I had thought my preparations to be rather clever. In a moment of inspiration, I had removed the label from the bottle of patent medicine that I had confiscated from Molly and un-corked it. With no label, the bottle's dull red contents were plainly visible and could have been anything, which I planned to use to full advantage. I held the bottle by its neck with one paw and the key I had stolen from Goredian in the other, keeping the key over the mouth of the bottle so that I would be able to drop it in. I thought to bluff Wilde's tormentors and claim that the fraudulent medicine was acid, thereby avoiding a physical confrontation.

What I realized only after I had moved into the warehouse and beyond the safety afforded by the crate nearest the door was that I had neglected to leave myself a free paw for the umbrella I was using as a cane, and had in fact left it propped up against the outside of the warehouse. It was a foolish mistake, one of the sort that I would have thought myself long past, but just as when I had leaped out of the police carriage after Wilde the excitement of the situation had blinded me to the reality of my infirmity. I had not felt the pain in my bad leg at all while walking the few yards, but it became all I could do to focus on anything but the pain. Although my foot was somewhat numb as it had always been since my injury, I could feel the tremble that meant I was in the very real danger of having my leg collapse from underneath me. I balanced desperately on my good leg, gritting my teeth at the pain and with no small measure of stubbornness.

I had made an error that could very well be grave, for both myself and Wilde, but I refused to stop. My only hope relied on exchanging the key for Wilde as quickly as possible before I fell to the floor. "Halloa!" I called out towards the mammals at the center of the warehouse.

Although the warehouse was lit dimly by only what light could make its way through the filthy skylights in the roof, I could still see well enough, though the corners of the open space disappeared into shadows. There were four mammals in a rough semi-circle around what I recognized as the lock box from the bank and Wilde, who was sprawled on the dirty boards of the warehouse floor with his paws bound behind his back.

Although every moment I stood without the umbrella to maintain my balance and provide support felt like an eternity of agony, I was rather glad at the precautions I had taken when I saw the thieves. In addition to the moose who had abducted Wilde, there was a panda bear, a camel, and a horse, any one of which could have likely overpowered me alone, to say nothing of what they could accomplish as a group. Indeed, they were to a mammal powerfully built, dressed in the simple clothes of mammals who made their living with manual labor.

The camel spat on the floor of the warehouse. "Are you lost, lady?" he said, and by his voice knew he was the mammal I had first heard speaking, "You'd best leave. Warehouses can be awful dangerous."

He directed a kick at the insensate form of Wilde, who gave no reaction. "Found this thieving fox skulking about," he added, and favored me with a smile that exposed a mouthful of rotting green teeth, "Naught for you to worry about."

While he spoke, the other three mammals had begun to slowly move towards me, and I knew that what happened next would depend largely on my reaction. "That's far enough," I said sharply, and held the key and the bottle before me, "In one paw I have the key you desire. In the other, aqua regia. Take another step and I swear I'll dissolve it."

The three other mammals froze, but the camel, who I surmised to be the leader of the rough group, simply laughed, his entire demeanor changing as he realized I knew the true reason Wilde was there. "You must be the bunny, then," he said, turning to the moose, "Alces, you didn't mention the dress."

The moose shrugged his massive shoulders. "She wasn't dressed like that, last I saw her."

The camel turned his attention back to me. "Go ahead and destroy the key, then," he said carelessly, "Should Wilde have produced it, we would do the same."

I wondered if I had compounded my error, but I thought not. I did not know to what purpose the thieves desired the key, but I thought the camel's words to be falsehoods. "Very well," I said, and allowed the key to slip a fraction of an inch through my grasp.

From the way that the thieves all started in surprise, I thought my theory correct. "A lie, then," I said, favoring the camel with a smile of my own, "Perhaps we can skip to the negotiations."

Although I was putting on a brave face, I could only hope that I was appearing strong. I could not manage to stand much longer, and if I fell I knew that it would all be over, with one of the thieves on me in a trice. The camel scowled and folded his arms across his chest and I laid out my terms. "I'll exchange the key for Wilde," I said, and the camel seemed surprised at my words.

"Gladly," he said, "He's been no use to us."

I frowned at the way in which the camel had so readily accepted. Though I supposed that the thieves desperately wanted the key for some reason, I would have thought them to be more suspicious, particularly considering that the camel had so glibly had a lie on his tongue as to why they had a bound fox in the warehouse. I did not think that I could trust him to keep to his word, and I racked my brain for how to maintain the advantage. I considered my position in the warehouse. It was perhaps four yards from where I stood to where Wilde was on the floor. It was only about six yards from the door of the warehouse to where I stood, but considering my bad leg it may as well have been six miles. "Untie Wilde, and send him this way," I said, "Once he is to me, I'll put down the key."

"Very well," the camel replied, and though I was glad that he was not dragging things out, I thought again that he was too quick to agree, "Untie him, Chao."

