She would have gladly melted into a puddle in front of it.
Julian pulled the grate away and stoked the logs with a nearby poker. “We should get out of our clothes.”
“I—” Scarlett stopped her protest when Julian crossed over to a rosewood grandfather clock. Two sets of boots rested at its feet and two hangers of garments were swinging from the pediments on each side.
“Looks like someone is watching out for you.” The mocking lilt had returned to Julian’s voice.
Scarlett tried to ignore it as she inched closer. Next to the clothes, on top of a gilded table covered in moon dials, a curvy vase of red roses sat next to a tray laden with fig bread, cinnamon tea, and a note.
* * *
For Scarlett Dragna, and her companion.
I’m so pleased you could make it.
—Legend
* * *
The message was written on the same gold-edged paper as the letter Scarlett had received on Trisda. She wondered if Legend went to such pains for all his guests. It was difficult for Scarlett to believe she was special, yet she couldn’t imagine the master of Caraval bestowed personalized greetings and bloodred roses upon every visitor.
Julian coughed. “Do you mind?” The sailor reached past Scarlett, pulled off a hunk of bread, and yanked down the set of clothes meant for him. Then he started undoing the belt holding up his pants. “You going to watch me undress, because I don’t mind.”
Immediately embarrassed, Scarlett looked away. He had no decency.
She needed to dress as well, but there was no place to do it safely concealed. It seemed impossible that the room had grown smaller since they’d arrived, yet she could now see how truly minuscule it was. Less than ten feet of space lay between her and the front door. “If you turn your back to me, we can both change.”
“We can both change facing each other too.” There was a smile in his voice now.
“That’s not what I meant,” Scarlett said.
Julian chuckled under his breath. But when Scarlett brought her head up, his back was to her. She tried not to stare. Every inch of it was muscled, just as his torso had been, but that wasn’t the only part that captivated her attention. A thick scar disfigured the space between his shoulder blades. Two more crossed his lower back. As if someone had stabbed him multiple times.
Scarlett swallowed a gasp and felt instantly guilty. She shouldn’t have been looking. Hastily she grabbed the clothes meant for her and focused on dressing. She tried not to imagine what could have happened to him. She wouldn’t want anyone seeing her scars.
Mostly her father just left bruises, but for years she’d dressed herself without the help of a maid so no one would see. She had imagined that experience would come in handy now, but the dress Legend left her would require no assistance; it was rather plain, disappointing. The opposite of how she’d imagined clothes from Caraval. There was no corset. The bodice fabric was an unappealing shade of beige, with a flat skirt. No petticoats or underskirts or bustles.
“Can I turn around now?” Julian asked. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
The firm way he’d gripped her waist while he’d sliced off her dress instantly came to mind, making her tingle from her breastbone down to her hips. “Thank you for that reminder.”
“I wasn’t talking about you. I barely even saw your—”
“Not making it better. But you can turn around,” she said. “I’m buttoning my boots.”
When Scarlett looked up, Julian was in front of her, and Legend definitely had not given him an unattractive set of clothes.
Scarlett’s eyes traveled from the midnight-blue cravat around his throat to the fitted burgundy waistcoat it tucked into. A deep-blue tailcoat emphasized strong shoulders and a narrow waist. The only item reminiscent of the sailor was the knife belt slung over the hips of his slender pants.
“You look—different,” Scarlett said. “It no longer appears as though you’ve just come from a brawl.”
Julian stood a little straighter, as if she’d complimented him, and Scarlett wasn’t sure she hadn’t. It didn’t seem fair that someone so infuriating could look so close to perfect. Although despite his crisp clothes, he still appeared far from gentlemanly—and it wasn’t just his unshaven face or the choppy waves of his brown hair. There was simply something wild about Julian that could not be tamed by Legend’s garments. The sharp planes of his face, the shrewd look in his brown eyes—they weren’t minimized because he now wore a cravat, or … a pocket watch?
