Spanners!

'Well', continues Joachim, 'I can see Infanterie Regiment Number One ...'
'Yeeeees', says Emperor George suspiciously.
'But we then go straight to Number Three', continues Joachim, pointing at the banners.
'Yeeeees'.

Joachim frowns. 'So where's ...?'
'Don't say it!' shouts George, but he's too late!
'Where's Number Two?' says Joachim loudly.
'Stop it!'
Joachim blunders on, ignoring his father. 'Number Two!', he shouts at the troops. 'I need a Number Two!'

A slow, murmuring of 'fnars' begins to bubble amongst the assembled troops.

'Stop him! Stop him!' cries the emperor, pointing at the duke.

'Number Two? Number Two?' shouts Joachim, searching the line of banners.

The 'fnars' grow louder. Sensing an impending disaster, Wormer intervenes. Rushing forwards, he can see nothing better to do than give Joachim's codpiece a very hard slap. This does indeed stop Duke Joachim dead - but it replaces his investigations with a slow, long, piercing wail - a sound much like that likely to be made by a weasel who has just found himself being stuffed inside another weasel.

'Waaaaaaaaaaah!' cries Joachim clutching his Christmas winkie.

'What on earth is wrong, Duke Joachim?' asks the emperor.

'My test ...', he wheezes, pointing to his groin,  'test ..'

'Testing my patience, you bubble-headed buffoon?' asks George. 'Yes, you are sir!'

'No father', groans Joachim, 'my bal ... bal ...'

'You're ballroom dancing privileges, you nano-brained nincompoop? Consider them revoked!'

'No, my gona ... gona ...'

'Yes, you're going to be in hot water, you micro-craniumed muppet! Now, buck up! Pull yourself together! Stop your rude and risible rantings! Are you mad! Do you have a screw loose?'

'Yes', replies Joachim groaning, gingerly manipulating his codpiece, 'it's come out and now its poking me right in my ...'. 

'Cease your unwanted entendre antics, Duke Joachim! I don't want to have to have you imprisoned. I am relying on you to produce an heir'. 

'That might take ... that might take ... a bit longer than you think', says Joachim tearfully, adjusting his cod piece. 

George points meaningfully, which is his thing. 'Now, let us wrap up this sad bag of spanners before my son and heir creates any more disasters! Wormer, we shall hold our military review as soon as the remainder of the troops are assembled! And send me messages from our envoy in Zenta as soon as they arrive!'

'Indeed, sire!' replies Wormer. 'No doubt information will arrive very shortly!'