The Pony Circus Wagon

            Once again, the shouts of “ZIVIO” arose in the crowd as the entourage sped faster than before down Appel Quay toward the military hospital.

            Franz Ferdinand knew something was wrong when General Potiorek was screaming at the mayor’s chauffeur, “You’re wrong!  It’s the wrong way!  Stay on Appel Quay.  Didn’t anyone tell the fool about the route change?”  The mayor’s car had taken the originally planned route, and thus he turned onto the narrow Franz Josef Street and was followed into the turn by the Archduke’s limousine, much to the amusement and annoyance of Franz Ferdinand.  Franz had no love for Potiorek, whose promotion he had blocked last year.  He patted Sophie’s thigh.  “We’ll be home soon.  Don’t fret.  This Potiorek is an embarrassment to our country.”

            Finally, the mayor’s car stopped, as did the Archduke’s, and slowly they began to back up out of Franz Josef Street and to return onto the Appel Quay.

            For a millisecond, he saw that same face again that he had seen at the Oriental Bazaar.  He heard two shots, a gasp from Sophie, and he himself felt as if a nail had been pounded into his neck.  He sat there for a few seconds, suspended in shock, before hearing Sophie say sobbingly, “What has happened to you?”  She collapsed and fell sideways, her head on his knees.  He could feel the blood now flowing freely across his clothes.  He surmised that his jugular had been hit.  He looked down at Sophie and cried out, “Sophie!  Don’t die!  Live for our children!”  He saw Count Harrach come to him and try to keep him erect.  The Count yelled, “Are you suffering, Your Imperial Highness?”

            The last words he could remember before the oblivion of unconsciousness and death were, “It’s nothing . . . it’s nothing.”