The Soup Cook with the Iron Teeth

Part One. The House with Chicken Legs

By Monday morning, the hut was sitting in the middle of the school field, and it had made itself comfortable.

It was a small, crooked wooden cottage with a curly chimney, a round window, and a front door painted bright red. It stood on two enormous yellow chicken legs, with long scaly toes. The legs were folded underneath it, like a hen settling down on her eggs, and every now and then one of them gave a little twitch.

Round the hut stood a fence made of old white sticks. On top of every stick was a turnip lantern with a grinning face and a flickering candle inside. They had been left over from Halloween. At least, that's what Mister Harris said.

"They look a lot more like skulls," whispered Ollie.

"They are turnips," said Mister Harris, loudly, to nobody in particular. "Lovely, ordinary turnips."

At half past eight, the red door creaked open, and out stepped the lady from the Bonfire Night.

She was small and very bent, with a long hooked nose that looked a bit like a boot. Her chin stuck out, too. Her hair was a grey mop, tied up with a scarf, and when she smiled, which she did every time somebody looked at her, we saw that her teeth were made of shining iron.

She wore a big apron over a long black dress. She carried a huge wooden spoon in one hand and a twig broom in the other. And her badge, pinned very crookedly to her apron, said Baba Yaga, Winter Soup and Brooms.

"Good morning, my little darlings," she said, in a voice like a rusty gate. "Who wants soup?"

Nobody moved.

"It's very good soup," said Baba Yaga. "I made it with beetroot."

Willow, who was sitting on a fence post, looked at the chicken legs. The chicken legs looked at Willow. Both of them narrowed their eyes.

Part Two. Elfine Has a Fact

"She's Baba Yaga," whispered Elfine, as we huddled behind the climbing frame. "She's from Slavic fairy tales. In Poland she's called Baba Jaga. In Russia she's Baba Yaga. She's the most famous witch in the whole of Eastern Europe."

"Is she a bad witch?" said Dot.

"Sometimes," said Elfine. "Sometimes she's a good one. That's what makes her so tricky. In the old stories, she lives in a dark forest, in a hut that stands on chicken legs and spins round in circles. She flies through the sky in a giant mortar, which is like a big stone cooking bowl, steering it with a pestle, and sweeping away her tracks with a broom."

"That's actually really cool," said Marion.

"And she tests people," said Elfine. "If you walk up to her house and you are polite, and brave, and kind, she might help you. She might even give you a present. But if you're rude, or you fib, or you try to sneak around..." She gulped. "She puts you to work. For a very long time. And sometimes she makes you into soup."

"Soup?" squeaked Ollie.

"It's an old story," said Elfine hurriedly. "I'm sure she's changed."

"Which story's the best one?" said Felix.

Elfine opened her notebook. "There's one about a girl named Vasilisa, who walks into the forest to ask Baba Yaga for fire. She is very polite to everything she meets. She oils the creaky gate. She gives the dog some bread. And that's why they all help her escape. The rule is: be kind to everyone, even the things that don't look important. Especially those."

"Be kind to everything," said Alex slowly.

"Even the gate," said Felix.

"Even the gate," said Elfine.

Part Three. The Best Soup in the World

It was Marion who tried the soup first.

"If it's poison, I'll find out," she said grimly, and she walked up to the dinner hall counter, took a bowl, and ate a spoonful.

She stopped. Her eyes went wide.

"It's the best soup I've ever eaten," she said.

It was deep red, sweet and sour and steaming, with a swirl of cream on top. Baba Yaga had made little pasta parcels, too, called pierogi, stuffed with potato and cheese, and fried in butter till they were golden. By the end of lunchtime, every child in the class had had three helpings, and Ollie had asked for a fourth.

"Thank you," said Alex, to Baba Yaga.

"Thank you," said Felix.

"Ah," said Baba Yaga. She gave them a sharp look. "Good manners. I do like good manners."

"We always say please and thank you," said Alex.

"It costs nothing," said Felix.

"True," said Baba Yaga. She leaned down. Her nose nearly touched Felix's. "And I have three rules in my kitchen. Do you want to hear them?"

"Yes, please," said both twins.

