“I suppose you expected a riddle about love,” said Baba Yaga. “They always do. Especially since the first two are so horribly easy. But this one is much better, don’t you think?”
“It’s…a good one,” Lily said. She still shook from the fear of almost being devoured, but she felt she should be polite. She suspected Baba Yaga would have no difficulty changing her own rules if she thought she was being insulted.
Baba Yaga seemed annoyed enough as it was. “Now you’ve guessed them all, damn you, and I have nothing for my supper.” A bit of drool escaped the side of her mouth. “I should eat you anyway. Nobody would be any wiser for it.”
“I think a chicken would taste better,” Lily said quickly. “Or a trout from the stream.”
“Why not all three? But never mind that. You look a bit gamey. You’d probably give me indigestion.”
Lily nodded her head. “Almost certainly.”
Baba Yaga scratched her chin. “I suppose now you’ll be wanting your present,” she said.
“That’s all right,” Lily told her. “You don’t have to give me anything. I’ll just be going.”
“You’ll stay right where you are. I’ll only be a minute.”
The old witch went into the house and shut the door. Lily could hear her moving about. Occasionally she swore quite loudly. There were more than a few bangs and clatters. What sounded like an enormous stack of dishes crashed to the floor and shattered. A moment later, the door opened again and Baba Yaga reappeared.
“Here you are,” she said, holding out her hand.
Lily reached out and took the proffered object. It was a spoon. She turned it over and examined it. It was a perfectly ordinary one. Not made of silver. Not engraved with scenes of tsars hunting deer, or enameled with flowers, or gilded with precious metals. If anything, it was a bit ugly.
“It’s just a spoon,” said Baba Yaga. “In case you were wondering. It isn’t magic. Well, no more than all spoons are magic. But it doesn’t give you an endless bowl of porridge, or dig a hole through the earth all by itself when you command it to, or anything stupid like that. It carries soup to your mouth from a bowl. Or pudding. Or what have you.”
Lily slipped the spoon into her pocket. “Thank you. It’s very nice.”
Baba Yaga stared at her for a moment. “Don’t mention it. I wasn’t using it. Besides, you already have everything you need. A home. The stars. The sea. Love.” Her left eye twitched as she listed this last thing. “But there never seem to be enough spoons.”
Lily nodded. She thought about the last time she’d visited the witch’s house. How terrified she’d been. How sure that she was not strong enough to survive what was happening to her. So much had changed since then. She’d lost some things and gained more. Now it was time to see what else life would bring.
“Goodbye,” she said to Baba Yaga.
“Good riddance. Now shoo. I’m very busy.”
Baba Yaga slammed the door shut. Lily turned and walked back the way she had come. She was in no hurry. She knew that Star would be there when she woke from this dream. She knew that they would lie together in the soft feather bed and discover one another’s secrets. That she would kiss Star’s mouth, and see the constellations travel her body season after season until they both grew old and were ready for the next adventure.
And they did.
T H I R T Y - F O U R
BABA YAGA CLOSED The door.
“It really is a magic spoon, isn’t it?”
Baba Yaga looked at the girl. Moth, who was sweeping up the remnants of the broken plates, stopped and lifted an eyebrow. “Well?” she said.
“You’re very impertinent,” said Baba Yaga.
“And you’re a terrible liar.”
Baba Yaga sniffed. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very accomplished liar. I’ve told more lies in an afternoon than you’ve told in your entire life.”
“Only because I don’t lie,” Moth said. “I always tell the truth. Even when people don’t want to hear it.”
“I’ve noticed that,” said Baba Yaga. “It’s an unfortunate character flaw. I suppose you inherited it from your mother.”
“Probably,” Moth said. “Star got her beauty. I got the rest.”
Baba Yaga was wondering if perhaps she’d made a mistake bringing the girl here. Maybe she ought to have left her in the other world. She would be dead there, of course, which would not be ideal for her. But Baba Yaga wasn’t sure that she was prepared to have someone else around all the time. Especially someone who didn’t seem to be afraid of her. She’d threatened to eat the child, but Moth had merely laughed at her. It was disconcerting.
“So, the spoon… What does it really do?”
“Very well,” Baba Yaga said. “I’ll tell you. If you use it to stir sugar into your tea, it turns the sugar to poison.”
“It does not.” Moth had finished with the sweeping, and now was emptying the ashes from the stove. Baba Yaga hoped that the bones she was clearing away would put some fear into her.
“That’s a particularly large femur,” she remarked.
Moth ignored her. “If I was going to magic a spoon,” she said. “I would make it so that whoever eats from it tastes the love that went into the cooking.”
