At first glance, it could have been an explorer’s hut in the most remote of jungles. But of course it was only a guesthouse hidden in the rainforest—the faux rainforest—behind the Pavilion.

Inside, Itamar—or what was once Itamar—lay on his back in a four-poster bed. His ancient face was so parched and shrunken he looked like the disinterred mummy of an Egyptian pharaoh.

Dr. L hovered over him, taking the measure of his skull with some kind of handheld laser. He jotted notes on a pad.

Ms. Mauvais walked in. “Is he…?” She broke off, uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Yes, he’s dead,” said Dr. L dispassionately. “More dead, I should say. So much of him has been dead for centuries.”

An emotion similar to grief appeared briefly on Ms. Mauvais’s frozen face—a small crack in a field of ice. “If only he could have lasted another day! We are so close.”

Slowly, she moved to the bedside and looked down at Itamar.

“I did cry over that horse,” she whispered. “It’s just that I never let anyone see.”

Dr. L raised an eyebrow. “You? Cry? What are you talking about?”

Ms. Mauvais reeled around, snapping out of it. “Nothing! You misheard me, that is all.”

“Itamar made you what you are, didn’t he? Just as you made me,” Dr. L reflected. “I wonder what I will feel when you die…”

Ms. Mauvais’s cold eyes flashed. “I will never die.”

“Doctor? Madame?” The Bald Man—the grim van driver who had identified himself earlier as the Wild World Operations manager—entered the office. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the girl and her mother, they’ve escaped.”

Ms. Mauvais glared. “Then why are you wasting your time here? Find them! I assume all the children are being rounded up?”

“Don’t worry, we’re on it. But there’s one more thing…” The Bald Man hesitated. He clearly didn’t like being the bearer of bad news.

“Yes, spit it out,” said Dr. L.

“The police. They’ve been asking questions at the Wild World offices. They seem to know a lot…”

“The police!” scoffed Ms. Mauvais. “What do we care about the police?”

“Well, you may not care, but I don’t want to end up in jail!” said the Bald Man, agitated.

“Why? What did you tell them?” asked Dr. L.

“I didn’t.”

“Good. Now let’s make sure it stays that way.” Dr. L pointed the laser at the other man’s head. “How lucky that you’re bald. I hate the smell of burning hair.”

Dr. L watched beads of sweat gather on the Bald Man’s forehead, then he lowered the laser.

“Forget the police. Find the girl.”

He reached down and pressed a small button on the wall next to the bed. An alarm started to sound.