When I had been twelve or thirteen years old, I had been entrusted with the care of several of my younger nieces and nephews for the annual Bunny Burrows Harvest Festival. I had not minded the task, as I was quite glad to give my older siblings a respite from the care of their kits, and spent the day shepherding my charges from one novelty to the next. I recalled most of the activities from my own kithood; the fried foods and games of skill and chance were much the same as ever, but of course my nieces and nephews saw them through fresh eyes. What had been new to me as well as them, however, was a tent advertising what it claimed to be, "The Incredible Zoetrope - Moving Pictures."
It had been my first encounter with a zoetrope, and I think that I was as fascinated as the kits with it, for what appeared to be little more than a drum set into a rapid rotation by a grim goat at a crank showed the most extraordinary sight when viewed from above. Despite having at least half-a-dozen or more mammals crowding around it, we all saw the image of a deer dancing ballet, going through the same graceful twirl and leap over and over again.
As I sat in the police carriage alongside Clawhauser and Trunkaby, the memory of Wilde's abduction ran through my head like that zoetrope image. I could not help but think of what I could have done differently, if only I had had the presence of mind. Even if I had remembered to grab my cane, I surely could not have caught up with the moose; my days of running were over, but had I not made the attempt to give chase myself, would Clawhauser have succeeded? Had the moment of hesitation that I caused in the cheetah as he wavered between checking on me and giving pursuit cost him his opportunity to catch the kidnapper? It was a bitter thought indeed, to think that Wilde might have been better served if I had taken no action, and I cursed my crippled leg. I had always been a mammal of action, and I will confess that my tendency to act before thinking had on more than one occasion gotten me into trouble that might have otherwise been avoided but I had borne those consequences alone. Worse yet, if his kidnapping was related to the bank robbery, as it seemed likely to be, it was my fault as well that Wilde had even become involved in the case; without my prodding he never would have taken it.
I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I realized I had neglected to pay attention to Trunakby or Clawhauser only when I caught Clawhauser's sharp response to something the elephant had said, but not the remark itself.
"Wilde would not have done that," the cheetah said, firmly and quite a bit more loudly than was entirely appropriate.
The package that had been delivered at 221B Barker Street for my companion was open and on Trunakby's lap, but her focus was on the cheetah. "He is a fox, through and through," Trunkaby said.
"Whatever do you mean by that?" I interjected, lost as to where the conversation had started.
"We cannot ignore the possibility that Wilde arranged his so-called abduction himself; he may be in league with the bank robbers, or perhaps it is some other sticky business catching up to him now."
"He would not have done such a thing!" I cried with a vehemence that surprised even myself.
Trunkaby gave me a pitying look. "Do you know why he works as a detective?"
It occurred to me in that moment that I did not, and I admitted as much. "We have never spoken of it."
"Wilde cares not a whit for justice or the rule of law. To him, a crime is a puzzle to be solved, not a wrong to be righted."
The elephant spoke with considerable disdain, and I supposed that she found the very concept alien to her nature. "He has said as much, in so many words?" I asked, finding myself hoping that it was merely a conclusion she had reached on her own.
"Oh, yes," she responded viciously, seeming to take pleasure in the discomfort that her answer caused me, "I have seen him pass over attempting to solve a double murder in favor of a case of mail fraud simply because he found the latter more interesting. What sort of mammal does that, I ask?"
"He is a great detective," Clawhauser said defensively.
"He has some amount of cleverness, to be sure, but the rest is all parlor tricks," Trunkaby said dismissively with a wave of her trunk.
"And you," she added, looking me dead in the eye, "Can you say he was hard at work, solving this case? He did know the true nature of Waldheim's crime before he confessed, did he not?"
