Chapter 6: The Midnight Table

At midnight the lobby was full of strangers in evening clothes.

I came out of the lift with the ledger flat against my back, under a borrowed black dress, tucked into the waistband.

Enoch stood under the clock, and I walked straight to him.

"Tonight is the Table," he said, low. "First Friday of the month. Every family sends its head, and the Truce is read aloud."

"Nobody told me."

"I'm telling you now."

His mouth came down on mine, and I put my hand on his chest and spoke against his lips.

"What does S.K. mean?"

He went still.

"Where did you see that?"

"A retainer. Two hundred thousand dollars, dated the day of the shooting."

"It's the Truce fee," he said, fast.

"Augustin pays it each year to keep the house neutral. I take it for the staff."

"The same day."

"Fenella." He kissed me again, deep, so that nobody in the lobby could doubt it. "Later. Please."

Please was not a word I expected from him.

I let it go.

The dining room had been cleared, and one long table stood in the middle under a chandelier.

Six people sat along it, and I understood in about a second that they were the ones who really ran Port Calder.

An old woman with a cigarette holder.

A heavy man with a gold tooth.

Two brothers who looked like twins.

A silent man with a bandaged hand.

Augustin sat at the head with his cane across his knees.

Lucan stood behind his chair, pale and blank, his swollen cheek covered in makeup.

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