The ship stalled for a moment at the sight of smoke. It had not been on the island before, as the ship travelled slowly between the frigid waterway somewhere near Sweden. The harsh islands were plentiful but for the most part, uninhabited and uninhabitable. This one was a huge spite of black rock, jutting into the crystal clear sky. A small forest covered half of the island, the roots finding some meager purchase on the slope. Even the waters seemed darker, as if they reflected the inhospitable character of this unknown archipelago. It was completely natural and some of the more superstitious tourists and sailors believed the islands were more than a bit supernatural, inhabited only by the spirits of dead pirates that had met their doom.

Supernatural or not, there was one feature that did not belong. The smoke, black ash of fresh and wet green wood giving way to the thick white clouds of dry sticks. The ship had slowed to almost a complete stop, the engines idle. Tourists noticed the sailors hurrying around on the deck, moving towards one of the orange lifeboats at the sides of the ship. They watched from the comfort of the lido deck or private balconies in mild curiosity as one of the day-glo boats piddled its way to the shale shoreline. The ship finally stopped and as the boat approached, leaving white stripes into the water in its haste, the captain stepped out onto one of the decks along with several crew members in white coats. The passengers were pushed back, guided away from the boat with gentle nudges but it wasn’t long before the ship was alight with gossip.

A castaway had joined the cruise.