Caraval (Caraval 1)

“But the rules said there are only five clues.”

“Is that really what they said? Or is that just how you interpreted them?” asked Aiko. “Think of the instructions as a map. There’s more than one way to get to almost every destination. Clues are hidden everywhere. The guidelines you received just make it easier to spot them. But keep in mind, clues are not the only thing you need to win. This game is like a person. If you truly want to play it right, you need to learn its history.”

“I know all about its history,” Scarlett said. “My grandmother has been telling me tales since I was a little girl.”

“Ah, tales passed on from your grandmother, I’m sure they’re very accurate.” Aiko took a bite of her waffle, white teeth sinking into the red petals on top of it, as she started down a new path.

Scarlett looked a final time for the man with the eye patch. But he was already gone. She’d missed her chance. She couldn’t lose Aiko as well.

The pretty girl was now in the middle of buying edible silver bells, and coin-size cakes dipped in glitter. As Scarlett followed, she imagined the girl was about to burst from all she had eaten, but she continued to buy from every vendor who asked her to make a trade. Scarlett discovered Aiko believed in saying yes whenever possible. Conversation paused as she bought confetti candies that glowed like fireflies, a glass of drinkable gold, and everlasting hair dye—for those silver hairs you want to be rid of forever—though Aiko looked far too young for it.

“So,” Scarlett started as they wove onto a street full of shops with pointy roofs but blessedly free of vendors. She felt ready to make a deal, but she wasn’t about to jump into it blind, as she had done before. “Caraval’s history is written in your notebook?”

“In a manner,” Aiko said.

“Prove it to me.”

To her astonishment, Aiko offered her the book.

Scarlett hesitated; it almost seemed too easy. “But I thought you’d only let me see if I gave you something in return.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t be bound to any deal unless you decide you wish to see more. The pictures that would help you are sealed by magic.” She said the word magic as if it were a private joke.

Scarlett took the book cautiously. Thin and light but somehow full of pages, every time Scarlett turned one, two more seemed to appear behind it, all of them painted with fantastical pictures. Queens and kings, pirates and presidents, assassins and princes. Grand ships the size of islands and tiny slips of wood that looked like the boat she and Julian had—

“Wait—these are pictures of me.” Scarlett flipped the next few pages. Aiko’s art showed her on the boat with Julian. Trudging half naked to the clock shop. Arguing behind the gates of the turreted house.

“These were private moments!” Thank the saints there were no compromising pictures of her in her room with Julian, but there was a very vivid piece of art showing her fleeing from Dante as every eye in the tavern looked on in judgment.

“How did you get these?” Red-faced, Scarlett turned back to the picture of her in the boat with Julian. She remembered an eerie feel of being watched when she’d first arrived on the isle. But this was far worse than that. “Why are there so many pictures of me? I don’t see drawings of other people.”

“This year’s game is not about other people.” Aiko’s gold-rimmed eyes met Scarlett’s. “Other participants aren’t missing their sister.”

When she’d first arrived to the isle, the idea of being Legend’s special guest had made Scarlett feel privileged. For the first time in her life, she’d felt special. Chosen. But once again, rather than feeling as if she were playing the game, it seemed as if the game were playing with her.

Sour shades of yellow-green made her stomach roil with trepidation. Scarlett didn’t like being toyed with, but what made her even more uneasy was the question why, out of all the people in the world, Legend would choose to make this game about her and her sister. The day in the clock shop Julian’s comment made it seem as if it had something to do with her appearance, but now Scarlett felt there was much more to it.

“In the tavern you started to ask me who I was,” Aiko went on. “I’m not a player. I’m a histographer. I record the history of Caraval through pictures.”

“I’ve never heard of a histographer.”

“Then you should feel lucky to have met me.” Aiko plucked back the journal.

Scarlett didn’t imagine luck had much to do with their meeting. She couldn’t deny that what she’d seen in the journal’s pages had been disturbingly accurate, but even if this girl really was a histographer, Scarlett wasn’t sure she believed she’d only come there to observe.

“Now you have seen a glimpse of my book,” Aiko went on, “and while I may show occasional peeks to vendors on the streets, what I offer you is a rare opportunity. I’m not the only artist who has stained its pages. Every true story from every Caraval in the past is in here. If you choose to examine all the stories inside, you will see who has won and how they did it.”

As Aiko spoke, Scarlett thought of Dante, then Julian. She wondered what had happened when they’d each played before. Other stories came to mind as well, like the woman who was killed years ago. Scarlett’s grandmother, who’d claimed to have charmed everyone with her purple dress. Scarlett doubted she’d actually find her nana in the book, but there was one person she did not doubt she would see. Legend.

If this book detailed the true history of Caraval, then Legend was certain to be pictured in it. Rupert, the boy from the first night, described the game as a mystery to be solved. And the first clue said: This girl was last seen with Legend. It made sense that if Scarlett found Legend, she would then find Tella as well, without having to search for the next two clues.

“All right,” Scarlett said. “Tell me what you want for another look in the journal.”

“Excellent.” Aiko appeared to sparkle a little more than usual. She guided Scarlett past a button-lined path leading to a hatter and haberdashery shaped like a top hat. Then she stopped in front of a dress shop.

Three stories high, made of all glass to better display brightly lit gowns in every material and shade. The color of late-night laughter, early-morning sunshine, and waves crashing around ankles. Each gown seemed to speak of its own rare adventure, with unique prices to match:

the thing you regret the most,