At his words, the panda moved over to Wilde, who had remained silent and glassy-eyed throughout the entire proceedings as though he had no idea what was transpiring around him. After untying Wilde's paws, the panda brought him to his feet as easily as I might lift a pen. "Go on," he said, pointing in my direction, and his was the voice that had been so deep and low that I had not been able to make it out from beyond the warehouse's door.

"That's a rather large carrot," Wilde slurred as he faced me, forcibly reminding me of how gaudy the awful orange dress I wore was, "Are you sure?"

The panda gave Wilde no verbal response, instead shoving him roughly in my direction. Wilde stumbled like a drunkard, but when he reached me and touched my shoulder with an unsteady paw he did not put any weight on it, instead dropping me a sly wink that only I could see, all traces of his previous confusion gone. "Careful now," he murmured, his voice so low that none of the thieves could hear him, "There's a fifth."

I inclined my head minutely to indicate that I had heard, even as I tried to look around the warehouse without giving it away that I was doing so. My vision could not pierce the shadows of the corners, and there were so many boxes and crates stacked around the borders of the warehouse that a mammal could be hidden about anywhere. "Give up the key," the camel said sharply, "On the ground, now."

I could not keep the pain that bending down caused me from showing on my face, but under the guise of supporting himself against me, Wilde lowered himself with me and positioned his back such that the thieves could not see it. Most usefully, however, he lent a paw under my arm so that I could brace myself against him, which was a mercy; my bad leg felt as though it would give way at any moment and only the sheer force of my will was keeping me upright. Once the key and the bottle were out of my paws and on the floor, the four thieves began slowly creeping forward, but I had anticipated this and pulled my revolver forth with one paw and used the other to pull myself upright using Wilde's arm as a support.

Before the thieves had the chance to move much more than a foot I sighted an unlit gaslight hanging from one of the beams that supported the roof of the warehouse perhaps fifty feet away and squeezed off a round. It had been many months since I had last fired a gun and I was still weak from my long illness. The recoil about drove the revolver back into my face and I stumbled a pace, wobbling with the agony in my bad leg before Wilde caught me and kept me from falling. The report of the gunshot was near to deafening in the enclosed space of the warehouse, and I worried at first that I had missed, but my aim remained as true as ever. The glass globe of the gaslight exploded into shards, and I redirected my revolver at the bottle on the floor. "I can hit the bottle just as easily," I threatened, my voice loud to overcome the ringing in my ears, "Stay back until we're out, else I will ensure that the key is destroyed."

The camel was anything but stupid, and he understood my threat well enough: if I shot the bottle, it would leak its contents onto the key, and as far as he knew it was full of a strong acid. He shot me a look of rage of such intensity that I had never seen its kind before. "That was not our agreement, rabbit," he said.

I started backing up, Wilde continuing to support me, as we edged towards the door. "Close enough to it," I said, unimpressed by his attempt to argue the fine details.

As I had to keep facing the bottle to maintain a bead upon it, I could not tell how close we were to the door, only that our progress felt slow as treacle. What transpired next seemed to happen all at once, but I suppose that is a tribute to Wilde's reflexes, despite his injuries. The camel's eyes darted upwards and he gave a great cry of "Now!"

As the words left his lips a tiger leaped from the darkness of the rafters towards us, his eyes filled with a terrible purpose and his wicked claws outstretched and grasping for Wilde's shoulders. Before the tiger could land, however, Wilde lifted me bodily in his arms and with a speed I would not have guessed him to possess, bolted for the exit. Although the tiger had narrowly missed us with his pounce, it took him no time at all to recover, and with a snarl of unfiltered hostility he was on his feet and back after us. I would have fired upon him, but Wilde had picked me up so roughly and with such an unexpected suddenness that I had dropped my revolver and I could only watch, bouncing with every step Wilde took, as the tiger closed on us even as the other thieves raced for the key. I had though the camel to have shown the absolute zenith of rage, but it was absolutely nothing compared to the look the predator gave, a look that I still see in my dreams sometimes of flashing yellow eyes and claws.

The tiger, unburdened and uninjured, closed the distance between us rapidly. Immediately before reaching the door out of the warehouse, Wilde heaved me from his arms, and I tumbled painfully ears over scut, moments ahead of him. He crossed the threshold mere inches ahead of the pursuing tiger and pulled at the door desperately. I did not think that he could drive it home in time, and indeed the tiger got one massive paw beyond the door, but Wilde paid it no mind and slammed the door with such force that the tiger's paw was caught between the door and the wall. The tiger withdrew his paw with a piteous yowl of pain that I could hear even through the sturdy planks of the door as Wilde shut the door and engaged the massive padlock, locking the door shut. "Away from the door," I warned, from my undignified position on the ground outside the warehouse, "I dropped my revolver."

Before making his way towards me, Wilde took my umbrella from its resting place against the wall of the warehouse and brought it to me. "That was very well done, Dr. Hopps," Wilde said approvingly, offering me a paw to pull myself to my feet.

I shook my head. "I don't think I can stand," I admitted, and it was the simple truth.

