A Whole New World (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,2

Because no one is looking out for us.

“But that doesn’t mean you should become a thief.”

Aladdin looked at the ground, chagrined.

She put her hand under his chin to make him look up at her.

“Don’t let life’s unfairness, don’t let how poor you are decide who you are. You choose who you will be, Aladdin. Will you be a hero who looks after the weak and powerless? Will you be a thief? Will you be a beggar—or worse? It’s up to you, not the things—or people—around you. You can choose to be something more.”

He nodded, lip trembling. He was too old to cry. He was.

His mother kissed him again and sighed, then moved past him to examine the fruit.

“Maybe it’s because you’re just alone here with your mother all the time,” she said, partly to herself. “You don’t have any playmates except for those good-for-nothings Duban and Morgiana. You need a real friend, or maybe a pet, or something. Yes, a pet…”

But Aladdin wasn’t listening.

He moved to the window and pushed aside the screen. This was the best, the only good thing about their house: due to a trick in the zigzag streets, a hole in the mind of an architect, they had a perfect view of the castle.

He looked at the white towers, even whiter under the moonlight, the glittering onion domes, the colorful flags flying from spires so pointy and perfect they looked like they could pierce the sky itself.

You can choose to be something more.…

PERHAPS THERE WAS a moon in the sky somewhere, but her brother the sun ruled now, and everything faded into the whiteness of the hot day—which was even hotter on a glaringly bright sun-bleached roof.

“Safe!” Aladdin said with a grin, clutching his dearly gotten treasure. He took a quick look over the edge of the building to make sure no one saw him up there, his dark arms flexing with easy strength as he held his chest off the rough bricks. Then he sat down, relaxed, getting ready to break his precious prize in half. His large, clear brown eyes twinkled in happy expectation. “One loaf of bread. More valuable than all the cold, glittering gems at the bazaar.”

The little monkey next to him chattered in anticipation.

Abu had been a last gift from his mother. Aladdin’s father, of course, had never come back from “seeking his fortune abroad.” Aladdin had never believed in that fairy tale anyway, so it was no great loss. But his mother had been afraid of his becoming too wild, too much of a loner without a real family. She’d thought a pet would tame him.

And perhaps it had…

…except that he stole for both of them now.

“And lunch is finally served,” Aladdin said, gesturing at his friend with the bread.

“Stop, thief!”

Abu fled. Aladdin leapt up.

Somehow the market guards had actually managed to clamber up the ladder onto the roof behind him. Two had made it up, anyway, with an enraged Rasoul following close behind. These days he wore the striped turban crowned with a black onyx that marked him as a captain of the guard. Despite their run-ins, even Aladdin had to admit that the man had risen honestly through the ranks.

But that didn’t mean Aladdin liked him.

“I’ll have your hands for a trophy, Street Rat!” Rasoul bellowed. He puffed as he dragged his body up the ladder.

He must have been doubly annoyed by the effort he had to expend to get up there.

“All this for a loaf of bread?” Aladdin asked, exasperated. He had specifically chosen to lift it from one of the carts loaded up for a royal outing—a picnic for the sultan, for one of his desert kite-flying romps or something equally ridiculous. As fat as he was, one tiny sultan couldn’t possibly have missed one little loaf of bread.

But apparently the guards could. And under the law, if an accuser chose to, he could have a thief’s hand chopped off in punishment.

And Rasoul’s scimitar was looking particularly shiny and pointy in the sunlight at the moment.

So Aladdin leapt off the side of the building.

Aladdin was many things: quick, strong, clever, agile, fast-thinking, nimble.

He was not rash.

So while the guards stopped short, shocked at what seemed like a deadly, incredibly insane act, an only mildly nervous Aladdin plummeted down toward the street, grabbing at the clotheslines he knew would be there.

There was, of course, always the chance that the ropes wouldn’t hold.

But Aladdin had luck on his side; throwing his hands out only resulted in being hit