There are four big legs to the tower. Each is planted on a massive concrete pedestal. Around each pedestal are the ticket booths, a place where you can buy snacks, the base of the elevator, and a lot of people craning their necks to look up.
The tower is built out of millions of individual pieces. It’s not like they molded it all out of a single block of steel—you see each and every piece, every crossbar, every strut, every beam—15,000 pieces. And you see the fat rivets used to hold each piece in place. It’s as if it were built entirely out of Popsicle sticks—if Popsicle sticks were iron and coated with thick gray-brown paint. But from a little distance it appears very delicate, as if it were made out of lace.
There are three decks on the Eiffel Tower. The first one is about a quarter of the way up. A second deck is closer to the halfway point. And the very top, le tip top, is 990 feet up there. Way up.
There’s an elevator connecting the three decks. There are also stairs to the lowest two decks.
The whole thing is placed plop beside the river Seine, at one end of a long, rectangular field called the Champ de Mars, or the Field of Mars. Because the French love them some Mars bars.36
“Let’s take the elevator,” Mack said wearily. “I don’t think I could handle stairs.”
Easier said than done. There was a line, and tickets had to be purchased, and then another line. Finally the elevator, which, in keeping with the whole Eiffel Tower look, was an open iron cage sort of thing. It rose at an angle as it swept up the arc of the tower’s leg, and straightened as the tower straightened.
Suddenly, as the iron-bound view of Paris widened, Mack was terribly homesick. He missed his parents. He missed his room. He missed his school. He even missed the kids at school. And he almost missed some of his teachers.
He hadn’t wanted to look at any pictures from home because they would make him sad. But now he was weary to the point where sad would be a real improvement. He pulled out his phone and opened his personal photos. Pictures of kids at school. Pictures for some reason of the school bus. A picture of his parents playing volleyball at some beach somewhere some long, long time ago.
He tapped on his messages. The golem, of course.
Mack almost didn’t open it.
Then he did.
* * *
I’m afraid. A girl named Risky was here. I think she will make me hurt people. Your golem. >:-(
* * *
Mack stopped breathing.
“Are we getting off here?” Xiao asked.
The elevator had come to a stop, and many of the people were exiting. It was the first level.
“Is this it?” Charlie prodded when Mack didn’t answer.
Risky. She had been there. In his home. In his actual home!
I think she will make me hurt people.
“Let’s go on up to the second floor,” Jarrah said, speaking for Mack.
It had always been possible, Mack knew. Sooner or later they would go for his family. After all, Paddy “Nine Iron” Trout had already tried by shoving snakes in through the window of Mack’s house.
But Mack had hoped that when he left Sedona they would go after him and him alone. Not his family.
He swallowed, but his mouth was dry.
Could the golem be made to hurt people? The golem was a sweet goof, not some kind of monster.
But Mack’s logical brain argued back: No, he’s whatever he’s made to be.
And his logical brain was also replaying Risky’s offer. Join her. Join her now and his family, maybe his whole town, would be safe.
Other families … Other towns …
“You okay, mate?” Jarrah asked him.