"Rule one. Say please and thank you. Rule two. Never fib to me. And rule three." She dropped her voice. "Never, ever, ever go round the back of my hut."

"Why not?" said Dot, who had her nose pressed against the counter.

"Because it's rude," said Baba Yaga, and she gave a toothy smile that made all of us shiver. "And I can't promise what might happen."

Dot looked at the hut through the window. A tiny gleam of curiosity lit up her eyes.

Part Four. Round the Back

It was Tuesday when it happened.

All morning, Dot had been thinking about the back of the hut. She couldn't stop. What was round the back? A secret? A cupboard of pierogi? A pot of gold? She is the smallest person in the whole school, and she is the loudest, and she is also the most curious.

At lunchtime, while the rest of us were queuing for soup, Dot slipped out of the dinner hall, ran across the field, and tiptoed round the back of the hut.

There was a small wooden door. It was open.

"Hello?" whispered Dot.

There was a flap of wings.

A great flock of white birds, half swan and half goose, came swooping out of the sky. They were enormous. They had long curved necks and orange beaks and wild yellow eyes. They settled round Dot in a ring, hissing, and wrapped their wings around her.

"No!" squeaked Dot. "I wasn't going to take anything! I only wanted to look!"

With a mighty flap, the swan-geese rose into the air. They lifted Dot off the ground, high above the field, high above the hedge, and carried her away over the trees to the dark wood that begins at the bottom of the school grounds.

Her voice trailed away in the wind.

"ALEX! FELIX! HELP MEEEEEE!"

Part Five. Gone

Alex and Felix heard her from the dinner hall.

They didn't need to look at each other. They dropped their spoons and ran. They ran out of the door, across the playground, across the field, and arrived at the hut with their hearts thudding.

The hut was empty. Its red door was swinging in the wind. Baba Yaga was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Dot.

"The geese took her," panted Marion, who had run up behind them. "I saw them from the window."

"They went into the wood," said Elfine, pointing.

At the bottom of the field, past the hedge, past the gap in the fence, there was a path none of us had ever noticed. It led into the trees. The trees were tall and dark and very thick. A cold wind blew out of them.

"We have to follow," said Alex.

"All of us," said Felix.

"We'll be polite," said Elfine, opening her notebook. "That's the secret. We'll be kind to everything we meet."

"And brave," said Marion.

Willow stood at the edge of the wood, with her fur bristling. She looked back at the school, and then at us, and then she stepped forward on silent paws, in front of everybody.

"She's going first," said Marion. "I'm not arguing with her."

Part Six. The Stove and the Apple Tree

The path wound through the trees. It was dim and quiet. Mushrooms grew in rings. Ravens croaked in the branches. After a while, we came to a small clay stove standing in the middle of the path, with a fire glowing inside.

"Please," said a crackly voice. "Would you like a rye pie?"

We all jumped. The stove had spoken.

"Excuse me," said Alex politely. "Have you seen a flock of swan-geese carrying a small girl?"

"I might have," said the stove. "If you eat one of my pies."

Alex took a pie, and gave it half to Felix. It was warm and sweet. "Thank you very much," said Alex.

"They went that way," said the stove, and its voice softened. "Take care. And if you need somewhere to hide, come back and tell me."

We went on, deeper into the wood, past the ravens, until we came to an old apple tree with silver bark and twisted branches. Its leaves were rustling, though there was no wind.

"Please," it said. "Would you like an apple?"

Felix reached up. He picked the reddest one. "Thank you," he said. "I noticed your branch is hanging very low. Shall I tie it up for you?"

"Oh!" said the apple tree. "Nobody ever asks. Yes, please."

Marion pulled a bit of string out of her pocket, and tied it. The tree sighed with relief. "They're not far ahead," it whispered. "Come back if you need me."

Part Seven. The River of Milk

We followed the path down to the edge of the wood, where a river of milk flowed past, with jelly banks on both sides, wobbling gently in the sunlight. "Would you like a drink?" said the river.

"Thank you," said Alex and Felix together, and they each took a sip. "It's delicious."

"The geese crossed the bridge," said the river. "Their mistress lives just beyond. Be careful. And if you run, run to me."

