One morning, five weeks or five years later, nobody knew how to count properly anymore, they saw land.

It was not the land they wanted.

Nor a land welcoming them.

It was simply a rough line on the horizon, brown and green, with a sky above it harsher than the maps had promised. The sailors shouted. The officers gave orders. Some prisoners crossed themselves. Others cried quietly in relief. Seamus spat on the deck and said:

“So there she is. The far end of the curse.”