I opened and closed my mouth, unable to find words that fit. Considering her mood, it seemed unwise to tell her that Wilde had spent half of the morning and a part of the afternoon first buying a pocket watch and then getting a bite to eat. I knew the rationale he had given for the first errand, but he had never deigned to explain the purpose behind visiting the fish and chip shop. Trunkaby was entirely correct that Wilde had known that the little rat had been guilty of robbing graves, not banks, and that well ahead of the confession the elephant had extracted. Worse, Wilde had made no effort to correct Trunkaby's misconception, appearing quite content to allow her to waste time even as he frequently spoke of how time was of the essence. I found myself entertaining the notion that it was possible Wilde really had arranged events to his convenience. Was it perhaps more reasonable to assume that Wilde had known of Waldheim's crime and used it to delay the police investigation into the bank robbery rather than deducing it from little more than the rat's appearance and a few bits of gold? I had not known why Wilde had become a detective, and I realized that I knew precious little about my fellow-lodger. Every conversation we had ever had that came close to revealing anything about his past had been skillfully side-stepped, and after watching him at work I could not deny that the fox was an expert at the art of deception. Still, I had seen his reaction when Trunkaby refused to entertain his theories on the case, and I did not think that even a mammal so talented as he could show such emotion if he did not truly believe it.
I felt ashamed for suspecting Wilde of any kind of wrong-doing. He had his failings, to be sure, but what mammal does not? It did not make him a criminal, and I groped for something to say in his defense. "Surely the package he received is of value to the case," I finally managed.
"Are you so sure, then?" Trunkaby asked, "Look here and tell me what is meant by this, if you can."
She gave over the package that Wilde had received, and I quickly understood her frustration. Although I had witnessed much of Wilde's investigation, I could make neither heads nor tails of what was inside the sturdy paperboard box. The box had no return address or other markings to provide a clue as to its origin, but the contents looked as though items had been chosen at random from a library as eclectic as the one Wilde himself maintained in our flat. There was a copy of the Annals of the New Yak Academy of Sciences dated two years previously, a battered book of maritime law, a slim volume on mortgage loans, copies of the minutes from the annual shareholder's meetings for Lemming Brothers Bank going back a decade, and other assorted odds and ends that meant nothing to me. I supposed that of all the items, the shareholder's meeting minutes would be the most likely to be of value, but perusing the first I found nothing of interest, simply the dry language of a board of directors going through the procedural motions. "I cannot," I admitted, "But you gave Wilde no chance to explain it himself."
The elephant gave an exasperated sigh. "I fully intended to give him a chance on this carriage ride," she said, her voice prickly, "You cannot hold me accountable for him never making it inside."
At her words, Clawhauser's defeated posture became even more despondent, which I would not have guessed possible. "It was my failing," he said glumly, "No moose should have ever been able to outrun me."
I had been so distracted by my own sense of responsibility that I had not realized that I was not the only one feeling guilt. "You are not to blame," I said firmly, "You did all you could."
The cheetah did not appear to believe my words, but the carriage came to a halt before I could offer further words of encouragement. We were at the Lemming Brothers Bank, but it looked quite a bit different from when last I had visited it. We had been forced to stop a good ways from the building itself, for there was an untidy crowd of mammals gathered around the bank. A queue of mammals stretched through the main door of the bank under the watchful eyes of wolves I assumed to belong to the bank's own security force, for they wore unremarkable suits in much the same manner as Mr. Lemming's personal servant Mr. Garou, and uniformed police officers. There were more police carriages and officers around the borders of the crowd, which had been demarcated with temporary barricades. The crowd itself was composed of a dizzying array of mammals, and while they seemed orderly enough there was an undercurrent of tension that filled the air. I recalled the newspaper which Trunkaby had shown Wilde; it seemed only natural to assume that the crowd was composed of depositors who had also seen it and were in a hurry to withdraw their money while the bank was still solvent.
Trunkaby located the chief inspector quickly enough near one of the other carriages. "Chief Inspector Bogo," she said, "I have the key."
