While it was near noon when the ship had embarked, it had only taken until sunset to reach a stretch of ocean where no land and no other ships could be seen. It was a freeing feeling to leave port with such speed, no longer weighed down by months of supplies. Below deck they had only packed enough hardtack and thin mead for three weeks on top of their settler tools, a manifest which had baffled the harbormaster. He wouldn't have understood that given where the ship was going, the crew would need less time than that to know if they had succeeded or were doomed. A hefty bottle of poisoned rum was kept in the captain's quarters should the latter become apparent.
Bartholomew crossed the deck with the smooth and sure strides of someone who had grown to find the rocking of the waves more familiar and steady than dry land. He stopped at the base of the main mast and took a deep breath before shouting to be heard. "Leonard! See anything on the horizon?"
Immediately the response came back from directly above. "No, Captain Barry! All clear as far as the eye can see."
Bartholomew closed his eyes and nodded to himself. Everything was just about in place. "Well come on below deck! You know the stars well enough to get in the way of what the others gotta do!" He turned away from the mast and began to feel the nervous excitement build in his stomach. Only a few moments more then they'd be committed. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his sextant, the only one on board, and gazed at it with nostalgia. It had served him for decades but its presence could be enough to stop this new adventure. With a slow and reverent pace, he used some twine to tie a fist-sized rock to it then threw the tool overboard.
He gazed into the water where it had vanished for a few moments, then turned around to address his crew. They had come to a standstill, waiting to see what he would do next. Six of them were people who sailed with Bartholomew for decades and were the only ones he trusted with helping prepare for the true nature of this voyage. The other eight were young men and women, with a need to escape old ties and equipped with the navigational skills of an oyster. It was clear from the looks on their faces that they knew this wouldn't be a normal voyage.
"Well, lads and lasses, we're not actually crossing the Atlantic. For the next week, myself and the other seafaring veterans here will be locked below deck, not even allowing ourselves to look outside. You fresh folk will run the normal operations of the ship, including steering. You can use the hatch on the inner door to consult any of us on questions you have about sailing the ship, but we can't give you directions. Important thing is that if you find fog, head towards it and do your best to avoid leaving."
One of the younger crew, an adolescent woman with a french accent and knife-fighting scars spoke up. "Captain? This will only ensure that we'll be lost. We all talked and figured out that you recruited us exactly because we couldn't navigate the ship." The other recruits nodded in agreement, murmuring their trepidation.
"That is exactly the point, Louise." Bartholomew responded, refusing to let their hesitation spread to him. "The map has closed itself into a proper sphere, and most everyone thinks there's nothing left to discover. It's not true, though. I was a deck rat in my growing years, keeping a ship clean while the adults did the complex stuff. It was over here on the colony side of the sea that we were hit by pirates." He began to gesticulate to add emphasis to his tale. "Surrounded by three ships, no chance of escape. I made it to the dinghy in the chaos, and no one else did. Once the pirates took what they wanted and sank the rest, I was left with an empty horizon and no idea of where to go. Three days of confused paddling in clouded and foggy seas found my way to land. The sand of the shore was blood red, and hardly a hop and skip past that was the forest. The trees had a pale blue bark, patterned like the scales of rattlesnakes, and were far too close together for me to squeeze past. They had these round fruits that I was able to sustain myself on, growing at the top and falling to the sand. Vivid purple things with the texture of squash and a taste that was a blend of pork and yam."
Bartholomew took a breath and looked at the crew, who were listening with fascination and mixtures of doubt. "The forest seemed to go for miles and there was no sign of civilization, so I loaded up as many of those fruits as I could in the dinghy and set out to sea again. It was a repeat of being horribly lost in fog for several days, but a trader vessel found me when I came out of the other side. Since then I've explored all of the Atlantic and talked to everyone who might have seen the place, but no one has. Not even the lads who sailed the other oceans heard of anything similar. It's not a place meant to be found if you know where you're going, which is why we have to intentionally be lost. I can't even guarantee we'll arrive at the same shore and see the same damned trees, but we'll discover new land beyond what the cartographers say there is. That I'm certain of."
Now the younger contingent of the crew were less doubtful and more worried. It was more on course with what Bartholomew was expecting, and it'd work in his favor for making sure the ship remained lost for long enough. "Alright, youngsters! The ship is under your control until we're on the other side." With that, he turned and went below deck with the veteran portion of his crew. After locking the door and hiding the key when the others weren't looking, he settled down in the lamplight and pulled a faded blue seed from his pocket. He was never able to make those seeds germinate in normal soil, so he had that one dried and preserved as persistent proof that the encounter with the lost island was real. He put it away after a few minutes and turned to one of the several dozen books stockpiled to keep himself and the others occupied.
He wasn't even through the first chapter when one of the young crew opened the door hatch and reported sighting a fog bank. Out of season, of course. After telling the lad to hold course for it, he put aside the book and quietly cried tears of relief and joy. The land that had captivated his dreams for fifty years was finally in reach again.
