Grandma's Attic

Chapter Eight

Warning: This chapter is mildly mature

The stairs being of a softer substance than Grandma's bone-breaking stone, Thredwyl would have happily climbed them. But the giantess Neat Fleur wouldn't have it. She scooped him up one-handedly and held him securely against her chest. That chest was unlike the Nixies' chests, all grown so heavy they dragged down to their waists. Hers was soft and pillowy. And unlike the Nixies, she smelled nice too.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked on the off-chance she might answer. So far, her record of listening to him and answering was slenderer than a shard.

But wonder of wonders, "My room," she told him. "Those guys at Anthropology can whistle a tune. You're mine – at least while it rains. Mine to do with as I wish."

Thredwyl swallowed hard. That sounded nastily ominous. His head filled with every jawman's Heroic tale of Giants, and of Giants and Nixies, and particularly of the Giantess and the Stone. But he set his jaw firm. No matter what, he would not wed her. Besides, he wasn't a hero. He was here by mistake, a spell gone wrong.

She kicked open the door. "Tra-lah!" And to his relief she put him down.

He'd no time to look round. There was one thing he needed and needed now. "I need a pee. Where'd I go?"

"A...?" That seemed to frighten her.

He jiggled from foot to foot, knees jammed tight, legs crossing, uncrossing, while she held a finger to her lips and looked kind of perplexed.

"Have you no channel? A hole? A urinal? Needn't be fancy. Only I don't want to pee on your floor, and I might have to. Soon."

That spurred her to action. Her floor was smooth as water-worn chalk, though all-over patterned in a bewilderment of colours. This shouldn't be called the Land of Giants. Better would be the Land of Colours, not that Home was such a dismal grey place. Yet he had to admit it never could equal nor rival this. And he still needed to pee. Desperately.

She picked him up.

"Don't press," he squealed. "Mind the bladder."

With a kick at another door, she deposited him in a white-stone and crystal cubicle with a floor patterned in regular bumps.

"There," she said and pointed to a silver-ringed hole in the far corner as if he needed the showing.

He turned his back to her. He'd prefer to wait for her to vacant his vicinity, but it seemed she intended to linger, and he couldn't wait any longer. Oh, the relief. He peed and he peed, and he peed. He thought the stream never would end.

Eventually, he laced his breeches.

Now to clamber over the rim of this convenient construction. He'd rather the struggle up and risk the tumble down than to have her handle him again.

She watched him from a distance, arms crossed beneath her black encased pillowy chest, no attempt made to help him. In fact, she seemed to be smiling. Amused at his antics? But that shining white barrier reached only his waist. A deeply textured floor waited for him on the other side, where she stood. He did a quick leg up and slithered down, feet sinking deep in that texture. It reminded him strongly of the moss that grew around the cascades where, if you were extremely unlucky, you might be caught by a Nixie at play.

"Don't move," she said and reached over him, into the cubicle, and Hey presto'd her magic. He'd been right about the cascade. It fell from far above him, all cleanly contained by the white-rock and crystal walls, to gurgle away down the silver-rimmed hole. "Neat, hey?"

"Neat?" he queried.

"Yea, neat. Clever. Simple. Ingenious. A mark of this world."

Thredwyl frowned while his head coped with the mental sums. On first meeting, when he'd given his name, she had replied that hers was 'Neat'. Yet her unrelated sib, Jace, had called her Fleur with no slither of 'Neat'. What if he'd mistaken her intent, that she hadn't said 'Neat' as her given name, but rather 'Neat' as a compliment to him? Which meant? Hey, that she thought him clever. He nodded. He grinned. This Fleur wasn't so bad, after all.

The essentials taken care of, Fleur then allowed him the freedom of her room.

He ran all over it, looking at this, at that. Was that a bed? Hey, no thin mattress on the floor here. And mirrors, proper reflective mirrors everywhere. Apparently, Fleur liked to look at herself. But it was the transparent crystal that held Thredwyl transfixed the longest. Or rather, what was happening beyond it.

There was a cascade in Gruff's Cavern. Indeed, there were many in Dolstone. But there they tended to fall from a hole in the rock, and be localised, the edges clearly seen. Not here, not in this Colourful Land of Giants. The water was falling everywhere, for as far as he could see. But he could see only as far as the trees. Were they trees? He thought he recognised them from the jawmen's stories. And looking up, well, if there was rock up there then it was at an unfathomable height. Then again, another difference: a cascade fell. Like, it fell and fell and fell. Though at the end of the wet season it lessened or might even stop. But not here. If he understood it right, here it was unusual for it to fall and usual for it to stop.

"Hey, Big Boy."

Thredwyl looked around him. Who else was here in the room? As far as he could see there was only him and...Fleur.

Hmm, Fleur. Oh, wow.

She had removed that black casing and allowed her chesty-bits to – he swallowed, he sweated, he could feel the blood rushing to all his places, though mostly to his face. He could feel himself blushing. Nay, that was nothing like a Nixie's chest.

"You like?" she asked him, doing things to them that he thought she really shouldn't.

He took a deep breath. And he ought to turn around, again to study the rain.

"You want to see more?" she asked, her voice gone all breathy.

He closed his mouth, teeth cutting deep into his lip. But he couldn't hold it. He let it out as an appreciative whistle. She smiled. Grinned. Chuckled. And unbuckled her belt.

He tried not to watch how those chesty...things...bobbled, wobbled and moved about.

She dropped the belt. It landed at her feet, curled like one of the snaky things the Nixies had for a bottom. She hooked her thumbs into the top of her shiny black pants. No, no, he mustn't see this, this was going a stripe too far. He turned away. Yet he couldn't resist a peek over his shoulder. She saw. And grinned, her snaky tongue between teeth and lip. He hid his head under his arms.

But he was curious with a great urge to look. Would she have snaky things for her bottom like the Nixies? But, nay, he had seen her legs. Two legs, divided. Seen where they – Nay, nay, nay, Thredwyl, just keep those eyes closed. You know what she's up to; you've heard the stories. She'll have you wed and captured here. But he couldn't stay turned away, he had to look. Just a glance. He turned fully around.

His eyes travelled from her naked knees up, his tongue licking his lips. But, Nix, nix, nix, he counter-spelled her. She wouldn't trick him to wed her.

His spell didn't work.

"You want to touch?" she asked him.

Nay, he did not, did not, did not. Oh, but aye, he did. He snapped his betraying hands away, clutching them with fierce determination behind his back. And in all her pinky-nakedness she leaned over him and pried those hands apart.

"You guys are all alike," she teased. "Always trying to sneak a look, yet when offered a touch, you turn shy."

"I...I..." He struggled against the pull of her hands.

The door burst open. Relief slid through him, even more blissful than when he'd peed.

"Jason's door is locked," stormed a female voice.

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