“Alice,” Oliver gasped. “Oh, Alice. Bless you. Bless you,” he said, “bless you for getting us to the other side, you wonderful girl,” and he tugged a stoppick out of his bag, broke it in half with his teeth, turned back for only a moment, and threw it hard in the direction of their attackers.

Everything slowed.

The broken casings spun with no real speed, but the very presence of magic sent the ladies into a wild-eyed frenzy. They were salivating, faces distorted by tortured excitement as the magic drew closer, but their eagerness turned to anger as the remains of the stoppick froze and shattered in midair. The ladies shrieked and shrank back, clawing at their eyes, as tens of thousands of colorful threads fell from the sky and wove themselves across the land, creating a beautiful and terrifying barricade.

Alice couldn’t believe something so simple had worked. She also wondered where Oliver had gotten so much magic, and how much more he had left.

Oliver collapsed.

“Alice,” he said, “oh, Alice, you were excellent. That could’ve gone so badly,” he said. “But you did so well.”

“That could’ve gone badly?” Alice was staring at him in shock, even as she crumpled to the ground. “You mean it could’ve gone worse than them nearly killing us? Oliver, have you gone mental?”

Oliver shook his head. He was on his hands and knees, trying to breathe. “You have no idea how much worse it could’ve been,” he said. “The first time I met the ladies of Still”—he laughed, wheezed—“I tried to be charming.”

“Oh, Oliver,” Alice said, cringing. “You didn’t.” She coughed twice and prayed for her legs to stop cramping.

“I did,” he said, sitting up. His breathing was a little better now, still broken, but evening out. “And it was a most thorough rejection. I did my best, but it proved impossible to persuade such a large number of ladies to believe anything I said.”

“So how did you get through?” she asked, as she, too, pushed herself up into a more comfortable position.

“Well, the first time I only broke free by accident. I was very nearly done for. They’d had me strip down to my underpants and climb into a pot over the fire—”

Alice gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.

“—because it had been a long time since they’d had any dinner, you see.”

“They were really going to eat you,” she cried, dropping her hands. “I still can’t believe—”

“Yes,” Oliver said, “but”—he held up one finger—“while they were busy trying to light the fire, one of the ladies tripped over my clothes and stepped on a few stoppicks that’d tumbled out, accidentally releasing their magic.” He waved his hand with a flourish. “They went mad. They were thrilled. All they want is magic, after all—it’s the central reason they want to eat us—but I hardly had time to be relieved before they were demanding more. More magic. Everything I had. They took me for every fink they could find and it still wasn’t enough. So they were going to eat me anyway.”

Alice was shaking her head in horror.

“Luckily, all their procrastination gave me time to form a better plan. I had one last stoppick tucked behind my ear, and I decided to put it to good use. I was outnumbered and would’ve been completely useless in any kind of battle; and as I had only a single stoppick—which isn’t enough magic to do much damage—I had to think quickly. A temporary barrier seemed like just the thing to help me get away.” Oliver nodded at the woven wall he’d built. “This will fade, eventually, but it’ll keep for at least several hours or so.” He laughed. “Good grief. Getting in and out of Still has proven a highly expensive endeavor, hasn’t it? Though I do hope I can say with some confidence that our lives were worth it,” he said, still laughing. Oliver was thrilled, grinning from cheek to cheek, feeling far too triumphant to notice the careful narrowing of Alice’s eyes.

Using magic to solve a problem felt like cheating. After all, not everyone had spare stoppicks just lying around, and it made Alice angry—now that she thought about it—to know that she’d need more than just courage to survive in Furthermore.

She pressed her lips together.

Alice had been considering Oliver’s finks and stoppicks for some time now, often wondering at his casual use of magic and his practiced skills in conjuring and manipulation. These were skills Alice never had access to, and not for a lack of wanting. She had, of course, taken basic classes on the harnessing and transformation of contained magic, but that was all theory. She’d never interacted with much raw magic, and when she did have a few finks her in pocket, they were very precious to her; she used them carefully and thoughtfully. Alice had never known anyone who could throw money around the way Oliver had in the last few hours, and she couldn’t imagine what that kind of luxury was like.

Thinking about money made Alice unspeakably sad. She still had much to learn in life, but she’d seen enough to know that money mattered, and though she didn’t understand the whole of it, she did understand that a few extra stoppicks in a pocket often made it easier to live. A thousand times Alice had wondered whether having money would’ve helped her find Father sooner, and thinking about it now put a pinch in her heart.

Alice bit her lip as she looked Oliver over, taking care to really notice him now. She squinted at the simple clothes he wore—the ones she’d so carelessly dismissed earlier—and this time noted the careful stitching, the heavy fabric, and the expertly tailored fit. She noticed his hands, smooth and unblemished, his nails clean and short and buffed. Her eyes roved over his shiny hair, his glowing brown skin, the healthy brightness in his blue-violet eyes. Alice was beginning to realize something about Oliver that she’d never realized before.

“Oliver,” she said quietly. “Are you very rich?”

Oliver blinked fast. “What?”