The chief inspector was a tall buffalo of early middle-age, so powerfully built that his uniform seemed barely able to contain his musculature. Despite his physique, I did not think it would do to underestimate his intelligence; he wore a pair of half-moon spectacles, behind which were eyes that seemed as though they missed little. His resting expression had the same sternness I had seen on many of my former commanding officers in the military, and when he spoke, his tone was even and mild. "At the moment, Inspector, I cannot say that I care. Where is Wilde?"
Although Trunkaby was significantly larger than the buffalo, she seemed visibly cowed by his words. "A moose grabbed him as he was getting into the carriage," she said.
"He was abducted," I cut in firmly, not wanting to give Trunakby the chance to voice her theory that Wilde had been behind it, "Kidnapped, by a moose dressed in the clothes of a laborer. I did not see his face, but I would guess his age at between thirty-five and forty."
The chief inspector removed his spectacles and looked down at me. It was quite the distance for him; he was perhaps three times my height. "Judith Hopps," Clawhauser introduced me helpfully, gesturing with the one arm not in a sling, "She's Wilde's flatmate."
The chief inspector raised an eyebrow at that, but he did not comment on it. "Ms. Hopps—" he began.
"Dr. Hopps," I interjected.
I had historically viewed with some measure of disdain those doctors who insisted upon being referred to by their title, as it was to me more a mark of insecurity than anything else, but I would grasp at whatever straw I had if it would help the chief inspector take me seriously. "Dr. Hopps, did you witness this yourself?" he asked, and his voice remained gentle.
"I did," I said, "Wilde was on the verge of explaining his solution."
Chief Inspector Bogo turned to Trunkaby. "Is this true?" he asked, and his voice had a firmness it had not held when he spoke to me.
Trunkaby fidgeted with her enormous paws. "He claimed as such," she said defensively, "But it is very peculiar, you must admit, the timing of events."
The buffalo nodded slowly, and I suspected that the elephant had formed and already shared her theory before arriving to collect Wilde. It would go a long ways towards explaining why she had been so furious with him at our flat if she had already suspected him of being involved. "What of your arm, constable?" he asked, turning his attention to Clawhauser.
The cheetah nearly dropped the package my landlady had given over to him, surprised that his superior officer had addressed him. "I slipped, giving pursuit to the moose," he said, and while I suspected that he was doing his best to control his emotions it was plainly visible that his failure was the only thing that pained him more than having to report it.
"Unfortunate," the buffalo said, and there was a wealth of meaning in that single word that the cheetah seemed to catch.
"I need every mammal I can get," Bogo said, "Even the horses who pulled your carriage, should they be willing. Mr. Lemming has not made this a simple affair to manage."
He gave a brooding look towards the bank, then turned back to face Trunkaby. "I shall need you here," he said, "The key can wait; Mr. Lemming already had the lock box shipped back to the company that made it."
We all paused at something that I could practically detect in the air. The crowd had been slowly growing louder as we spoke, and a booming voice from near the bank's main door carried to us. "We will not be able to honor any more requests for withdrawals," the voice said, and even as the crowd grew louder still, the speaker continued, "Please disperse."
"Damn the fool!" Bogo swore.
Indeed, the crowd had begun to move chaotically, and another voice called up from near the bank. I was able to see the speaker, for he had a wide berth between him and the rest of the crowd and he was quite possibly the largest bear that I had ever seen, absolutely towering over those mammals around him. His powerful voice was filled with raw anger. "What of us predators, then? We've been forced to yield to prey behind us!"
The crowd seemed inflamed by his words, and I realized what the chief inspector had meant when he had said that Mr. Lemming was not managing the depositors well, if it was true that he had forced predators to yield their position in the queue to prey behind them. "As well you should!" another voice jeered, and that seemed to be the spark that turned the crowd into a riot.
I did not see who struck the first blow, security guards and police officers or members of the crowd, but there were suddenly cobblestones flying through the air and mammals striking at each other. The police officers began to blow on their whistles shrilly as they waded into the fray. "Get Dr. Hopps out of here," Bogo said to Clawhauser, "Get to precinct one as quickly as you can and start requesting every officer the other precincts can spare."
