Uncharted

France, 1924 

Augustus eyed his pocket watch. 11:58pm. He was already feeling the heady effects of the elixir that the old man at the museum entrance had handed him just a few minutes ago.  

“There’s nothing to it,” he whispered to himself, trying to boost his confidence. “I can do this.”  

Ever since Augustus first heard of the museum’s Magical Nights tour, he knew he had to experience it. It was not well advertised due to, well, stories he had heard from past participants. Whispers in dark alleys, money exchanging hands for the wildest secrets and tales, all had piqued his interest to the point where he could no longer put it off. He had to see it for himself.  

On this night, the air was crisp and clear. Augustus breathed in deeply, his head starting to feel lighter and lighter, as the heavy doors of the museum began to slowly creak open. He checked his watch again. 12 midnight on the dot. It was time.  

As the relatively short line of participants shuffled in, the air became stiller, quieter. The old man, standing just inside the doorway, simply nodded his head and tipped his hat to each person who passed him, an imperious look on his face. No instructions were given, as all who entered already knew to follow the advice of those who had gone before and had lived to tell the tale. Those people were aptly called The Fortunates. Although there was a chance some in this group would not return, this was forgotten; the elixir made sure of it. There was no turning back now.  

The museum was full of all types of artifacts, yes, but the paintings are what they were all there for. The marvelous paintings. One by one the participants wandered off, being carried away by a variety of scents, sounds, and visions. As Augustus passed by each painting, it seemed to burst into life, the scene appearing and feeling as real as the skin on your arm or the bright azure color of the sky. Not all paintings came alive for each person, only the ones corresponding to the color of the sweet medicine that you chose to ingest before entering. Augustus had chosen the purple one, on a whim actually, not because it was his favorite color or that it held any special significance. Each color expressed itself differently in each person, so there was really no way of knowing which adventure you would be offered. It was clearly by chance.  

Or was it? 

The painting Augustus first encountered was the beach scene. He knew it well, from the countless daytime visits he had enjoyed to the museum. The scent of the sea salt air mixed with delicious aromas of carnival popcorn, the feel of a warm mist, and sounds of gulls crying lured him over, and he felt an overwhelming urge to enter the scene. It took all of his might to resist; this was only the first painting he had been offered, and he wished to see what other choices might be had. As strong a grip as the magic artwork had, Augustus steeled himself to look away and keep moving.  

On the other side of the immense hall, the scene of a gorgeous lavender field, complete with a rustic windmill, came into view. The seductive, intoxicating scent of the flowers seemed to take him over.  

As he drifted over towards it, his legs seemingly unattached to his body as though he were gliding, Augustus thought, yes, I could go there, how lovely would that be? He watched the windmill spin lazily.  

His brain was feeling fuzzy, but he still retained an ability to reason with himself: I’m here for an adventure, remember? Napping in a luscious lavender field warmed by the midday sun might feel heavenly, but hardly the excitement I’m searching for. Maybe next time, he thought to himself.  

Once again, Augustus dug in and pulled himself away from the scene, a tingling sensation trailing through and then out of his body as he kept walking.  

He heard it as soon as he had rounded the corner; the sound of boards creaking, water splashing, and men’s voices chanting and singing in deep baritones. Moving closer, Augustus realized he had not seen this particular work before; it must be new. Right away he inhaled distinct scents of leather, metal, and gunpowder. Sea spray hit his face, and he saw waving flags, barrels of rum, and inky black cannons. Augustus quickly read the inscription on the wall: Nossa Senhora Do Cabo,1721. Pirates!  

This is it, he thought to himself, the adventure I’ve been looking for! Dangerous? More than likely, but... 

“Ahoy there lad, welcome aboard!” a gruff voice suddenly rang out.  

A calloused, dingy hand reached out to Augustus from the painting, beckoning. The smells, the visions, the thoughts...it was all too much, and Augustus found that he could not refuse the invitation. He held out his hand, trembling, and the mysterious hand grabbed ahold, pulling him in. As Augustus stood on the rocking ship deck, he could see the hand was attached to an arm, which was attached to the body of a very tall and lanky pirate, staring down at Augustus with sooty eyes and a sweaty, gold-toothed grin.  

“Took ya long enough,” he said, looking me up and down warily. “Not much to ya, but we’ll put you to work. Crowley! Get this boy an eye patch. What’s your name, boy?” 

 “Ummm,” Augustus struggled to think, the scene overwhelming him as his body and mind became a part of it all. “Augustus,” he stammered.  

“Ok, well, Auggie it is then, mate. Have you been on a pirate ship before, boy?”  

“No, not all, “Augustus stammered, looking around now at the dozen or more beady dark eyes staring back at him- the rest of the crew, he presumed.  

