The Crown of Venice #7 - Brossura

Stevenson, Steve

Brossura

ISBN 10: 0448462257 ISBN 13: 9780448462257

Casa editrice: Grosset & Dunlap, 2014

Riassunto

Agatha heads to Italy in this exciting new mystery! 

Agatha and her cousin Dash are hot on the trail of the missing crown of Venice. The ancient relic, worn by the Doges—or Dukes—of Venice, was stolen during the city’s famous carnival, and it seems like everyone is a suspect.

Su questo libro

L'autore:

Sir Steve Stevenson is the pseudonym used by Mario Pasqualotto, an Italian writer who spent many years writing for Italian gaming magazines. Currently, he is focused on writing novels for young readers.

Estratto. © Riproduzione autorizzata. Diritti riservati.:

Agatha

Dash

Chandler

Watson

Marco

Discover who stole a priceless golden crown that belonged to one of the Doges of the Most Serene Republic of Venice

It was a Sunday morning in the middle of February, and a loud blare of trumpets rattled the window glass of the penthouse apartment above Baker Place. The stereo’s surround sound was state of the art; it sounded as if General Custer himself had come back to life and was blowing a bugle into the ear of the tall teenage boy stretched out on the sofa.

Dashiell Mistery jolted awake, as quickly as if someone had thrown him under an ice-cold shower. His hair flopped over his forehead as he clapped his hands over his ears and jumped into action, dodging piles of clothes and stray electronic devices to slam down the volume control on his stereo. The trumpets cut off midnote.

Dash stood panting with relief, his eyes puffy from lack of sleep. It was eight in the morning. His brand-new alarm system had done the trick, but the fourteen-year-old student at Eye International Detective Academy couldn’t remember why in the world he had set it to go off so early. He scratched his head as memories of the previous night began to seep through the fog around his brain. “Oh no,” he groaned in despair. “My Criminal Physiognomy class! I’d better get to work!”

In a flash, he was sprawled in his swivel chair, staring at his army of computers. Every one of the monitors was displaying Alien Hunt, an online video game in which a squad of action heroes patrols a space station, wiping out monsters from outer space.

He’d spent most of the week using the avatar Phil Destroy, a cyborg warrior armed to the teeth. In a week of marathon sessions, Dash had worked his way up to the national finals, taking on top-ranked players with names like Killderella and Exterminizer. Meanwhile, he’d completely neglected his Criminal Physiognomy homework, and now he was terrified that Professor FB32, who had a sixth sense for sniffing out slackers, would pick on him to answer questions in the class’s next videoconference.

Would he make a fool of himself? In just a few minutes, his teacher’s face would appear on the screen. He had to get ready immediately!

Feeling frantic, Dash logged off Alien Hunt and picked up the printouts and notes strewn all over his desk. He formed a mound of paper in front of him, picked up a yellow highlighter, and started to cram. Physiognomy was a difficult subject—it involved looking for clues about a person from their appearance, especially facial features.

“Okay, okay . . . ‘What does it mean when the subject has a unibrow?’” Dash muttered to himself. He searched through his notes until he found a scrawl on the back of a candy wrapper. “Ah, here we go,” he went on. “It’s a clear sign of an inclination toward theft!”

He narrowed his eyes and continued to work his way down the review questions. “‘Who came up with this theory?’” he read aloud.

Dash didn’t need to dig through his notes for the answer to this question. “Simple!” he crowed. “Cesare Lombroso, the founder of criminal anthropology. Which was later debunked by two other professors . . . wait, what were their names again?” He rifled through his pile of paper.

“Where are my historical notes?” he cried in desperation. He remembered that Cesare Lombroso’s nineteenth-century theories had been revised from top to bottom. But who had done it, and why?

“I don’t have a clue,” he groaned. “I really need to pay more attention and take better notes! Now what will I tell the professor?”

To make matters worse, the Eye International symbol suddenly flashed on the monitor screen of his main computer, followed by a message: Connecting, please wait.

Dash ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sunk!” he repeated again and again.

But weirdly, the face that appeared on his screen was not his professor's, but that of the school secretary, a middle-aged woman with frown lines framing her mouth. “We’re sorry to inform you that Agent FB32 is engaged in a mission and won’t be able to teach today’s class,” she announced. “The Criminal Physiognomy class is postponed until next Sunday. Happy investigating, everyone!”

The smile on Dash’s face spread from one ear to the other. What amazing luck! Now he had a whole week to revisit the topic and take better notes, and he decided to start right away. But his stomach was growling. It wouldn’t hurt to have something for breakfast first, would it? He picked up the phone and ordered his favorite breakfast: a three-cheese pizza with double pepperoni, anchovies, and jalapeños. He’d nicknamed it “Zombie Pizza” because the smell alone could wake the dead.

He had just put down the phone when a BLIP! let him know that his friends were online for a game of Alien Hunt.

“I can’t give in to temptation,” Dash lectured himself. “I have to focus on my detective career.”

But his resistance crumbled in seconds. I’ve got a whole week, he told himself. He swiveled to face his computer, put on his headset, and greeted Clarke and Mallory, whose avatars were waiting for him at the entrance to the first level. Phil Destroy entered the dark corridors of the spaceship, overcome with the thrill of the challenge.

“Blast that monster! Zap it!” Clarke’s voice shouted through the headphones.

“Look out! They’re coming out of the walls!” Mallory yelled at the top of her lungs.

“I’ll have to bounce pretty soon, guys,” Dash interrupted. “I’m getting a pizza delivered.”

“Hey Dash, did you hear about all the apartment thefts?” asked Clarke.

“No, what happened?”

“Scotland Yard says every one of the victims had a pizza delivered right before they noticed their stuff had gone missing,” his friend explained.

“It happened to us,” added Mallory. “They stole my mom’s silver teapot.”

Su questa edizione

• Editore: Grosset & Dunlap
• Data di pubblicazione: 2014
• ISBN 10: 0448462257
• ISBN 13: 9780448462257
• Rilegatura: Copertina flessibile
• Numero di pagine: 144
• Disegnatore: Turconi Stefano