“Did you steal that?” Scarlett asked.
“Borrowed,” Julian corrected, twirling the chain around his finger. “Same as the clothes you have on.” He looked her over and nodded approvingly. “I can see why he sent you tickets.”
“What’s that supposed to me—” Scarlett broke off as she caught her reflection in the glass of a mirrored clock. No longer dull shades of bland, the dress was now a rich cerise—the color of seduction and secrets. A stylish row of bows ran down the center of a fitted bodice with a scooped neck, set off by a matching ruffled bustle. The skirts beneath were scalloped and fitted to her form, five slender tiers of different fabrics, alternating between cerise silk and tulle, and bits of black lace. Even her boots had changed, from dull brown to an elegant combination of matching black leather and lace.
She ran her hands over the material of her dress to make sure it wasn’t just a trick of the mirror or the light. Or maybe in her frozen state she’d only thought the dress had been drab before. But deep down Scarlett knew there was only one explanation. Legend had given her an enchanted gown.
Magic like this was only supposed to live in stories, but this dress was very real, leaving Scarlett unsure what to think. The child inside her loved it; the grown-up Scarlett wasn’t sure she felt quite comfortable in it—whether it was magical or not. Her father would never have let her wear something so eye-catching, and even though he wasn’t there, attention was still not a thing she craved.
Scarlett was a pretty girl, though she often liked to hide it. She’d inherited her mother’s thick dark hair, which complemented her olive skin. Her face was more of an oval than Tella’s, with a petite nose and hazel eyes so large she always felt they gave away too much.
For a moment she almost wished for the drab beige frock. No one noticed girls in ugly clothes. Maybe if she thought about it, the dress would shift again. But even as she visualized a simpler cut and a plainer color, the cherry gown remained vibrant and tight, clinging to curves she’d rather have concealed.
Julian’s cryptic words came to mind—I can see why he sent you tickets—and Scarlett wondered if she’d found a way to escape her father’s deadly games on Trisda, only to become a well-costumed piece on a new game board.
“If you’re finished admiring yourself,” said Julian, “should we search for that sister you’re so eager to find?”
“I would think you’d be worried about her as well,” said Scarlett.
“Then you think too highly of me.” Julian started toward the door as every chime in the shop rang out.
“You might not want to exit that way,” said an unfamiliar voice.
8
The rotund man who had just entered the shop looked a bit like a clock himself. The mustache on his dark, round face stretched out like a minute and hour hand. His shiny brown frock coat reminded Scarlett of polished wood, his brass suspenders of cable pulleys.
“We weren’t stealing,” Scarlett said. “We—”
“You should only speak for yourself.” The man’s baritone voice fell several octaves as he focused two narrowed eyes on Julian.
From dealing with her father, Scarlett knew it was best not to appear guilty.
Don’t look at Julian.
Yet she couldn’t help but glance.
“I knew it!” said the man.
Julian reached for Scarlett, as if to push her toward the door.
“Oh no, don’t run out! I’m only kidding,” the stranger call
ed. “I’m not Casabian, I’m not the owner! I’m Algie, and I don’t care if your pockets are stuffed with clocks.”
“Then why are you trying to stop us from leaving?” Julian’s hands were on his belt, one reaching for his knife.
“This boy’s a bit paranoid, isn’t he?” Algie turned to Scarlett, but she was feeling sage-shaded colors of suspicion as well. Was it just her, or were the clocks on the wall ticking faster than before?
“Come on,” she said to Julian. “Tella’s probably worried to death about us by now.”
“You’ll find whoever you’re looking for faster this way.” Algie stepped over to the rosewood grandfather clock, opened its glass door, and tugged on one of its weights. As he did, the metallic puzzle clocks on the wall shifted. Click. Clack. Their pieces snapped together, rearranging into a magnificent patchwork door with a notched count wheel in place of a handle.
