DurchlauchtigmeantMostSerene Highness, a term for an anointed sovereign. Flicka had known immediately that her nickname outranked Wulfram’s, and her haughty grin had kept Dieter and Wulf amused for years.
One time, she’d sidled up to him and asked, “You know it’s not reallyDurchlauchtig,right? That’s the adjective.” Her pointy, little chin popped up again. “You may call meDurchlauchtigste.”
Dieter frowned. “That’s too long of a word.”
“It’s funny. A native German speaker should have known that.”
“I speak Alemannic.”
“It’s the same thing as far as that word is concerned.”
Jesus Christ, one wrongly conjugated word had given him away. “I likeDurchlauchtig.I’m going to call youDurchlauchtig,notDurchlauchtigste.I don’t like the sound of it.”
The child Flicka grinned at him. “You speak German funny sometimes.”
“I’m Swiss! And it’s not ‘funny.’ It’s perfectly standard Swiss German.”
Her grin didn’t drop. “If you say so, but you don’t sound like the housekeepers atLe Rosey,either.”
Even as a tween, Flicka still sometimes flopped over in her sleep when they were sitting on the couch and jammed an elbow or a knee into Dieter’s crotch, sometimes hard enough to make him run for the bathroom to puke.
Wulf was quicker to protect himself from her. More experience, he assured Dieter.
Dieter got better at the duck and cover maneuver.
Even his army Krav Maga instructor noticed his quicker reaction times and reflexes to kicks and thrown elbows.
Dieter became kind of an honorary uncle to Flicka, and they maintained that affectionate, entirely platonic relationship for years.
But not forever.
