The Giants and the Joneses Read Online Free

climb over giant pencils which lay like fallen trees, and then they found their way blocked by an enormous pile of what looked like shiny coloured plates.
    ‘I think they’re buttons,’ said Colette.
    ‘Trust her,’ said Stephen.
    Colette found herself springing to the girl giant’s defence. ‘You shouldn’t groan like that. Look how useful my button collection was.’
    ‘Oh yeah?’ said Stephen in his most infuriating voice.
    Colette turned on him. ‘What’s the matter with you, Stephen Jones? Why do you have to be so scornful all the time? Don’t you want to get home? Don’t you want to see Mum and Dad again?’
    ‘That’s great coming from you. Who wanted to stay and explore the doll’s house?’
    ‘There you go again! Can’t you see, we’re all in this together? We’ll never get home if you keep getting at me.’
    ‘It’s you that’s getting at me !’
    ‘Hill all slidey!’ called out Poppy, interrupting their quarrel. She was trying to climb the button hill, and laughing as the buttons slithered and clattered under her weight.
    ‘We need to go round it, not over it,’ Colette told her. She turned to Stephen. ‘Coming?’
    Stephen shrugged sulkily, but followed her round the hill of buttons. After that the going was a little easier. A bright yellow plastic railway track led them nearly all the way to the door, and when it stopped abruptly there was only one more hill in their way – a soft hairy purple one. ‘It’s a towel,’ said Colette.
    Then, ‘Big red field,’ said Poppy.
    ‘It does look like one.’ Colette gazed across the new empty space. ‘But look at those railings over there – I’ve never seen a field with a fence that high.’
    Stephen still said nothing. Colette touched his arm gently, trying to make up, but he shrugged her off.
    They made their way towards the wooden railings, past another giant door. The red carpet was thinner than the green one, less squashy to walk on.
    Colette’s spirits rose. In her mind they were already out of the house and following the trail of buttons to the top of the beanstalk.
    ‘I bet Mum and Dad won’t be expecting us back so soon,’ she said.
    But then, ‘Cliff,’ said Poppy, and they all stopped.
    Colette looked down. Below them the red ground dropped away steeply. They were indeed at the top of a cliff, twice her own height – too tall to jump down, and too steep to climb down.
    Of course. The towering wooden railings were banisters. The cliff was a giant stair. And below it was another stair, and another one and another one.
    The giant staircase was a mountain of cliffs.

8
Weedkiller
    I T WAS TIME for Throg to be on his way – back over the wall, back to his patrol. The edgeland mist had thinned during his doze, and it wasn’t quite so cold. Throg felt refreshed and cheerful. When he was in a good mood he sometimes made up a tune for his favourite rhyme, and he did so now as he tottered along once more, straining his eyes to peer out into the emptiness.
Arump o chay ee glay, glay,
    Arump o chay ee glay.
    Oy frikely frikely bimplestonk,
    Eel kraggle oy flisterflay.
    His voice felt stronger now, after his sleep, and he was enjoying the sound of it. He screwed up his eyes and flung back his head, singing full-belt, his hobble almost transformed into a stride.
    He had nearly sung the song through three times when his foot slipped and he landed with a bump on his bottom.
    He sat there for a moment, cursing the slippery ground but most of all himself. There was no excuse for such carelessness, especially with the mist thinner than usual. So thin that he could clearly see the edge of the land. So thin that he could clearly see …
    ‘O bimplestonk!’ Throg was on his feet in a flash. Yes, there it was, exactly the same as in all the pictures – the frikely thick stalk, the frikely green leaves and the frikely green pods which he knew were full of bimples.
    Old Throg’s heart thumped as he peered down.
    He couldn’t see far,