. Duncan engrossed himself in the role of ringmaster, focusing so hard on his acts that he hardly paid attention to his own mind except when he was surprised to find the flask at his lips. Mexican riders brandished lariats on swivel hondas that they made rise and fall about their bodies, dangerous and obedient like cobra snakes, and the audience leaned forward to watch how the Kaiser leaned forward to watch.

There was a page standing next to the Kaiser; he seemed to have simply materialized. The page passed the Kaiser a paper on a silver tray embellished with the royal crest. It was a telegram from Tsar Nicholas II of Russia. It read, in English, “I beg you in the name of our old friendship to do what you can to stop your allies from going too far,” and it was signed “Nicky.”

The previous several days had been terrible ones, of course. Serbia had entirely buckled to Austrian demands, and, to Wilhelm’s thinking, there was no longer a reason for a war. But Serbia, while making the most humiliating concessions, was also mobilizing its armies, for Austria had declared war on the Serbs. Prince Henry of Germany felt England would be neutral, unless Russia came into the fray, and then what about France?

The night before, Russia had partially mobilized its forces, without expressly declaring its intentions. Then it stood them down. Or it hadn’t— the Kaiser had heard both. He had no idea how to respond to Nicholas, so instead he whispered to the page, quickly, that a telegram of support, vague and probing, should be sent to Constantine of Greece, who had been waiting since noon for word from him.