Algie waved an arm theatrically. “Today only! For a bargain price the two of you can use this entrance—a shortcut into the heart of Caraval.”
“How do we know it’s not just an entry into your basement?” asked Julian.
“Does this feel like a door to a cellar? Look with all of your senses.” Algie touched the door’s notched wheel and at once every clock in the shop went quiet.
“If you leave this shop the other way, you’ll be spit into the cold and you’ll still have to pass through the gates. This will save you precious time.” He released the handle and all the timepieces started moving once more.
Tick-tock. Tock-tick.
Scarlett wasn’t sure she believed Algie, yet there was obviously something magical about the portal on the wall. It felt a bit like the dress she wore, as if it took up a little more space than everything else around it. And if it were a shortcut into Caraval, then she would find her sister faster. “What will it cost us?”
Julian’s dark brows slanted up. “You’re actually considering his offer?”
“If it will get us to my sister faster.” Scarlett would have expected the sailor to be all for shortcuts, but instead his eyes darted around almost nervously. “You think it’s a bad idea?” she asked.
“I think the smoke we saw is the entrance to Caraval, and I’d rather keep my currency.” He reached for the front door.
“But you don’t even know the price,” said Algie.
Julian threw a look at Scarlett, pausing for the click of a second hand. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes, and when he spoke again she would have sworn his voice sounded strained. “Do whatever you want, Crimson, but just a friendly warning for when you do get inside: be careful who you trust; most of the people here aren’t who they appear.” A bell chimed as he stepped outside.
Scarlett hadn’t expected him to stay with her forever, yet she found herself more than a little bit unnerved by his abrupt departure.
“Wait—” Algie called as she started to follow. “I know you believe me. Are you just going to chase that boy and let him decide for you, or make a choice for yourself?”
Scarlett knew she needed to leave. If she didn’t hurry, she’d never find the sailor, and then she’d be utterly alone. But Algie’s use of the word choice made her pause. With her father always telling her what to do, Scarlett rarely felt as if she had any genuine choices. Or maybe she paused because the part of her that had not quite let go of all her childhood fantasies wanted to believe Algie.
She thought of how effortlessly the door had formed and how every clock had gone silent when Algie had touched the door’s peculiar handle. “Even if I was interested,” she said, “I don’t have any money.”
“But what if I’m not asking for money?” Algie straightened the tips of his mustache. “I said I’m offering a bargain; I’d just like to borrow your voice.”
Scarlett choked on nervous laughter. “That doesn’t sound like a fair trade.” Was a voice even a thing someone could borrow?
“I only want it for an hour,” Algie said. “It will take you at least that long to follow the smoke and make it into the house and start the game, but I can let you inside right now.” He pulled a watch from his pocket, and wound both the hour and minute hands to the top. “Say yes, and this device will take your voice for sixty minutes, and my door will lead you right inside the heart of Caraval.”
She could find her sister right now.
But what if he was lying? What if he took more than an hour? Scarlett was uncomfortable trusting a man she’d just met, even more so after Julian’s warning. The idea of losing her voice terrified her as well. Her cries had never stopped her father from hurting Tella, but at least Scarlett had always been able to call out. If she did this and something happened, she’d be powerless. If she saw Tella from a distance, she’d be unable to yell her name. And what if Tella was waiting for Scarlett at the gate?
Scarlett only knew how to survive through caution. When her father made deals, there was almost always something awful he failed to mention. She couldn’t risk that happening now.
“I’ll take my chances with the regular entrance,” she said.
Algie’s mustache drooped. “Your loss. It really would have been a bargain.” He pulled open the patchwork door. For a brilliant moment Scarlett glimpsed the other side: a passionate sky made of melting lemons and burning peaches. Thin rivers that shined like polished gemstones. A laughing girl with curly spires of honey—
“Donatella!” Scarlett rushed for the door, but Algie slammed it shut before her fingers grazed the metal.
