Mike followed the route Ferdinand’s eyes took. Sarah Wendell and Prince Karl Eusebius von Liechtenstein were dancing through the concrete trees. A waltz, needless to say. An early version of the dance had already existed, but the Ring of Fire had made waltzes the rage of European courts in general—and the Austrian court in particular.
Judy Wendell and Millicent Anne Barnes were holding court nearby, surrounded by a bevy of soon-to-be-disappointed suitors. Gabrielle Ugolini seemed to be a bit at a loss, and waiting for her escort, Herr Doctor Faust.
By now, Mike had been briefed on the romances of the various Barbies. Moses Abrabanel was dancing with Susan Logsden, and Carla Barclay was dancing with some young count whose name Mike hadn’t caught. Trudi von Bachmerin was dancing with Jack Pfeifer. Mike didn’t see Hayley and wondered where Amadeus had gotten to.
The music was from a record player with electrical amplification. People of every station were chatting around the edges of the dance area.
* * *
Mike tried to hide a grin. “Four years ago, someone I knew said that there wasn’t a single thing that would do his soul more good than seeing a young woman in a wedding dress walk down the aisle. The man’s dead now, but he was right at the time and he’s still right. We’ve seen a lot of weddings these last four years.”
“And to think there are some who consider you barbarians.”
The dry tone of Ferdinand’s voice made Mike turn to look at him. He put a questioning look on his face.
Ferdinand smiled. “You have, after all, made quite a bit of headway. Using tactics well known to my family.”
“Oh, yes,” Mike agreed. “‘Let others wage wars. You, fortunate Austria, wage marriage.’”
“Close enough,” the emperor of Austria-Hungary agreed. He gestured toward a nearby door that Mike assumed led to a room where privacy was to be found. “Would you accompany us?”
“Of course.”
* * *
Sarah carried a traditional bouquet and was preparing for the traditional bouquet toss.
Judy did her best to stay well away from the toss, Millicent at her side.
The bouquet contained myrtle leaves, for good luck. Brides were traditionally considered lucky and some variation of the bouquet toss had been in custom for many years. At this point, the last thing Judy wanted was to catch a bouquet. Weddings seemed to be catching or something. Everywhere she turned, some young man was staring at her with puppydog eyes, practically begging for her attention.
“I’m looking forward to getting back to Magdeburg,” Millicent muttered.
“Same here,” Judy whispered. “Let’s get farther back. The last thing I want is these boys getting ideas. I’m getting enough proposals, without them thinking I’m next.”
They didn’t make it quite far enough away. Almost as soon as Judy and Millicent turned back to watch, Sarah launched her bouquet.
“Ah . . . drat.”
Millicent sighed. “Can’t let it hit the floor, can you? It’s a rule. You know. Like the flag.”
Judy stared over the bouquet she’d had to catch. At the group of more-than-willing boys. “You wish,” she muttered at them, just as a bloody Archduke Leopold staggered onto the dance floor, accompanied by Amadeus and Herr Doctor Faust.