“I guess then you’ll need a crash course. Crowley!”, he yelled, looking around. 

 “Yes Captain, here I am, sorry, it took longer than I thought to get it off the dead body,” Crowley said, as he slipped the black patch onto my left eye.  

Dead body? Augustus thought, suddenly feeling alarmed. A sliver of regret surfaced, as the drug’s effects slowly began their descent.  

Anyone who attempts the Night Program is warned the elixir’s magic lasts only six hours; if you do not leave the painting by six o’clock in the morning, you will remain in the painting forever. That is the risk. You cannot die in the painting, but you can feel all the emotions and sensations, including pain and fear, and you will not be able to leave. Many have not returned since the museum began their Night Program a few years ago. The French authorities tried to outlaw it and shut it down, but the profits were shared with certain town officials, so it was allowed to remain. How much longer, no one knew, so if one was inclined to try it, they had to take the plunge, so to speak, before it disappeared.  

Realizing he was now on a rogue pirate ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean, Augustus mostly felt exhilarated. The sensation between reality and dream was blurred here, yet all felt incredibly real. The crew seemed accepting of him, at least so far. As he toured the ship and explored pirate life, he discovered the quarters were cramped and the provisions were scarce. The pirates themselves were a rough crowd. However, Augustus was having great fun learning about it all.  

Captain Oliver, the fellow who had pulled him in, eventually gathered the crew together on the main deck. He explained they were to capture the Nossa Senhora, expounding in a most enthusiastic tone how the ship contained a treasure trove of diamonds and other items unlike they had ever seen. As the attack strategy was divulged, adventurous music mysteriously enveloped Augustus, and the sensations of grit and gold and swashbuckling merriment filled his head and body. He felt like he was a part of the ship, a part of the scene in real time. Never had he felt this way, and it was more intoxicating than any drug or drink. He felt like he could do anything. And it all felt worth it- the expense, the sleepless nights, the application for selection- to be in this moment. Mesmerized and completely overcome with emotion,

Augustus finally felt fully alive. 

Crowley had armed Augustus with a small scabbard and a loaded pistol. The fated ship loomed in the distance as they sailed steadily towards it. Suddenly, Augustus realized he will likely be forced to kill someone, maybe many. He frowned. But this is not truly real, is it? Confused, he looked down at his weapons, and started to question if he may have perhaps gotten in over his head. I know I cannot die, but to kill another? He shuddered.  

Before long, they arrived at the opponent ship, and the battle ensued. The other pirates and sailors indeed appeared very real. As the battle whirled around him, the sight and smell of blood consumed him, and cries of anguish rang so sharp they pierced his ears.  

“Auggie!”, the captain yelled, “behind you!” Augustus felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Swiftly, he turned and was met with the enemy, who lunged at him with a knife, just barely missing his throat. Staring at the man, he hesitated, then aimed his pistol and pulled the trigger. It jammed. Terrified, Augustus ran, pushing and tripping over the crowd of fighting and flailing bodies, looking back in horror as the man pursued him, teeth bared.  

At that moment, Augustus’ watch chimed. He had set an alarm for two minutes to six. 

 I must leave now! he cried to himself. Following the instructions communicated by The Fortunates, Augustus threw himself into the air off the edge of the ship, arms outstretched, and eyes closed, yelling, “Vive la France!” at the top of his lungs.  

He willed and waited for the old museum caretaker to grab his hands and pull him through, so he could arrive safely back on the other side of the painting. But instead, he fell, splashing into the ocean.  

Sinking under, Augustus panicked. Why was I not caught? I did as I was told. What had happened?  

As he furiously kicked and rose to the surface, Augustus realized with dread that the enemy had pursued him, swimming over and grabbing Augustus by the neck. He felt the searing pain of the knife as it penetrated his neck, his chest. He floated, not feeling anything for a while, until all went dark.  

When Augustus awoke, he found himself lying on a cot in the belly of a ship, pain ripping his breath from him, though he was not bleeding. He slowly looked around; he was not alone. A surly, weathered man leered at him, whom he expected to be Captain Oliver, or the old man, but it was neither.  

“Hmpf!”, the man spat as he looked Augustus over. “Welcome to the Nossa. I am Captain Nigel. You fight for us now.” he said, squinting.  

“From the Other Side, are ya? We are always happy to see the likes of you... immortals. Seems you’ve missed your deadline.” He smiled slyly, pointing to Augustus’ watch, which was lying on his chest and surprisingly still in working order. Augustus looked down. 6:15.  

He gasped and laid his head back down, trying hard to breathe.  

“The old man sure knows how to choose ‘em. I’ve formed an entire crew this way, hahaha!” the captain laughed, as he slammed the door. 

 Closing his eyes, the elixir now well worn off, Augustus fumed, struggling to accept his fate.