The autumn sun in Speranza was the color of aged parchment, casting long, lazy shadows across the village market. Inside La Pagina che Fa le Fusa (The Purring Page), the air was thick with the scent of ancient paper, rosemary, and the constant, rhythmic rumbles of Toe and Ashwaganda .
I. The Sweetener of Dreams
The mystery began during our weekly book club gathering. Marisa, owner of the Mint Chocolate Treasure House, arrived with a look of quiet bewilderment. In her latest shipment of cocoa from the Amazon—the same shipment we had previously inspected for chemical sharpness—she had found a small, crystal jar labeled only in a delicate, archaic script as “The Sun’s Nectar.”
“I tried a single drop in my tea,” Marisa explained, her voice a soft whisper. “That night, I didn’t just sleep. I saw the village fountain. But the water wasn’t blue; it was shimmering like the silver ink in Moira’s book”.
She described a dream where the Iron Heart began to beat beneath the fountain, but a “shadow that does not move” was choking its rhythm.
II. The Map’s Hidden Node
We spread the humidor map across the bancone in rovere massiccio (oak counter). The map revealed that the subterranean tunnels spiraling from the Cigars House, the Coffee Taverna, and the Treasure House converged not just at a central point, but passed directly beneath the Piazza della Fontana .
The fountain, we realized, was the “vent” for the Iron Heart.
I consulted Days of your Dreams, my sanctuary of arcane hints. I turned the thick, creamy-yellow parchment pages, and the silver ink began to shift and glow as if holding its own subtle magic. Under the heading “On Dreams that Speak the Truth,” the entry was prophetic:
“The nectar reveals what the eye ignores. Where the water meets the stone, look for the gift that is a curse. The cat’s gold stare shall pierce the mask of the one who seeks to silence the heart”.
III. The Shadow at the Fountain
The following morning, we observed a stranger at the fountain. He was a “meticulous person” with the same smooth, polished manner as the forger Albinoni. He was ostensibly sketching the stone carvings, but Ashwaganda, my ginger feline detective, gave a low, inquisitive growl.
- The Suspicion: The man was using a small silver atomizer—the same kind Luca had intended to use on the diva—to mist the fountain’s intake.
- The Chemical Scent: A faint, sweet, floral scent like hyacinth began to drift from the water—the signature of the Blackstone neurotoxin.
- The Motive: By tainting the fountain, he could force a “restoration” of the square, giving him legal access to excavate the tunnels and reach the Etruscan library of the Iron Heart.
IV. Feline Revelation
As the stranger reached for a precision tool in his briefcase, Toe, the sleek black shadow, darted from behind a stone pillar. Unseen by the human, Toe batted a tiny, peculiar clump of ochre-colored clay across the man’s polished shoes.
“Look not for what was taken, but for what was left behind,” I whispered, stepping from the shadows of an ivy-covered arch.
The clay was the mark of the forger. The “sketch artist” was actually a partner of the disgraced Professor, trying to finish the scam Albinoni had started. Ashwaganda sat pointedly in front of the fountain’s drainage grate, letting out a soft, insistent meow that directed Ispettore Salomone exactly to where the man had hidden his vials of acid.
V. The Heart Beats On
The stranger’s plan to “silence the heart” was thwarted. The “Sun’s Nectar” Marisa had found was not a poison, but an ancient botanical extract Sir Alistair had noted in his collection for its ability to heighten intuition.
Within hours, the hyacinth scent was cleared by a neutralizing paste of calendula and honey we applied to the intake, a recipe found in the silver book.
The next evening, La Pagina che Fa le Fusa was quiet again. I sat in my bordeaux velvet armchair, watching the setting sun bathe Speranza in honey-gold light. The Iron Heart was safe, its secrets preserved in the “creamy-yellow parchment” of history, guarded by a pair of wise, furry eyes.
I was a doctor, a lover of books, and a purveyor of justice—and in Speranza, every night promised a new beginning
SummerSimo Travel Troubles Notes and The Purring Page 
Leave a comment