Part Eight. The Hut in the Dark Wood

Baba Yaga's own hut was in a clearing, in the very heart of the wood.

It was darker than the one at school, and a bit bigger, and covered in moss. The chicken legs were scratching at the earth. The fence round it was made of tall grey sticks, and on each post sat a round pale lantern, carved like a skull. Their eyes glowed green.

"That's not a turnip," whispered Ollie, who had followed us.

"No," said Felix kindly. "It's a night-light. A very big, very green one."

"Don't look at them," said Maya, clutching her scarf.

"The gate's all rusty," said Marion. She pulled out an old tin of oil from her pocket. She had been carrying it around for weeks, in case. Carefully, she oiled the hinges, one by one. The gate swung open without a squeak.

"Thank you," said the gate, softly.

In front of the hut lay a huge black cat, curled up on a stone. His eyes were gold, and he was watching us. Willow walked straight up to him. They stared at each other in silence for a very long time.

Then, very slowly, they both blinked.

"What did he say?" whispered Elfine.

"He says Dot's inside," said Marion. "In the kitchen. He says the old woman is asleep in her chair. He says we should be very quiet. And he says his name is Czarny."

"Czarny means black," said Elfine. "In Polish."

Czarny stood up, stretched, and padded over to the hut. He lifted the latch with one paw and pushed the door open a crack.

Elfine stepped up and recited the old words, in a trembling voice. "Little hut, little hut, turn your back to the wood, and your front to me."

The chicken legs shuffled. The hut turned slowly round, with a groan, until the door was facing us.

Part Nine. The Rescue

Inside, it was warm and smoky, and very, very untidy. There was a huge black cauldron bubbling in the hearth. There were bundles of herbs hanging from the beams, jars of strange things on every shelf, and a rocking chair by the fire.

In the chair, snoring, sat Baba Yaga. She had her feet on a stool and her nose in the air. Her iron teeth glinted in the firelight.

At the other end of the room, on a stool by the hearth, sat Dot.

She was holding a broom. It was much too big for her. She had swept the same square of floor about a hundred times. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and she looked very small and very tired.

"Dot," whispered Felix. He knelt beside her and put his arms round her. "It's us. We've come to get you."

"I knew you would," whispered Dot. "But I was scared."

"It's okay to be scared," said Alex, taking her other hand. "We were too. We came anyway."

"I'm sorry I broke the rule," said Dot.

"We know," said Felix. "You were curious. It's not wrong to be curious. It's just that sometimes it's best to ask first."

Dot nodded. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. Very carefully, with Czarny watching from the window, we all began tiptoeing to the door.

The floorboard creaked.

Baba Yaga's eyes snapped open.

"Foo, foo, foo!" she screeched, leaping out of her chair. "I smell children! Naughty, sneaky children! Who's been in my house?"

Part Ten. The Chase

"RUN!" shouted Marion.

We ran. Out of the door, across the clearing, through the oiled gate. Behind us, the swan-geese burst out of the sky, honking and hissing. Baba Yaga leaped into her giant stone mortar, and it rose off the ground with a roar. She zoomed after us, steering with her pestle, sweeping the air with her broom.

"Faster!" shouted Maya.

"The river!" shouted Elfine. "Run to the river!"

We tore through the trees, with the geese diving at our heads and the mortar crashing through the branches. Alex was carrying Dot on his back, and Felix was holding her hand. Marion and Elfine were running side by side. Willow streaked ahead, a golden blur.

We burst out of the trees at the river of milk.

"Quick!" cried the river. "Under my bank!"

The jelly bank wobbled and opened, and we all dived in. It closed behind us, soft and cool and strawberry-flavoured, hiding us completely. We held our breath. Above our heads, the swan-geese circled, honking. Baba Yaga's mortar swooped back and forth.

"Where are they?" she screeched. "River, river, did the children pass?"

"No," said the river. "Not a sign."

Baba Yaga growled. She zoomed off.

We scrambled out, shaking. "Come on!" said Alex. "The apple tree!"

Part Eleven. The Apple Tree and the Stove

We ran. We could hear the wings overhead again. The apple tree was just ahead, silver in the dusk.