Clawhauser nodded and took me by the arm, the paperboard box wedged in the crook of his. "I really am sorry, Dr. Hopps," Bogo said, loudly to be heard over the rioting mammals but with surprising gentleness, "Wilde will have to wait. Now go!"
With that the buffalo fearlessly walked into the crowd himself, even as some panicked mammals threw themselves against the carriages and barricades that defined their border. Clawhauser pulled me along at a clip so rapid that my feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground for several blocks until we came to a cab and he directed it to precinct one.
We sat in the back in silence; I was sure that the cheetah was as preoccupied with his thoughts as I was with mine. I had never seen a riot before, but with no distractions my mind turned again to Wilde's abduction and the look the fox had worn as his surprise and pain at his tail being pulled had turned into realization as to what it meant. I saw again my own paws, reaching for his but failing to so much as touch his fingers. I remembered nothing of the cab ride, only coming out of my dismal reverie when the cab came to a stop in front of the police station. "Dr. Hopps?" Clawhauser said tentatively, before getting out of the cab, "Why don't you take this?"
He gave me the paperboard box I had briefly perused on the carriage ride to the bank. "Wilde must have had a reason for choosing you as a... a partner," he said, "If you figure anything out, I'll do my best to help."
I could have objected. I should have, but there was a warm lump in my throat that forbade me to speak. Clawhauser had entirely the wrong idea, I think, about my relationship with Wilde. Had Wilde chosen to room with me for any particular reason beyond the fact that I would make him more palatable to our landlady, he had never expressed as much. Shortly before his abduction, he had even told me straight out that he meant to dissolve even that little connection that existed between us. Still, it meant more to me than I could say that at least one other mammal was concerned about Wilde's fate. "I—" I began at last, and realized that my eyes were welling up, "Thank you."
I said it with all the sincerity that I could muster, even as I wondered what Wilde would think of my show of emotion. Perhaps it was just as well that he was not there, but I would have given much to have him present and back on the case, no matter what his frequently barbed tongue would have made of me. Clawhauser gave me a gentle squeeze with his good arm, nodding. "Good luck," he said.
"The same to you," I replied, and watched him walk into the station, his back straight.
The cabbie turned to me. "Where to now?" the old gray mare asked.
"221B Barker Street, as quick as you please," I said firmly as I daubed at my eyes with my handkerchief, and we set off.
In the back of the cab, I started to go through the box again and steeled my resolve. If the police did not have the mammals to find Wilde, then I would do it myself.
Author's Notes: I thought having notes at the end of the last chapter would kind of change its impact, so I'm including all of the notes that I would have included in chapter 11 with this chapter instead. I'm usually pretty wordy in these, so this one going to be particularly long. I've always tried to write the chapters so that these notes provide some additional flavor and context for events rather than being required reading to understand the story, so feel free to skip the incoming wall of text.
Fish and chip shops were first documented in London in 1860, and rapidly exploded in popularity, and would have been quite common by 1881. Granted, considering the make up of Zootopia there would probably not be as many, considering the relatively small number of residents who could eat meat. On the other hand, when the three basic options for animal-based protein are fish, insects, and poultry, fried fish could be popular enough. Early fish and chip shops only served food only to go, typically wrapped in newspaper, and would use the cooking method described of frying the food in a cauldron. At the time, however, beef tallow would be used to fry the fish and potatoes, which obviously would not fit the setting. Canola oil or sunflower seed oil would be the likely candidates in this story, since other vegetable oils are made from tropical or subtropical plants that wouldn't be quite as readily available. Malt vinegar was, and still is, a common seasoning for fish and chips. I've never been to England to have proper fish and chips, but in my opinion malt vinegar is pretty good on french fries.
Rabbits can eat meat, but it's in much the same way as a human being able to eat chalk; it's possible to eat it, but not possible to survive on it. Dr. Hopps being disgusted by the smell of cooked fish isn't unreasonable, but her bias is definitely showing when she can't quite grasp how others might find it appetizing. Additionally, as far as rabbits go, the word "królik" is Polish for "rabbit;" similarly Dorotka and Aleš are Slavic names.
