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

But Webber is showing him out of the library and down a corridor to a bright room of north-facing windows. The space smells of canvas, wood, paint, solvents, pine resin, and wax, and Monneron is reminded suddenly, almost painfully, of being at sea. Then Webber surprises him by removing his gown, then his vest and shirt. His arms are thin, his chest almost hairless, his belly just softening into middle age. "My painting costume," he says offhandedly, grabbing a paint-splattered linen shirt from a peg. Monneron doesn't know where to look. At sea, he's unfazed by other men's nakedness, but on land, it's different. He wonders if Webber's lack of self-consciousness is an English affectation, a product of artistic temperament, a habit from his time at sea, or a more personal gesture.

Hostage

It's like being a boy in church—the more Monneron tells himself not to shift about or scratch his head, the more he needs to. But Webber must be used to restive subjects, for he tolerates it without comment. The studio is filled with unfinished paintings, and Monneron's attention settles on a large oil canvas perched on an easel behind the artist. It depicts a native woman, raven-haired and bare-breasted, with decorous tattoos covering her arms and a jasmine flower tucked behind each ear. A large white cloth wrapped round the lower half of her body fails to hide the outline of her generous hips. "She's very beautiful," Monneron says.

Webber turns to follow his gaze. "I'm finishing her for an exhibit at the Royal Academy," he explains. "She's a Tahitian princess who sat for me on board the Resolution."

Monneron regards the painting again. The princess is standing, not sitting, and appears to be ashore among heavy-fronded plants, not on the deck of a Royal Navy sloop. He supposes this license is allowed—perhaps even expected—of artists. "How did you persuade the natives to sit for you?" he asks.

"She was our captive and in no position to refuse," Webber says. He studies Monneron then turns back to his work. For a moment, the light scratching of pencil on paper is the only sound in the room. "Several of our men had deserted," he explains, looking back up, "and the islanders were sheltering them. The captain was compelled to take Princess Poedua"—he inclines his head toward the painting—"to press for the deserters' return."

"Did it work?"

"Of course."

Monneron looks again at the painting, at the princess's serene face, her pliant arms, the openness implied by her breasts, the nipples tipped slightly away from each other. One would never guess she'd been a hostage while this portrait was being done. Now he wonders—did she really have those flowers in her hair? That white cloth—did Webber add that to protect English sensibilities? And perhaps that's not serenity in her expression so much as surrender. He looks back at Webber, who's leaning in toward the paper before him with a piece of chalk, the pencil held between his teeth. He cannot quite admire a profession that allows so much dissimulation. His own engineering work demands meticulous calculation and is intolerant of error or alteration of facts. But then again, here he is in Webber's home pretending to be someone he is not. They are, both of them, simply doing their jobs.

Webber sits up and takes the pencil from his mouth. "If I may make so bold as to offer my views on something, Mr. Monneron."

"Please."

"One wants to find a middle way with natives," he says. "Neither too familiar nor too distant. Your Spaniards tend to be too harsh." He looks at Monneron, then back at his paper. "But we English have been far too familiar. I think the humanity we extended toward them lowered us in their regard." Monneron wonders how imprisoning native royalty constitutes overfamiliarity, but doesn't interrupt. "I believe it cost us the captain's life," Webber says quietly.

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.