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

"Thank you, Sir Joseph," Monneron says, then, silencing a debate in his head between suspicion and expediency, adds, "There is something I would be happy to have your advice upon," and tells Banks about his unsuccessful search for dipping needles.

Banks closes his eyes, nodding as he listens. "I may be able to help you," he says at last, opening his eyes. "I'll send word."

When Monneron leaves 32 Soho Square, he's still not sure of the encounter. The least distressing conclusion is that Sir Joseph had prior intelligence of the expedition, has a purely scientific interest in offering his help, and is keeping up the pretext about Don Inigo to save Monneron from embarrassment. But how did Banks make the connection with Monneron through Webber's report? Unless Webber himself knows—no, Monneron thinks, calling to mind Webber's trusting, open face. He may know now, of course—which, Monneron reflects, pausing as he makes his way across the square, may make calling on Webber again this afternoon awkward. As for Banks himself, perhaps he's beguiling Monneron with attention and promises of assistance, waiting for a slip, an unintended revelation, some tidbit that will go straight to the Admiralty. But would a man who intends to expose you as a spy for the French Navy first press on you the latest in scurvy-prevention research?

Transparency

Back at Mrs. Towe's, he half expects to find a note from Webber regretfully explaining that urgent business will preclude them from meeting again. And when there is none, Monneron considers sending his own regrets, discovering a sudden compunction about having ingratiated himself with the artist under false pretenses. But Webber is too valuable a contact to give up over an uneasy conscience, and as Mrs. Towe's gloomy longcase clock sounds out two-thirty, Monneron sets out once more for Oxford Street.

The narrow, dignified manservant asks him to please wait in the library. Monneron paces the room, revisiting the paintings and objects that afforded him pleasure and instruction the day before, and looking in vain for evidence that Webber's natives look "too European." On a small table he finds the recently published official account of Cook's last voyage—A Voyage to the Pacific Ocean. Undertaken, by the Command of His Majesty, for Making Discoveries in the Northern Hemisphere, etc.—three volumes plus a folio volume containing maps and prints. Thumbing through the latter, he recognizes many of the pictures as engraved facsimiles of the paintings that surround him. The published images are very like the originals, but something is lost in the transfer of raw images produced in situ to engravings suitable for printing. The originals are in color and the engravings are not, of course, but it's more than that. Monneron closes the book and studies the nearest original, a painting of dancers in Tahiti. He can trace the creation of this piece from the first layer of pencil and chalk outlines to the washes and watercolor application to the final details added in ink. There's a transparency to the endeavor and its result that's missing from the published images.

"Mr. Monneron," Webber says, bursting in. He's dressed much as he was the previous morning, with the silk gown tied carelessly over faded trousers, stockinged feet shod in a pair of battered silk slippers. He crosses the room and shakes Monneron's hand. "I'm delighted to see you again." His smile is unchanged—friendly, artless. Monneron expects him to say something about Banks—I saw Sir Joseph yesterday and mentioned your visit; he knows your Don Inigo, by the way; he said he would send—oh, he has already? You've met him? Splendid—but he doesn't, and his silence makes Monneron diffident about saying anything himself. He'd like to know what Webber said yesterday and what Banks said in turn. Was it "Don Inigo? I'm acquainted with the gentleman. What did you say this Frenchman's name was?" Or "Don Inigo? Ha! My dear Webber, your new friend is an agent for the French Navy!"?

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.