Chapter 1
"Damn, Marco, I knew that you were not able to orient yourself!" Snapped Ace, a prey to panic .. that is, to starvation.
"It's not my fault if this damn island is full of intricate and convoluted way," replied Marco.
"Guys, look at the bright side! At least we stumbled on an island summer, because, let's face it, you'd be dead on un'siola winter freeze to death! "Satch tried to cheer them up, extracting, however, only a glare by two.
After a good half an hour spent wandering, finally the three captains began to hear voices, hand in hand, became more and more strong to be like a real buzz ... the boys ran orienting with hearing, this time, however, , as lead was no more Ace and Marco for obvious reasons. Just emerged from the forest were literally overwhelmed by a "river" of people, as defined by Ace later, then they understood. They understood why the old sailor had told him that every Saturday in the suburbs of the city there were markets, markets, shops, stalls of all kinds, and that every single square or street was full of people or tourists. A great place to spend some 'time in peace, really a great place.
While Ace, Satch and Marco were making their space, trying tirelessly with eyes the sign of a tavern, the latter was pushed violently by a girl, who cried out:
"Move over, roasted pineapple!"
The poor captain, just stood up, angry as ever turned away, shouting:
"What! Who called me so? "For a moment, the boy saw hundreds and hundreds of eyes staring at him, now that people had doubts about the sanity of the boy who, exasperated, tried to ignore those people staring at him and continue to look for tavern.
Monique smiled, continuing to walk a little fatigue in that sea of people. That was a beautiful day, sunny but not too much, with a slight breeze that hovered over the island, in short, a perfect day.
The girl had more or less eighteen, her eyes were chocolate brown and her long hair was a very vivid orange, almost red.
"But ... I'm almost sorry to have called that that guy ... well, almost!" He chuckled to hermself Monique, dragging his backpack, which contained all that was more expensive: three pictures depicting familiar faces, a bag of berry, pentagrammato a notebook with notes written above, a tiny portable lumacofono, a strange pen with his name on it, a symbol pendant with a silver and a sweater crumpled with its initial clumsily stitched above.
"But if you had it coming ... and in fact there really resembled, to a pineapple!" Continued to think.
"Maybe I'm giving too much importance to a silly thing ... that's the most important thing," cried this time, indicating a tavern, from which fouriusciva a smell anything bad. She set about to enter, when, next to her was thrown away from the inn a man, who had a couple of bumps on his head and a black eye.
"Damn ... you have tanned back for the holidays, eh?" Asked the eighteen year old to a man on the thirty.
"Yes, Monique, is the third time this week!"
"If you want my advice, found another inn. You do not want wimps. And I know the owner as much time as you can imagine. "Monique smiled, a light in his eyes.
"Well, good luck, anyway!" Finished the girl, entering the tavern with ease.