Excerpt from Landfalls by Naomi J. Williams, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

What he wished to say in person—about Don Inigo and Lapérouse and the minister, about Banks and the dipping needles—he cannot safely commit to paper. So he settles for thanking Webber—for the painting, for his hospitality, his time, knowledge, friendship. "I will think of you often on the voyage," he writes in French (English would take too long), "especially when we begin trading with natives." Then he places five guinea coins on the sheet and folds it up as securely as he can. The coins slide around inside, clinking with metallic vulgarity, but it's the best he can do. He's a little relieved, after all, not to have seen Webber again in person.

Back at Mrs. Towe's, he unwraps the portrait and looks at it by the late afternoon light. Webber has filled in the scenery around Monneron, who is now standing on a tropical shore. Palm trees and native huts grace the beach while mountains, ocean, and cloud-dappled sky fill out the background. His facial expression is also altered—or does it simply look different in context? He doesn't look anxious and lost now so much as surprised and curious. The painting is like a wish for a successful expedition: the young explorer standing amazed in a new place. On the right side, partly blocked by his own figure, Monneron can make out the image of a ship anchored offshore, a ship flying a white flag with three fleurs-de-lis. So he did know, Monneron thinks. He blinks back his regret as he rewraps the painting.

He can never sleep when he has to be up before dawn. He spends a few hours wondering if the stain above his head has grown, then gets up. By four o'clock, when Mrs. Towe knocks on his door, he's already dressed. The journey proceeds with clockwork precision: The stagecoach departs on time from the Golden Cross. They stop in Rochester for dinner, spend the night in Canterbury, reach Dover Saturday morning. He takes possession of his many purchases from the storehouse at the dock, pays the fees, watches everything stowed safely aboard the French mail boat, then takes his place on deck just as the right tide and a favorable wind arrive to speed the packet across the Channel.

In the past he's delighted in watching the approach of home. But today he keeps looking back at the receding white cliffs, fighting the sensation that he's left something undone. When England disappears in a veil of mist, the French coast comes at him too quickly, and he's astonished to find himself staggering on deck, dizzy and sick. A kindly crewman takes him below, murmuring that it's almost over, sir, some people are more sensitive than others, and Monneron cannot, dare not, open his mouth to put the man in his place, to tell him he's a naval officer, that he's about to circumnavigate the world, that he's never been seasick in his life.

Excerpted from Landfalls by Naomi J Williams. Copyright © 2015 by Naomi J Williams. Excerpted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.