The Edge of Lost by Kristina McMorris Read Free Book Online

keeping up when seasickness hit from the rolling and rocking of the waves.
    Thanks perhaps to his childhood days of fishing—the only hobby he’d shared with his da, who had appreciated the ruling quiet—Shan adjusted fairly well. There were many who’d been ill from the first day till now, almost twelve days later. Uncle Will among them.
    A better person than Shan might feel pity for the man, being stuck in his berth, unable to keep anything down. To Shan, it seemed a class of justice.
    Of course, if he ever said so in confession, it would surely require penance. Ten Hail Marys and a heap of Our Fathers. But at the moment, he would enjoy the satisfaction. Besides, the sea was mercifully calm tonight and just one day remained before they would be back on soil. Lovely American soil.
    The sheer excitement of it left Shan too restless to sleep. In the quiet, he crept down the hall and around the corner to reach a crew supply room. Passengers were prohibited from the area in order to prevent thievery. At this late hour, Shan had no worry of being discovered.
    He settled in a back corner, away from the door and the dim entry light. The air was musty and thick with salt, but he didn’t mind a bit. The space had become his nightly cave. No babies fussing or couples bickering—the result of boredom in cramped quarters—just a song formed by small creaks from the gently shifting supplies.
    Shan fastened the top button of his wool coat to keep warm. He borrowed a flashlight from a shelf, tucked among linens, towels, and such, and over his lap he opened a book. It was one of the few he’d been allowed to keep, having convinced Uncle Will the bindings were too tattered to make the sales worthwhile.
    On this day in particular, Shan was grateful for The Prince and the Pauper . Fittingly, the story centered on choosing a new life. A far better one, with opportunities rarely found back at home. Turning the pages now, Shan envisioned himself as Tom Canty, the character known as the pauper. From the dregs of London he was raised by a mean-hearted father, turned even meaner from the drink. Shan was so deep into the tale it took him a second to notice the squeak of a door handle, and his heart jumped. He raced to turn off the flashlight and held it close.
    Across the room footsteps made their way inside and the door clicked closed. Shan sat as still as a rock, trying not to breathe. The ship had originated in England, same for the crew. Who knew what punishment they would hand down to some Irish kid breaking the rules? A toss over the side seemed extreme, but history said they’d do worse.
    The steps proceeded, moving ever closer, then paused. Shan felt a hammering in his chest, a throbbing in his ears, before he caught a giggle. Light and airy, the sound of a girl. There was also a boy, speaking just above a whisper. The snippets of words suggested Italian. A second giggle was muted by the rustling of fabric and the moist sounds of kissing.
    Shan quietly sighed. He had wondered in recent days if the sixpence in his pocket, the coin he’d yet to spend, was the reason for his luck, and now he had the answer.
    The couple continued with their flirting, and Shan worried how long he’d be stuck in this spot. He craned his neck to see if sneaking out was an option. A gap in the shelves offered a view of the teenage pair. The girl’s back was pressed to a wall, the boy’s face buried in her neck, where the motion of his kisses sent her head to the side and a moan from her throat.
    Shan’s mind flashed back to the woman at the pub, the way her bosoms rose and fell. This time he wasn’t forced to turn away.
    Again the Italian boy murmured; then he covered the girl’s mouth with his. Shan rose onto his knees—drawn by the devil’s magnet, as the nuns at school would say—enabling a better look. He was almost at full kneeling height when something dropped from his lap.
    The book.
    Oh, God. Had they heard?
    Shan shrank against the wall. He