The pain in my leg had grown far and away beyond its normal ache, and I knew I would pay dearly for my carelessness over the next few days. In response, Wilde picked me up again, more gently then before, and carried me to what was probably out of my revolver's range. "That door is the only way in or out of the warehouse," Wilde observed as he lowered me to the ground and took a seat besides me, "It should hold until the police arrive. I assume you did summon the police?"

I nodded. "Excellent," Wilde said, "You have my most sincere thanks."

I thought I did, too. If I had not thought him to be an excellent actor before, his little bit of pretending to be groggy from anesthetic would have been enough to convince me that the stage had lost a mammal who could have ranked among the finest to ever tread the boards. Still, there was no sign of the usual cynicism or wry amusement upon his muzzle, just the simple openness of his gratitude that I thought suited him far better. I leaned against the fox and gave a sigh of relief that I had not failed him. I felt almost indescribably tired, and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, but I thought that I could endure a little more, so long as he was by my side.

Author's Notes: ACE mixture was a real anesthetic, and it really was made by mixing alcohol, chloroform, and ether, which gives it its name. It was first used around 1860 in recognition of the dangers that pure chloroform had as an anesthetic, but the alcohol content did mean that patients who received ACE mixture did typically come out of anesthesia somewhat excitable and disoriented. Treating ACE as an acronym instead of an initialism is, naturally, a reference to Gideon's mispronunciation of DNA in the film. In addition to ACE mixture, there were also AC and CE mixtures, which leave out one of the three ingredients. There was significant disagreement among physicians at the time as to what the most effective and safest anesthetic was, and while Dr. Hopps's view isn't necessarily the correct one, it was fairly reasonable.

As mentioned in the author notes for chapter 12, both ether and chloroform require several minutes of dosing to induce unconsciousness and continuous dosing to maintain it. The same is true of ACE mixture, but most people expect anesthetics to work the way they're shown in most media, where a couple seconds with a soaked rag over the victim's nose is enough to put them out for hours. Wilde was fortunate indeed that his abductor didn't have experience with knocking mammals out, and was clever enough to struggle and then feign unconsciousness to get the moose to stop dosing him. Also, good on you, Cimar of Turalis WildeHopps, for figuring out that Wilde was only pretending to be incapacitated.

There's something missing in the use of the ACE mixture that marks one of the changes between the 19th and 21st centuries: Dr. Hopps doesn't even consider trying to find out where the moose got the anesthetic and trying to trace him that way. Considering the urgency of finding Wilde, she could certainly be forgiven for missing something obvious, but in fact it was incredibly easy in the 19th century to get your hands on very dangerous chemicals. As mentioned in the notes for chapter 16 about patent medicines, there really wasn't much that couldn't be sold, and various anesthetics would have been readily available for anyone to buy. In the present day, tracing the source of an anesthetic would be a good lead to follow, but in 1881 it wouldn't be much more remarkable than a bottle of Tylenol would be to us in 2017.

Aqua regia is a real chemical, a mixture of nitric acid and hydrochloric acid, and it is yellow-orange in color. The reason why it has such an odd name, at least in comparison to many other chemicals, is that it was discovered and named by alchemists, who were most interested in its ability to dissolve gold, something neither nitric acid nor hydrochloric acid can do alone. It may have even been used as part of a con where gold would be dissolved in aqua regia and then precipitated out to make it appear as though the alchemist had successfully transmuted a base metal into gold. Aqua regia is capable of dissolving most metals, including steel, and had Dr. Hopps's bottle actually contained aqua regia rather than a patent medicine, it could have easily dissolved the key.

This is also as good a time as any to go into Dr. Hopps's leg injury. In movies especially, people get shot in their limbs and it's not a big deal. Reality is somewhat less forgiving. Her limp has a number of contributing factors: the damage to the muscle and bone, atrophy from spending months recovering from an unrelated illness, and nerve damage. Modern orthopedic techniques, using microsurgery to re-connect muscles and nerves, give far better outcomes than were available in the 19th century. Although Hugh Owen Thomas did pioneering work in the field of orthopedics from 1859 until his death in 1891, his work didn't become widely known until WWI created a demand for techniques to improve the outcomes for cases of severe injuries. In 1880, Dr. Hopps's bullet wound would have simply been stitched shut and the leg set. As a result, it's not the sort of injury that would ever completely heal; the numbness, weakness, and the associated difficulty balancing might eventually diminish somewhat, but as Dr. Hopps noted in chapter 12, her days of running are over.

"Halloa" is currently an archaic word, but it is a period appropriate way of calling attention to something or oneself. Although Dr. Hopps is indeed a bold one, "Hello, there," just doesn't quite have the same Victorian flavor.

A warehouse only having one way in or out would never be allowed in the present day, as it's a fire and safety hazard, but the rules for how buildings are made were significantly more lax in the Victorian era. Unfortunately, it took events like the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire in 1911, in which the exits of the building were locked by the owners causing 146 workers to die when they could not escape a fire, to drive safety reforms.