Opening Atlantis by Harry Turtledove

the cog in the Atlantic’s long, tall swells.
    His son laughed at him—one of the less endearing things a son can do to his father. “Word has to be all over the Cinque Ports by now—likely all up and down the coast,” Henry answered. “Load what you hope is enough food into a cog, sail west and a bit south till you think you’re going to fall off the edge of the world, and what do you know? You end up in Atlantis!”
    â€œWhat do you know?” Edward Radcliffe echoed in distinctly hollow tones. It wasn’t that Henry was wrong. No, it was that he was much too likely to be right. If you had the nerve to sail the open sea, you could come to Atlantis. And if you were sure Atlantis was there, if you were sure you wouldn’t fall off the edge of the world, wouldn’t that help you find the nerve to set sail? Edward clapped a hand to his forehead. “All the riffraff of the kingdom, landing in our laps!”
    That wasn’t fair. Riffraff wouldn’t be able to sail a cog so far, or to afford passage in one. But just then, anyone he hadn’t handpicked to come to New Hastings seemed like riffraff to him.
    And Henry, damn him, was grinning. “Not just our riffraff, either,” the younger Radcliffe said. “Somewhere between Atlantis and Le Croisic, François Kersauzon and his son are talking the same way—what do you want to bet? The land is there. More and more people know it’s there. A land with no kings, a land with no soldiers…Why wouldn’t half the folk in the world want to pack up and move to a place like that?”
    When Edward looked at it that way, he could see no reason why lots of people wouldn’t want to travel to Atlantis, either. But he said, “I’ll tell you one thing, son. If Atlantis does start filling up, it will need soldiers soon enough, to keep some folk from taking what others have.”
    â€œNo doubt,” Henry said. “Then the soldiers will start taking on their own, because that’s what soldiers do.”
    â€œI know,” Edward said unhappily. He sighed. “And I suppose that’s why we need kings—to keep soldiers from taking too much.”
    â€œWell, sometimes kings can do that,” Henry said. “And sometimes…”
    He didn’t go on, or need to. The war in England they’d barely escaped did most of his talking for him. “God grant that civil war stay far from Atlantis’ shores,” Edward said.
    â€œI’m sure He will—for a while,” his son replied. “How many of the folk in New Hastings stand with the White Rose, how many with the Red?”
    â€œI have no idea. I never tried to find out,” Edward Radcliffe said.
    â€œAs long as you can say that, and say it truly, we’re safe from civil strife,” Henry said. “As soon as you know, as soon as you need to know…”
    â€œYes.” Edward could gauge the political winds along with those of the world. “May that day stay far away, too.” His son—both sons—had bumped heads with him a great many times growing up. But Henry, having at last attained manhood himself, only nodded now.

    The War of the Roses did stay away from the western shores. Neither Yorkists nor Lancastrians cared who followed their emblem in the lands across the sea. Not enough people dwelt there to matter to either side.
    Yes, the war stayed away. But flotsam and jetsam from it did mark Atlantis. As Henry had foretold, a good many Englishmen thought a land without soldiers and without kings sounded wonderful. They swarmed aboard anything that would float and sailed west.
    Some of them, no doubt, starved before they got anywhere close to Atlantis. It was a long journey across rough seas. If the winds went against you, if you crammed too many people aboard for the food you carried, if you couldn’t pull in enough fish to make up for your dwindling store of biscuit, if