Paris: The Novel

complained about the wages and the hours. Yet as Thomas listened, he didn’t feel comfortable with what was being said. Rather to his own surprise, he found himself coming forward.
    “I agree about the cold and the need for hot drinks,” he said. “My hands were freezing last winter, and the higher we go, the colder it seems to get.” This was met with nods. “But I’m not sure about the extra danger.” He shrugged. “The safety barriers and netting are pretty good. Nobody’s fallen so far. But I mean, if you did fall,” he shrugged, “two hundred feet or four hundred feet, doesn’t make a difference. You’re going home in a box anyway.” A few of the men laughed at this, but Éric was not pleased.
    “Don’t you want to be paid for the extra height?”
    “I’ll take more money as soon as the next man,” Thomas answered, “but we signed on knowing what the wage was, and we’re getting more than the usual rate anyway.”
    It was true, but it wasn’t what the men wanted to hear. There were some growls. Suddenly, Thomas found Éric standing beside him. The tall man put a large, hard hand on his shoulder.
    “Now we all know that this young man is a friend of Monsieur Eiffel. So maybe he’s not exactly on the same side as us.” This caused a murmur of agreement that was none too friendly. Thomas was taken by surprise. He hadn’t realized that the fact he’d worked for Eiffel before, or that Eiffel sometimes chatted with him, might be turned against him like this. Éric was well into his stride now, though. “No, brothers, no, I don’t believe the young man means any harm by it. He’s a good young fellow. But, brothers, there are two things we need to remember. The first is that our demands are reasonable, and we all agree about that—well, perhaps my young friend here doesn’t. And second,” he gave the men a knowing smile, “this is a negotiation.” He paused to let the thought sink in. “My friends, Eiffel has to finish this tower. His entire reputation and his personal fortune are at stake. If he fails, he’s bust. And he’s running late.”He grinned. “We’ve got the bastard over a barrel.” He paused once more. “Anyone else want to argue?”
    They didn’t. There were shouts of approval. Éric kept his hand clamped on Thomas’s shoulder.
    “If the tower’s not finished,” Thomas said, too quietly for anyone to hear, “we shall have dishonored France in the eyes of the whole world.”
    “It’ll get finished,” Éric replied, just as quietly. “But I’d keep my mouth shut, if I were you. Wouldn’t want you falling off the tower, would we?”
    The work stopped that day. Eiffel turned up at the site an hour later and had an urgent conversation with Jean Compagnon. Then the two of them went to talk to Éric. The engineer looked furious, but it seemed he didn’t give way. The men stood around all day, but nothing happened. Late in the afternoon, the foreman told them they might as well go home for the day.
    As Thomas was walking off the site, Pepe fell into step beside him. “Want a drink?” he said. As he had nothing else to do, he agreed gladly enough. Pepe lived in the sprawling quarter on the Left Bank to the south of the tower, and he took Thomas to a bar there.
    “I didn’t dare say what you did,” Pepe told him, “but I think you were right.” Then they talked about his family, and the Italian girl he was hoping to marry, and Thomas told him a little about Édith, but not too much, and they agreed that they’d all meet one Sunday, and Pepe would take them to a place where they could get an Italian meal for not too much money. After parting the best of friends, Thomas walked back, crossed the river in the usual way and made his way home.
    He came to the rue de la Pompe. His lodgings were not far ahead. He passed the darkened gateway to the yard that had once been the farm of Édith’s family.
    The strong hand that clamped on his shoulder took him completely by surprise. He lunged forward to run, but felt his other arm held in a grip he couldn’t break out of. Someone powerful, very powerful, had moved out of the shadows. He twisted, punched hard over his shoulder at where his assailant’s face might be. But the unseen figure anticipated him. He kicked back hard with his right boot, and felt the body behind him shift skillfully. Whoever it was knew how to fight. And he was just opening his mouth to shout for help, when a familiar voice spoke into his