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Yesterday, when Rico and I carried the big yellow sack into the mill, Pepe il Mulinaio began to yell at us most ferociously. What do you think you are doing? Are you trying to make off with my flour without paying for it?.

The Prince of Melioria, whom I have known all my life without suspecting that he was a prince, has often told me that his cook, the Signorina Cece, is a genius. He says that she can cook cakes and all manner of sweets, and can prepare a fruit cocktail that the prince says she learned from the women of Macedonia -- a dish that is incredibly fresh and delicious! The night before last he told me all this again and said From now on you and your friends must come to Villa Vesuviana for breakfast, because Cece is going to make every good thing for you to enjoy. And since I had said nothing in reply, the prince insisted: Tomorrow when you must not fail to bring your friends to my villa and enjoy whatever Cece prepares!

Among the great questions of our age is that to do with the origins of life. We call this the question of abiogenesis, of origins, of beginnings.

Early this morning Rico and I went to the docks again. I was hoping that more ships were coming from Venezia with our friends, but that did not happen. Instead, many ships came in with cargo: barrels and crates were lined up on the decking of the wharf in no time.

As we pulled into the port of the isle of Melioria, Rico and I thought we would be the first to get off the ship. We were so ready! But what a surprise when everyone rushed, and we lost each other in the crowd. I waited on the dock and kept calling out Rico's name.

Somebody told me that the English say that men do not cry. Well, I am not yet a man and I am not at all English. I am Venetian. In Venezia I see that men express emotion. So I admit that for four days my tears flood my heart and soul more than the Adriatic floods our city of Venezia.

To see the destruction of the city brings fear and anguish. I do not think it possible that even an Englishman could hold back from crying, for all of Venezia is flooding and the water does not seem to want to go away.

The boy Fiorino Pera walks through the flooded piazza

Then il Signor Principe di Melioria made the announcement that he would open his island for the Venetians. I did not think he meant the citizens and the workers, much less the orphans. But then my lord the Patriarch said that the Principe was making room for everyone who had not any other place to go. Before I could know what to think, I was on the ship and sailing to the island of Melioria.

On the ship I saw my dear friend, Signor Capo. Many times in Venezia I see him fixing houses early in the morning. I also meet his sons who are very funny. They are on the ship too, and they make me laugh so much that I forget that I am so sad. But then comes the big surprise: my friend Signor Capo is really a prince! He is the Principe di Melioria! When I find this out I feel so bad, for I have never given him bows that are deep enough for a Prince. But on the ship he tells me that he does not need deep bows: that we are friends and that he wants me to help make the other young people enjoy their time in the country, away from the danger. Signor Capo er I mean, Sua Altezza tells me that he will himself teach me to drive the horses that take the wagons around the island.

It is exciting, but as the sun comes down over the sea and we go slowly toward the island, I am again filled with very deep sadness. With the setting sun, which is the hour of the singing to the Madonna, I ask the Star of the Sea to bring us safely to port, and to ease the pain in our hearts.

Fiorino Pera (L) and his friend Rico Millefiori (R) talk quietly during the sea passage

As I stand on the balcony of Avilion Ballroom. I notice I am without a dance partner, Oh how those pose balls could be put to some use. A lovely evening, but a lovely evening with no one to enjoy it with.

Having been engaged in close study of small objects, and suffering from less than perfect eyesight as I do, I was inspired by some passages I came across in a rare copy of the English Friar Roger Bacon's work, the Opus maius, which describes not only the workings of the eye now more or less familiar to us but also the mechanical art of magnification using lenses. These papers were copied directly from those Bacon provided for Pope Clement IV around 1265.

I received an urgent message, delivered by a mounted courier, from the pen of my colleague, Dr. Pekel, and calling for my witness to an examination of the body of a woman found in the waters of the Venetian canal.

It was my initial suspicion that this person might have drowned, but the good doctor pointed to discoloration of the body unnatural in either salt or fresh water drowning and to other signs that may indicate foul play.

Discoloration was present across the entire skin and thus cannot be attributed to makeup or a topical treatment.

The blood, too, was discolored, presented as a odd pink. This is not due to a contamination of the blood with water as a result of drowning, as some unfamiliar with the writings of Galen, Vesalius, and of the brilliant Dr. William Harvey, physician to both King James and King Charles I of England, might suggest. Instead, it points to an imbalance in the body prior to drowning, one that would likely prove fatal.

To test this hypothesis, after the good doctor Pekel sectioned the stomach and bowel with great precision, I removed a sample of the contents for further testing. It was clear to him from examination of the lining of the stomach that this was indeed a poisoning. He could narrow down the type of poison to a very short list.

The initial test to precisely identify the poison at work was simply to float the sample of the excrement in a bucket of water and carefully stir it until its elements came apart each from the other, the heaviest to fall to the bottom and the lightest to float to the top. Each group was then removed, strained through a cloth to remove water, and visually inspected. There was no question regarding the presence of arsenicum, yellow orpiment, among the heaviest precipitants. This is a metallic element, derivative of iron, thus weighty.

Arsenic may be an ingredient in some ladies' makeup and is also prescribed occasionally in tiny doses for some complaints, though I do not personally believe it is of much therapeutic value. The amount present, however, was extraordinary and could not have been incidentally introduced or prescribed without malice. It is a lethal dose, indeed it is a fatal dose several times over. It is as the doctor suspected, an incident that can only be described as wilful murder by poison.

God is my witness that I have acted in good faith here and spared no pains to uncover the facts. The deceased woman is far beyond any salvation offered by the medical arts. The application of science may, though, play a role in bringing the facts to light and a killer to justice.