Free Chasing the Star Garden: The Airship Racing Chronicles (Volume 1) by Melanie Karsak Page A

Byron’s gift.
    The vaporetto slipped into the Grand Canal. Moments later we were gliding past the pastel colored palazzi: pink, peach, white, and tan façades faced the water. Most buildings, though somewhat decayed, were decorated with white marble or stone trim. Arching windows with ornate trefoil, carved cherubs, theater masks, regal animals, and other designs trimmed the elegant palazzi. Much like the Venetian women, the buildings were refined in their beauty.
    “Palazzo Mocenigo,” the taximan called as we approached a Venetian palace. The tan façade of the palazzo was trimmed with both wroughtiron and stone balconies that hung over the water. The palazzo looked to be four stories in height. In all, the palazzo had four buildings. The gondolier guided us toward one of the middle buildings.
    “Holy Christ,” Jessup whispered. He had grown up on a farm in Norwich and was, no doubt, as impressed as I.
    Indeed, the palazzo was striking. I looked up at the building to see the various carvings of lions’ heads looking down at me.
    Sal smiled at me. “You see,” he whispered.
    The taximan docked and extended a hand to help me debark. A Venetian butler who was fluent in English came to meet us.
    “Signorina Stargazer, welcome to Ca’ Mocenigo. I am Vittorio and am at your service,” he introduced, kissing the back of my hand.
    I introduced the others. Vittorio led us down a marble hallway, the floors polished to a mirror shine, to a stairwell with an ornately carved banister. Golden sconces and magnificent oil paintings lined the walls.
    “You will have two floors, Signorina Stargazer,” Vittorio explained as we went upstairs. “On the second floor you will find the piano nobile where you may entertain guests. Please let me know if you would like to arrange any dinners, and we shall be at your service. Are you expecting Lord Byron?”
    I could hear the excitement in the man’s voice. Byron was famed for his poetry but was infamous for his behavior. He’d been in Venice the few years prior. I’d heard a story about how he’d swum naked in the Grand Canal, holding a torch aloft so he would not be hit by a gondola. I’d laughed until I cried when I heard it. Given Byron’s ways, I had no idea if I was expecting him or not. That was partially why our relationship worked so well.
    “We’ll see. We are not expecting visitors at this time,” I told the man politely.
    He smiled, but his disappointment was evident. “Now, this is the sitting room,” Vittorio said. He pushed open heavy double doors at the top of the stairs to reveal a Renaissance style parlor. The wear on the ornate plaster was evident, and discoloration marred the pale blue walls, but the beauty of the place could not be denied. The grey-flecked marble floors gleamed. The walls were trimmed with gold leaf. Tapestries, oil paintings, and statuary filled the place. An elaborate bird cage contained two doves who cooed nicely when we entered. The place was filled with vases of cut flowers—all lilies—and sumptuous furniture.
    “Follow me,” he called, leading us through the room to a second set of doors. He pushed these open to reveal a dining room with soft yellow paint and glimmering white marble floors. A gold and crystal chandelier hung from the roof where plaster was chipped away. Filigreed mirrors and oil paintings of Dionysian delights lined the walls.
    “This is your formal dining room,” Vittorio said then led us through one final set of doors to reveal a sunny room in the front of the palazzo. “And finally we come to the drawing room,” he said. The room, painted pale peach, looked out on the Grand Canal. It was comfortably arranged with small groupings of chairs for private conversation, and again, the room was filled with lilies.
    “If you need a private work space, Miss Stargazer, there is also a small office through here,” Vittorio added, opening a door just off the drawing room to reveal an office in which a large desk,