Atlantis in Peril by T. A. Barron Page A

to . . .”
    He hesitated, surprised to hear himself start to say such words. But knowing they were true, he went ahead and said them. “Thanks to my friends.”

CHAPTER 13
    A Warning
    N ow I know why you invited me to come along, Master Baker.”
    Promi paused, adjusting the heavy sack he was carrying up the trail. Steep and sandy, the trail seemed to climb endlessly. “You invited me so you wouldn’t have to carry all this food up here yourself.”
    The baker, huffing beside him on the trail, laughed. “Yer right, lad.” Patting his ample belly, he added, “I learned long ago it’s much easier to carry yer food
after
a meal than before.”
    â€œThe hardest part isn’t the weight,” Promi replied. “It’s the smell of all those cinnamon buns you packed. I’m ready to eat the whole sack just to taste them!”
    â€œâ€™Twill be worth all yer trouble, lad. We’re almost there.”
    Shangri, jogging to keep up with them, tugged on her father’s apron. “Shouldn’t we stop an’ give him a rest, Papa?”
    â€œNo, me little sugarcake. As soon as we reach the picnic spot I have in mind, we’ll give our rascally friend plenty o’ rest. I promise.”
    â€œAn’ plenty o’ food, as well?”
    â€œPlenty, Shangri. Including cinnamon buns.”
    Promi shifted the sack’s weight on his back. Despite what he’d said, it was indeed heavy—and feeling heavier with every step.
Wherever that picnic spot is,
he grumbled to himself,
it’s easier to fly there from the spirit realm than to walk there with this load.
    â€œBy the way, lad,” said the baker as he flung a meaty arm over Promi’s shoulder, “it’s time ye called me somethin’ besides Master Baker.”
    â€œHow about Master Trickster? Or Master Loadmaker?”
    â€œNo, lad, ye can jest call me Morey.”
    Promi breathed a sigh of relief—not because he now knew the man’s name, but because the hefty arm had finally come off his shoulder.
    â€œYe’ll like this place,” the baker promised. He reached over and toyed with one of Shangri’s braids. “Yer ma an’ me used to come here.”
    â€œWhy, Papa? It’s so far outside the City.”
    â€œFer the views, mostly. She liked the sight o’ such big grandeur. An’ I,” he added with a wink at Promi, “liked the sight o’
her
.”
    Promi was just about to ask what grandeur—since, with the heavy sack making him bow his head, all he could see was the sandy hillside beneath his feet. But before he could pose the question, a new scent tickled his nose. Salty, rich, and briny, it contrasted starkly with the sweetness of cinnamon. Right away, he knew what it was.
    The sea.
    At that instant, a strong gust of wind, full of that briny smell, struck his face. Lifting his head, he realized that they were almost at the top of the hill they’d been climbing. A few steps later, the gust swelled to a steady ocean breeze—and an expansive vista opened up before them.
    Promi dropped the heavy sack and gazed at the endless sweep of dark blue waves. He’d never seen the ocean look so vast, so uninterrupted. But for the few traces of clouds in the distance, it was hard to draw any line between sea and sky.
    At his feet, the ground dropped sharply into a sheer cliff. At its base far below, powerful waves crashed against the rocks with thunderous explosions of spray. Beyond the cliff, white-capped waves rolled without beginning or end, while pelicans, silver-winged gulls, and cormorants wheeled over the water’s surface. The seabirds’ cries, shrieks, and whistles rose above the pounding waves—a wild melody sung to the ocean’s deep and enduring drums.
    Shangri slipped her hand into her father’s. “Now I understand, Papa.”
    â€œSo do I,” said Promi.
    The baker blew a long