“Don’t be tiresome,” said Baba Yaga.
Moth chuckled. “I’m going to keep asking until you tell me. So you might as well.”
“Fine,” said Baba Yaga. “That spoon belonged to Olga Nikitichna Kuklachyova.”
She waited for the child to be impressed. When Moth only stared at her, she remembered that she was not from a world where that name would mean anything.
“Olga Nikitichna Kuklachyova was a girl from Bogorodsk,” she said. “She had a sister who was very pretty but very stupid. I don’t remember her name. Anyway, it’s not important to the story. The important thing is that this sister used to swim naked in a pond, which as you know is a foolish thing to do because if you are pretty — or even if you are not — the vodyanoy that lives there is likely to fall in love with you and want to marry you.”
“What’s a vodyanoy?” Moth asked.
“A kind of water monster. He looks like an old man with a frog’s face.” Baba Yaga grimaced to give her the effect. “Now stop asking questions and listen. The vodyanoy who lived in this pond did fall in love with the foolish sister, and he caught her and carried her to his home underwater. When Olga Nikitichna Kuklachyova realized what had happened, she went to the pond and called to the vodyanoy. She asked if she could make an exchange — her sister in return for something of the vodyanoy’s choosing.”
“What did he ask for?” said Moth.
“A spoon,” said Baba Yaga. “But not just any spoon. He wanted the spoon that the Troll King used when he ate the caviar that came from the magic sturgeon that lives in the River Kem.”
“What’s caviar?”
“Fish eggs. Now don’t interrupt me again. I’m almost done. Olga Nikitichna Kuklachyova agreed to this arrangement, and she went in search of the Troll King. She went through the usual trials and tribulations, so I won’t get into it. In the end she found the Troll King and tricked him into giving her the spoon, which she took back to the pond near Bogorodsk and presented to the vodyanoy. Only when he saw it he said, ‘Is that all it is? It’s not magic. It’s not even beautiful. You can keep it, and I will keep your sister.’ And so Olga Nikitichna Kuklachyova went home and carried on as best she could, and every night when she ate her supper with the Troll King’s spoon, she was reminded that even when you are cunning and brave, you don’t always succeed, because life is hard and often unfair.”
“And how did you get the spoon?” asked Moth.
“Oh. Well. Olga Nikitichna Kuklachyova gave it to me,” Baba Yaga said. “As a housewarming present.”
“You mean you ate her,” said Moth. “And took it.”
Baba Yaga scratched her bony elbow. “Possibly. It was a long time ago. It could have been any number of things. Maybe s
he lost it. Maybe I stole it. The point is, the spoon has an interesting provenance.”
“What’s — “
“History,” said Baba Yaga. “Now wash those dishes.”
“But the girl doesn’t know the story of Olga Nikitichna Kuklachyova,” Moth said, ignoring the order. “So what good was it giving her the spoon?”
“I liked that spoon,” said Baba Yaga without further explanation.
After a moment, Moth nodded. “I think I understand. This isn’t about her. It’s about you. You like her well enough that you gave her something that means something to you.”
“I don’t like anybody!”
Moth said nothing. She went to the sink and picked up a dish and a cloth. Dipping the dish into the water, she began to rub. As she cleaned, she hummed happily.
Baba Yaga watched her for a moment. Yes, this child was going to be a problem. She saw too much. Even into corners that Baba Yaga herself did not care to look into. This is what you get for leaving the forest, she told herself. You ought to have stayed home.
Perhaps this was true. But what was done, was done.
Besides, it was nice to have the help.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book owes its existence to the following people:
Katherine Gleason, who twenty years ago listened as I described an idea I had and said, “That could be good,” then every couple of years asked me, “Whatever happened to that book about the girl?”
Melissa Gwinn, who said, “You really should write that one.”
Sharyn November, who said, “I want to know how this ends.”
Steve Berman, who said, “Just finish it.”
And most especially everyone who supported the completion of the book by contributing to my Indiegogo campaign, then waited patiently for four years while I got it done.
Thank you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Thomas Ford is the author of numerous books for both young readers and adults. When he was a child, he suspected that he might be a changeling, and growing older has not convinced him that he was mistaken. He is fond of thunderstorms, dogs, tattoos, horror movies, clowns, tarot cards, crossword puzzles, books, found photographs, coffee, the ocean, and opera. If you want to visit him, you may venture to www.michaelthomasford.com.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
Staven Andersen is an Indonesian artist whose work has been featured in such titles as Red Caps by Steve Berman and Maggie Tiojakin’s translation of Kipling’s Just So Stories.
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