"Quick, quick!" it whispered. "Under my branches!"

It let down its leaves like a curtain, and we ducked under. The swan-geese flew over, hissing. Baba Yaga's mortar crashed through the treetops.

"Apple tree, apple tree, did the children pass?"

"Not at all," said the apple tree. "I've been very quiet."

She roared off again.

We ran to the stove. It was glowing at the end of the path. "Climb in!" it said. "There's plenty of room!"

We squeezed in, all of us, even Ollie, who hadn't stopped trembling since the green lanterns. The stove closed its little iron door. Inside it was warm and dark and smelled of rye pie. We heard the wings. We heard the geese. We heard the mortar landing, with a crash.

"Stove, stove, did the children pass?"

"Ah, they went that way," said the stove. "Quite a long while ago. I wouldn't bother."

We heard Baba Yaga stamping. We heard her muttering. Then, suddenly, the sound stopped.

There was a long silence.

Part Twelve. The Lonely One

Alex pushed open the door of the stove, the tiniest crack.

Baba Yaga was sitting on a tree stump, with her broom in her lap, staring at the ground. Her mortar was parked beside her. Her swan-geese had settled in the grass. And her shoulders, which were always so bent and fierce, were shaking.

She was crying.

"What's she doing?" whispered Ollie.

"Shh," whispered Felix.

"Nobody ever stays," said Baba Yaga, to the empty forest. Her voice was thin and cracked. "I make the best soup in three kingdoms. And they run away. I only wanted a little helper. Someone to talk to. Someone to keep me company on winter nights."

Felix leaned close to Alex.

"I think," he whispered, "she's lonely."

"I think so too," whispered Alex.

They got out of the stove together. They walked across the grass, hand in hand. They stopped in front of the stump. Baba Yaga looked up. Her eyes were red.

"Hello," said Alex.

"You," said Baba Yaga. She sniffed. "Come to scold an old woman?"

"No," said Felix. "We came to say thank you for the soup."

"And to say that taking Dot wasn't kind," said Alex. "But we understand why you did."

"I don't know how to ask people to stay," said Baba Yaga. "I only know how to make them. It always goes wrong."

"You could just ask," said Felix.

"People run away when they see my teeth," she said.

"We didn't," said Alex. "We came all the way into the wood."

Baba Yaga stared at them. Then, very slowly, she smiled. It wasn't her toothy smile. It was a small, shy one.

Part Thirteen. The Soup Club Idea

"I have an idea," said Alex.

"We have a Soup Club at school," said Felix. "On Fridays."

"We only just invented it," said Alex.

"It needs a cook," said Felix.

Baba Yaga blinked. "A cook?"

"You'd be perfect," said Marion, who had come up behind them. "And Dot could be your assistant. A proper one. With a hat."

"And she'd only help with the things she wanted to," said Elfine. "No sweeping a hundred times."

Dot, who had been peering out from behind Alex's leg, stepped forward, wiping her face. "I'd like that," she said, in her biggest voice. "I like soup. And I like you, a bit. When you're not scary."

Baba Yaga burst into tears all over again. But these were different tears. She wiped her nose on her apron. "I've never had an assistant," she whispered. "I'd like that very much indeed."

She took Dot's hand. Her fingers were bony and warm.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I took you. I should have asked."

"You're forgiven," said Dot, simply.

"Everyone gets lonely," said Felix.

"But you don't have to be scary to get friends," said Alex.

"No," said Baba Yaga. She laughed, a cracked, rusty laugh. "No, I suppose I don't. Thank you, little ones. Now, how about a lift home? It'll be faster than walking."

Part Fourteen. The Flight Home

We all piled into the giant mortar.

It was a squeeze. Baba Yaga stood at the back with the pestle, steering. Alex and Felix sat in front, with Dot in the middle. Elfine and Marion held on to the sides. Willow sat on the rim, with her ears flat in the wind. Maya, Kenji and Ollie clung to each other in a heap in the bottom.

"Hold tight!" cackled Baba Yaga. "And watch the treetops!"

