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.

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 called. “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.”