“Masks,” I explained to the dog. It was unreasonable to expect him to comprehend, but we had been working so well together, and I had, I admit, gotten my hopes up. I raised my hands and mimed putting on a mask. I did a little dance, a few brisk steps in the water. I made faces—stretching my lips apart with my fingers, sticking my tongue out at the dog, trying to communicate—and pointed in the general direction, I thought, of the masks. Dogs don’t understand pointing. I scolded, “Wooden masks! African masks! That way! On the wall by the door to the rare-book room! Next to the tiger! Quit licking your nuts and fetch me a mask!”

For good measure I gave him a kick in the butt. “Hurry, boy,” I called as he disappeared down an aisle.

In my impatience with the dog I had forgotten, almost forgotten, for a moment, how scared I was.

Then William stepped out of nowhere and, in his hushed, baritone voice, said, “How dare you abuse Chuck’s animal.”

“William. God. You scared me.” Panic was coming on and I was thirsty for a double whiskey and it did not help to be talking to a person who hides in the stacks acting like a wraith. I said to this impertinent man, “What are you talking about?”

“You were beating him.”

“I was not. I gave him a friendly shove. It’s called encouragement. You have to be firm with animals or they won’t respect you.”

“You sound like Father.”

I was not certain how to respond to this. On the one hand, I felt complimented. On the other, I felt insulted. William said, “You think you know how people should behave. But you’re the one who doesn’t know how to behave, Doug. You mistreat people and you mistreat animals. You even mistreat flowers.”

William’s voice was barely audible, and in the dim light I could distinguish the outline of his face, though not William’s mouth or nose or eyes. He was dressed all in black, and his body in the dark seemed indistinct, borderless, a soft, porous form that lingered sickeningly before the shelves.

“I’m sorry about your lilies, William, but that was hours ago. It’s not polite to hold grudges.”

“Please don’t tell me how to feel.”

“I wasn’t.”

William confessed, “I used to like you but I’m not sure if I do anymore, Doug. I think there’s something wrong with you. You think you’re so important. You think we should all get down on our knees and pray to you. But you’re not important. I hope they catch you tonight. I hope they catch the Corn King. I really do.”

“Just tell me how to get out of here.”

“Go that way.”