Free Atlantis in Peril by T. A. Barron

had left in the alley gave off a very different odor . . . more like a huge, unwashed armpit.
    Passing quickly by the pile of rags, he followed the dimly lit alley. All at once, he burst into sunlight—as well as a noisy din he knew well. It combined the shouts of peddlers and bargain hunters, the ring of blacksmiths’ hammers, the bleating of goats, and the chants of monks who sang to the beat of their prayer drums. Plus many more sounds that made a cacophony found in only one place on Atlantis:
    The market square.
    Promi strolled into the market where he’d found so many free meals growing up (not to mention new knives to replace the ones he’d lost in the course of his thievery). Just for old time’s sake, he stealthily plucked a fresh green apple off a passing cart.
    He bit into the apple, hearing the crisp
crunnnch
he liked almost as much as the taste. Moving deeper into the market, he weaved around a grumpy-looking camel being led to a leatherworker’s stall for a new saddle—just before the camel bit his plump owner’s bottom. The man shrieked and threw his armload of wheat and barley into the air. The camel, meanwhile, immediately started munching on the grains, gobbling them up before a pair of honking geese could claim them.
    Promi took another bite of his apple, negotiating the crowded rows of fish vendors, paper merchants, and tool makers. As well as craftspeople selling handmade jewelry, rugs, tunics, pottery, and musical instruments.
    He stepped around a circle of women wearing brightly colored robes and beads, dancing to their bone flutes. A herd of goats flooded past, pushing Promi so hard he collided with a monk selling strings of prayer leaves. After apologizing to the monk, he realized the leaves were being sold to raise money for the temple’s new bell tower.
    The bell tower I destroyed,
he recalled.
Too bad about that. But it takes a serious earthquake to create an island!
    Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the gap against the sky where the bell tower had stood. As well as the crushed roof in the Divine Monk’s temple and the smashed archway where the immense structure came down. He bit into the apple, remembering the time he had leaped into the air from the top of that very tower—as well as the face of the astonished temple guard who watched helplessly as he escaped.
    Promi chuckled.
Those were fun days.
Tapping the silver dagger he now wore on his belt, he thought,
At least now I don’t lose knives anymore.
As if hearing his thought, the dagger’s magical string curled and tickled his wrist.
    He tossed the apple core to a sheep whose wool changed colors depending on the weather, one of many wondrous creatures who had been captured in the Great Forest and brought to the marketplace. Seeing him do this, a three-tongued toad with the ability to speak human languages started roundly cursing.
    â€œYou blithering bumblebrain!” cried the toad. “I’ll bet you stole that apple and dozens more meals, too.”
    More like thousands,
thought Promi with a smirk.
    Most of those meals, of course, had been desserts. Many were the days when he ate a freshly baked fruit pie he’d stolen, still steaming, from someone’s kitchen window. Or one of the pastries, cakes, or cookies he’d grabbed off the shelves of the City’s many bakeries. Or, best of all, the most delicious—and dangerous—theft he’d ever made: that smackberry pie, with its purple juices bubbling out of the sugary crust.
    Of course, to get that pie he’d needed to work a bit harder than usual. He’d climbed unseen into the Divine Monk’s private dining room, broken at least a dozen holy laws, evaded both the wicked priest Grukarr and his superior Araggna, and completely destroyed the temple’s grand feast of Ho Kranahrum while escaping. And putting aside the small matter of being hurled by Grukarr into the dreaded Ekh Raku