Moose are faster than you might expect them to be, with a top speed of about 30 MPH (about 48 KPH). While this does fall far short of a cheetah's top speed of about 75 MPH (about 120 KPH), a cheetah cannot maneuver very well at that speed and cannot maintain it very long.
Anesthetics did start coming into widespread use in the 19th century; diethyl ether and chloroform were both used from about 1840, and both have a characteristic sweet smell. For a human, it takes several minutes of inhalation to be rendered unconscious, during which the victim may be disoriented but still capable of fighting back, as detective Wilde was described to do. As seen in the movie from his police application, Nick weighs 80 pounds (36.3 kilograms), which is significantly less than most human adults, and is also a fox; considering that he was being held by a moose, the poor guy didn't have a chance. 19th century anesthetics may be even more dangerous to him then they were to people. Both ether and chloroform require continuous dosage to maintain unconsciousness, and particularly for chloroform can easily result in accidentally administering a fatal dose. For this reason (as well as being carcinogenic), chloroform is no longer used as an anesthetic. While ether is a bit easier to safely dose, it has a number of undesirable side effects and is explosive, hence why it isn't used any more.
The zoetrope was an early form of animation that was invented in 1865, and is basically the 19th century equivalent of a GIF in that it loops a short series of frame continuously without sound. The original zoetrope used pictures in a drum, but the principle will also work with 3D models; Pixar has a really cool Toy Story zoetrope at the Disney California Adventure made with 3D models, inspired by a similar one for My Neighbor Totoro that Studio Ghibli made for the Ghibli Museum. If I ever go to Japan, that's on my shortlist of places to visit.
Animation technology made rapid advances in the 19th century; the zoetrope was succeeded by the praxinoscope in 1877, which in turn was succeeded by the zoopraxiscope in 1879, which in turn was succeeded by the kinetoscope in 1889. All of these would have been pretty common to see at carnivals and fairs throughout the late 19th century, particularly as side show amusements. While the phénakisticope, invented around 1833, predated the zoetrope significantly, it could only practically be used by one person at a time, and it wouldn't be unusual for someone from the countryside to have never seen one in the 1860s. Incidentally, the date that the zoetrope was invented also means that Dr. Hopps is around 29 years old; considering that she is a doctor I think it makes sense that she would be a bit older than she is in the movie, although that does mean her active military service was very short.
Police ranks come up a bit in both chapter 11 and 12; I've been using the same system as the London Metropolitan Police, where the lowest rank is constable, followed by sergeant, then inspector, then chief inspector. There are a number of ranks above chief inspector; this does mean that Bogo is of a nominally lower rank in this story than he is in the movie, as he would probably be a chief superintendent under the commonwealth rank scheme if I had kept it roughly equal. On the other hand, it does make his personal involvement somewhat more justifiable.
As a bit of my world building, the horses who pull the police carriage are not also police officers any more than a squad car would be an officer in our world. While they serve an essential police function, they're contract workers for the specific job of moving a police carriage, which may be slightly more dangerous than pulling a cab but at least pays better. This is why Bogo wants them to volunteer rather than being able to just order them. Now, this isn't to say that a horse couldn't be a police officer in the Victorian version of Zootopia, but they'd probably have to deal with getting confused for a carriage puller a lot.
In the late 19th century governments did not insure bank deposits against loss, which meant that bad news for a bank could lead to the depositors demanding their money out of fear that the bank would fail and they would lose everything. However, since banks invest a good portion of the money that they take as deposits, they cannot possibly pay out to every depositor if a significant fraction of them demand their money at the same time. The end result of this is that a run on a bank could very well lead to its failure. Of course, refusing to honor requests from depositors for their money is also unlikely to keep their business. For a bank run to turn into a riot was not unheard of, and the poor management of events by Mr. Lemming only made things worse.