Work Text:
Aire de jeux pour enfants, 3ème arrondissement
Paris, 2395
The garden billed itself as ‘English style’. The only garden that Parmak had visited in that particular part of this particular world had been Kew, which was considerably bigger than the place where they were now. This garden was tucked between some residential buildings in the 3ème arrondissement. There was a bandstand, the railings of which had proven good to swing around. There was a pond, the inhabitants of which had proven amenable to feeding. And there was a playground, where the smallest member of their party had been locked in single combat with a climbing frame for the best part of ten minutes.
The third member of the party was sitting on the bench next to Parmak with his arms folded and his legs stretched out. He was wearing a thick black coat with its collar pulled up against the March chill, a pale blue woollen scarf, and a black flat cap. If he was trying to appear inconspicuous, he was failing badly. He looked like the kind of man who might once have headed up a state security service. His eyes, which were half-closed, were fixed upon the boy.
Parmak opened the flask of ettaberry tea and poured himself a cup. The man beside him shook his head when a cup was offered. Parmak sat and drank. How strange it was to revisit a city when one of you was no longer a senior government official. You certainly saw a very different side of things. Their earliest times here had been marked by visits to museums, restaurants, galleries, theatres, opera houses, receptions. On one occasion, almost exactly ten years ago, right at the start of their adventure in governing, they’d stood beside each other in a beautiful private garden and, in front of a representative of the state and two witnesses there on behalf of the people of the Union, declared their intention to remain together for the rest of their lives. One of them had cried. Right now, about ten minutes’ walk away from where they sat, there was a gallery full of Picassos. But they’d seen a lot of art together over the years.
About five minutes ago, the little boy had wormed his way up to the second level of the climbing frame. He was now higher up than he was tall, and he didn’t look entirely happy with this state of affairs. He was eyeing the next level – the top level – with a combination of wistful resolve and outright terror.
“Do you think,” said Parmak, “that one of us should go over and give him a helping hand?”
“He doesn’t want a helping hand,” said his companion. “He wants to show us what he can do.”
Of the few unanswered questions that Parmak still had about his companion, the most puzzling was where, when, and how he’d learned to be so good with children. Perhaps he simply remembered what it was like.
The boy steeled himself for his assault on the next level.
“What do you think he’ll try?” said Parmak.
His companion shrugged. As they watched, the boy sat on the edge of the level, legs dangling, and looked up, as if to gauge the distance.
“Only I’m worried he’s going to fall,” said Parmak.
“He’s not going to fall.”
The boy twisted round so that he had his back to them, and kneeled down. He stuck his left hand out to grip the supporting vertical rail beside him. He stretched up his right arm to reach for the upper level. He was nowhere near tall enough.
“I really am worried he’s going to fall.”
“He’s not going to fall.”
The boy stood up. His feet were half on and half off the platform. His left hand gripped the rail more tightly. He reached upwards again with his right hand and grabbed hold of the upper level.
“Oh…” said Parmak’s companion. “Here he goes…”
“You do know that if we take him back in pieces his mothers will kill us?”
“His mothers,” his companion replied, a touch acidly, “are glad to have him off their hands for an hour or two. He’s not going to fall.”
The boy let go of the rail and grasped the top level with both hands. Parmak watched on tenterhooks as he pushed himself upwards. He got his arms up, his elbows up, his chest up – and then there was an almost frozen moment when he tried to get his balance to be able to wriggle forwards to safety. Beside him, his companion’s whole body tensed. He didn’t move anywhere near as quickly as he used to, but Parmak would not have betted on getting there first.
With one last push, the little boy hauled himself entirely onto the top level. He scrambled to his feet, turned, and waved. “Edde!” he shouted. “Look at me!”
The old man smiled and waved back. “I see you. Aren’t you tall?”
“Tall as Mount Keltis! Taller!”
“Mission accomplished,” said Parmak.
“Will finds a way,” said his companion, with a faintly smug air. “I told you he wasn’t going to fall.”
“He still has to get back down.”
“You can go and help him down,” said his companion. He eyed the flask. “I’ll have that cup of tea now, please.”
23rd March 2026