“No!” Scarlett grabbed the notched wheel and tried to turn it, but it dissolved into ash, falling into a gloomy pile at her feet. She watched hopelessly as the puzzle pieces shifted again, clicking apart until the door was no more.
She should have made the trade. Tella would have done it. In fact, Scarlett figured that was how her sister had gotten inside in the first place. Tella never worried about the future or consequences; it was Scarlett’s job to do that for her. So while she should have felt better knowing Tella was definitely in Caraval, Scarlett could only worry about what kinds of trouble her sister would find. Scarlett should have been in there with her. And now she had lost Julian as well.
Hurrying out of Casabian’s shop, Scarlett rushed onto the street. Whatever warmth she’d felt inside immediately vanished. She hadn’t thought she’d been there very long, yet the morning had already disappeared along with early afternoon. The hatbox shops were now obscured in a din of leaden shadows.
Time must move faster on this isle. Scarlett worried she would blink and the stars would be out. Not only had she been separated from Tella and Julian, but she’d wasted valuable minutes. The day was almost over, and Legend’s invitation said she only had until midnight to make it inside Caraval’s main gates.
Wind danced along Scarlett’s arms, wrapping cold white fingers around the parts of her wrists her dress didn’t cover. “Julian!” she cried out hopefully.
But there was no sign of her former companion. She was totally alone. She wasn’t sure if the game had started yet, but she already felt as if she were losing.
For a panicked moment she thought the smoke had disappeared as well, but then she spied it again. Past the darkened storybook shops, sweet-smelling rings of it still made their way into the sky, rising out of a massive brick chimney, attached to one of the largest houses Scarlett had ever seen. Four stories high, with elegant turrets, balconies, and flower boxes full of bright and pretty things—white candytuft flowers, magenta poppies, tangerine snapdragons. All somehow untouched by the snow, which had started falling again.
Scarlett hurried toward the house, a new chill sliding over her as footsteps approached and she heard a low chuckle emerge from the flurry of white. “You didn’t take Grandfather Clock up on his offer?”
Scarlett jumped.
“No need to be scared, Crimson, it’s just me.” Julian emerged from the shadows of a nearby building, just as the sun finished setting.
“Why haven’t you gone in yet?” She pointed t
oward the turreted house. Half relieved not to be alone, half nervous to see the sailor again. A few minutes ago he’d rushed out of the clock shop. Now Julian sauntered closer as if he had all the time in the world.
His tone was warm and friendly when he said, “Maybe I was hoping you’d show up?”
But Scarlett found it difficult to believe he’d just been standing there, waiting for her, especially after the abrupt way he’d left her. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Or maybe she was paranoid from having lost Tella in the clock shop. She told herself she’d be with her sister soon enough. But what if Scarlett couldn’t find her once they were inside?
The wooden mansion appeared even larger close up, sprawling toward the sky as if its wooden beams still grew. Scarlett had to crane her neck to see the entirety of it. A fifty-foot-tall iron fence curled around it, formed into shapes both vulgar and innocent: They seemed to move, even to perform. Prancing girls being chased by naughty boys. Witches riding tigers and emperors atop elephants. Chariots pulled by winged horses. And in the center of it all hung a brilliant crimson banner embroidered with the silver symbol of Caraval.
If Tella were there they might have giggled together, the way only sisters could. Tella would have pretended not to be impressed, though secretly she would have been delighted. It was not the same with this strange sailor, who looked neither delighted nor impressed.
After how he’d helped her that day, Scarlett had to admit he wasn’t quite the scoundrel he seemed, but she also doubted he was the simple sailor he appeared. He eyed the gate suspiciously, the set of his shoulders tense, the lines of his back rigidly straight. All of the laziness she’d witnessed on the boat had vanished; Julian was now a boxed coil, tightly wound as if preparing for some sort of fight.
“I think we should go farther down and look for a gate,” he said.