It was late afternoon; it had taken them most of the day to make landfall. They stood together on the shore in a knot. The sand was as clean as if it had been sifted. Quentin slogged across it and up the first dune to the crest to see what was beyond it. The dune was steep, and just short of the top he flopped down on the slope and peered over the crest. It was like being a kid at the beach. Beyond the dune were more dunes topped with scrub, then a meadow, then a line of trees, then Ember knew what else. So far so good. Pretty.

“Welp,” Quentin said. “Let’s get questin’.”

But first there were more mundane matters to attend to. Quentin and Poppy and Josh had been in Venice three days ago, but this was the first land the men had seen in something like three weeks. They piled ashore in twos and threes; some of them cannonballed off the Muntjac’s sides into the flat green sea. After a suitable interval for goofing off Eliot mustered them on the shore and sent them out in teams to find fresh water, gather wood for fires and new spars, set up tents, harvest the local fruit, hunt for local game.

“We’ve fallen on our feet,” Eliot said, once everybody had a job to do. “Don’t you think? So far I would rate this an above-average island.”

“It’s so beautiful!” Poppy said. “Do you think anybody lives here?” Eliot shook his head.

“I don’t know. We’re two months’ sail out from Castle Whitespire. I’ve never heard of anyone else coming this far. We could be the first human beings ever to set foot here.”

“Think of that,” said Quentin. “So do you want to . . . ?”

“What?”

“You know. Claim it. For Fillory.”

“Oh!” Eliot considered. “We haven’t been doing that. It seems a little imperialist. I’m not sure it’s in good taste.”

“But haven’t you always wanted to say it?”

“Well, yes,” Eliot said. “All right. We can always give it back.” He raised his voice, using the one he used to call meetings to order back at Castle Whitespire. “I, High King Eliot, hereby claim this island for the great and glorious Kingdom of Fillory! Henceforth it will be known as”—he paused—“as New Hawaii!”

Everybody nodded vaguely.

“New Hawaii?” Quentin said. “Really?”

“It’s not really tropical,” Poppy said. “The vegetation’s more temperate.”

“What about Farflung Island?” Quentin said. “Like as one word: Farflung.”

“Relief Island.” Poppy was getting into the spirit of it. “Whitesand Island. Greengrass Island!”

“Skull Island,” Josh said. “No wait, Spider-Skull Island!”

“Okay, the Island to Be Named Later,” Eliot said. “Come on. Let’s find out what’s on it before we name it.”