The mortar rose. It soared over the dark wood, with Czarny perched on the broom handle behind it, whiskers streaming. The swan-geese flew alongside, honking in a happy line. Below us, the river of milk glittered, and the apple tree waved its branches, and the stove puffed out a cheerful ring of smoke.

"Thank you!" shouted Dot, waving.

"Anytime, little one!" called the stove.

And ahead of us, glowing in the evening light, were the roofs of the school. The field was full of people. Mister Harris was running about with a torch, in his slippers. Missus Tibbs was crying. Nana was standing at the gate, with her handbag over her arm.

The mortar glided down and landed, with a gentle bump, in the middle of the field.

"There she is!" shouted Nana. "My boys! Both of them!"

Alex and Felix jumped out, and she hugged them so hard that their feet left the ground. Alex put out a hand and pulled Dot into the hug, too. Then Missus Tibbs came running, and scooped Dot up, and held on to her for a very long time.

"Sorry I worried you," said Dot, into her shoulder.

Part Fifteen. Soup Club

The first ever Friday Soup Club was the biggest success in the history of the school.

Baba Yaga set up her pot in the dinner hall, with a new sign on the counter, written in Dot's best letters: SOUP CLUB. EVERYBODY WELCOME. She cooked beetroot soup and cabbage soup and mushroom soup, and trays of golden pierogi stuffed with potato, cheese and sauerkraut. Dot wore a tiny white hat and handed out spoons.

Mister Harris had three helpings. Missus Tibbs asked for the recipe. And Willow sat beside Czarny on the radiator, sharing a saucer of cream, looking very pleased with each other.

"I never thought," said Baba Yaga, wiping her hands on her apron, "that so many people would like my cooking."

"You just needed to share it," said Alex.

"With people who wanted it," said Felix.

"Yes," she said. She looked round the crowded hall, at the steam and the chatter and the clinking of spoons. Then she reached under the counter.

"Dot," she said. "This is for you. I made it myself, the night you went home."

It was a little wooden spoon, with a tiny red hat painted on the handle. Baba Yaga held it out with both hands, as if it might break.

"To say sorry properly," she said. "And thank you for helping me."

Dot held it up and grinned all over her face. "Now I'm a proper assistant," she said.

"I was lonely for so long that I forgot how to ask," said Baba Yaga, to all of us. "The bravest thing you can do, when you feel lonely, is to say so."

"And you can still be fierce," said Dot.

"And still be kind," said Baba Yaga, and she showed her iron teeth in the biggest smile yet.

Marion nudged Elfine. "I like her," she whispered.

"I like her too," said Elfine. "And her soup."

Part Sixteen. Frost on the Window

By the end of the week, the first frost had come.

It was Friday morning, and the whole school field was white. Every blade of grass was crisp and sparkling. The pond had a thin skin of ice on it. Spiderwebs on the fence were hung with tiny diamonds. And on every classroom window, in delicate silver patterns, there were frost-flowers growing.

Alex noticed it first.

"Look," he said, pointing. "The frost on the window. It's making a picture."

Felix leaned in. Slowly, the silver lines were curling and swirling into shapes. They made a long beard. They made a tall hat. They made a staff with a spiral on top.

"It's a man," said Felix.

"A very old man," said Elfine, pushing up her glasses. "With a very long beard."

On the field, the white grass crackled. The hut with its chicken legs, which was parked by the hedge, shivered and tucked its feet in. Baba Yaga stuck her head out of her door and sniffed the air. "Oh," she said. "Oh dear. He's early."

"Who is?" said Marion.

"My old friend," said Baba Yaga. She sounded rather nervous. "He's not cruel. He's quite fair. But he's got a bit of a temper. And it's his season."

Out of the cold white sky came a faint jingling. Silver bells. Then a gleam of light. A sleigh, painted blue and silver, swept down over the school gates, pulled by three white horses, with ice crystals trailing from their hooves. In the driver's seat sat a very tall old man in a long blue fur coat, with a beard down to his knees, and a staff in his hand.

Beside him sat a girl in a shimmering silver dress. Her skin was pale as snow. Her hair was like frost on a window.

Everyone turned to look at Alex and Felix. The twins looked at each other, with their breath puffing in white clouds. They said, at exactly the same time, "Monday."

The End.