The Inventing Room was full of the craziest contraptions Em had ever seen. Rows upon rows of shelves and counters and cupboards and drawers; pots bubbling on stoves, paddles churning thick, gloopy mixtures while kettles whistled and buttons beeped and lights flashed and blinked various different colours. There were plants potted in old shoes and top hats, jumpers and shirts hung from the ceiling on a makeshift washing line, rubber gloves stuck to the end of long wooden broom handles, bowls of strawberries and raspberries spinning slowly around on a run-down washing machine; blasts of steam and smoke shooting hot and cold air around the room.
Charlie looked at her in astonishment.
"Even if Slugworth did get in here, he wouldn't be able to find anything!" he joked as they wandered past a pile of yellow socks with the toes cut off.
"Have you got a garbage strike going on in here, Wonka?" tutted Mr. Salt, eyeing a garbage can full of broken clocks warily.
They followed Mr. Wonka deeper into the room, pausing as he came to a halt next to a large, smoking cauldron. Em spotted an Oompa Loompa in deep blue overalls peddling the front half of a miniature tandem bike lazily, another behind, peddling furiously in the opposite direction. She grinned at the sight, hiding her smile behind her hand.
Mr. Wonka picked up an old wooden spoon and began stirring the mixture in the cauldron.
"Shouldn't you be wearing rubber gloves?" enquired Mr. Salt. "You'll have the health inspectors after you, you know that?"
"Who does your cleaning up?" asked Mrs. Teevee, watching in disgust as a banana peel was fired over her head, followed closely by a determined looking Oompa Loompa in safety goggles.
"Invention, my dear friends, is ninety three percent perspiration," divulged Mr. Wonka, as he threw a handful of multicoloured buttons into the cauldron, "six percent electricity," he paused, pouring in a small vial of purple liquid, "four percent evaporation," he kicked the base of the cauldron and it began to bubble furiously, "and two percent butterscotch ripple," he added a small flourish of golden powder to finish.
Em watched in fascination as he worked, intrigued as he dipped the spoon in and took a taste.
"That's a hundred and five percent!" hollered Mrs. Teevee, outraged.
"Any good?" questioned Mr. Salt.
"Yes." Mr. Wonka coughed, alarmed, his voice two octaves higher than it should be; Em couldn't contain her giggle and Charlie stifled a laugh. Mrs. Beauregarde shot them both a glare and Em felt herself turning red.
"Excuse me," he coughed again, letting out a laugh of his own and grinning in their direction. He moved away from the cauldron and turned his attention to a rusty looking bucket. He reached into a silk bag and pulled out an old fashioned alarm clock.
"Time," he stated, his voice back to normal, "is a precious thing." He motioned to Veruca to step forward. She did so eagerly and he threw the alarm clock into the bucket with a clang. "Never waste it." She looked disappointed as he moved away.
"He's absolutely bonkers," frowned Veruca, loud enough for him to hear as she glanced into the bucket.
"And that's not a bad thing," retaliated Charlie, defensively.
Em felt a swell of pride and she squeezed her brother's shoulders appreciatively.
There was a loud explosion from behind the group as Mike came flying past them, an alarmed looking Oompa Loompa peering over a pile of old books to inspect the ruckus.
"Mike!" Mrs. Teevee screeched, running to her son.
"I told you not to, silly boy," admonished Mr. Wonka, his eyebrow raised.
"Your teeth!" cried Mrs. Teevee, clutching her son's jaw tightly between her hands as she checked for injuries. "What did you do?!"
He batted his mother's hands away.
"That's great stuff!" he grinned, pushing himself off the floor in search for more.
"That's exploding candy," Mr. Wonka commented, "for your enemies. Great idea, isn't it?" He grinned, then frowned. "Not ready yet though, still too weak." He began to walk towards a pile of simmering pots. "Needs more gelatin." He looked around, searching for something. He plucked an old trainer from a pile of shoes and threw it into one of the pots.
"What's that for?" questioned Mr. Salt, alarmed.
"Gives it a little kick," Mr. Wonka answered, unconcerned. He headed over to a sink full of bright blue liquid, the group following eagerly. He dipped his little finger in, withdrawing his hand immediately with a yelp.
"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Beauregarde, mock concern plastered onto her face. "Too hot, Mr. Wonka?" She reached out a perfectly manicured hand and placed it reassuringly on his shoulder. Em frowned as she felt the bubbles of jealousy simmering away in the pit of her stomach.
"Too cold," Mr. Wonka shook his head, indifferent to the woman's touch. "Far too cold."
"That's gourmet cooking for you," joked Mrs. Teevee, who now had a tight grip on her son's shoulder.
Em was startled by an alarm to her left, the group turning in surprise as Veruca jumped away from an elaborate looking machine, covered with mismatched blankets, her hand still outstretched.
"No!" cried Mr. Wonka. "Don't, please." He looked at her disapprovingly, shrugging away Mrs. Beauregarde's hand. "Forgive me, but no one must look under there." He moved over to the mysterious machine. "This is the most secret machine in my entire factory," he continued, relaxing slightly. "This is the one that's really going to sizzle old Slugworth."
"What's it do?" queried Charlie, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Mr. Wonka studied him momentarily before breaking into a mischievous smile.
"Would you like to see?"
"Yeah!" nodded Charlie eagerly, Em mirroring her brother's movements, the rest of the group gathering for a closer look.
Mr. Wonka grinned as he pulled a heavy looking leaver.
The machine whirred into life, the blankets moving back and forth as various parts set to work. A thin conveyor belt moved into action and a series of small, coloured sweets emerged. They reminded Em of the marbles her and Charlie used to play with when they were younger.
Veruca watched as the sweets appeared, unimpressed.
"But what does it do?" she shrugged.
"Can't you see?" quizzed Mr. Wonka, surprised. "It makes Everlasting Gobstoppers!"
"Did you say Everlasting –"
"– Gobstoppers, that's right," nodded Mr. Wonka eagerly. "For children with very little pocket money. You can suck 'em forever and ever and they'll never get any smaller." He looked at the line of sweets proudly. "At least, I don't think they –"
"I want an Everlasting Gobstopper!" snapped Veruca, holding out her hand expectantly.
"Me too!" barked Violet, shoving past Veruca.
"And me!" chimed in Mike, his mouth still smoking slightly from the candy fiasco.
"Fantastic invention. Revolutionise the industry," Mr. Wonka paused, thinking hard. "A few more tests needed though."
"How do you make 'em?" asked Mike, moving forward for a closer look at the sweets.
Mr. Wonka looked at him, confused.
"I'm a trifle deaf in this ear." He shook his head at Mike. "Speak a little louder next time." He looked around at the group. "Now, who wants an Everlasting Gobstopper?"
His query was answered by a chorus of "me's!" and "I do's!"
He picked up a handful of the sweets and stared seriously at them all.
"I can only give them to you if you solemnly swear to keep them for yourselves and never show them to another living soul as long as you all shall live." He paused dramatically. "Agreed?"
Em spotted Veruca's hand behind her back, her fingers crossed tightly.
"Agreed," the children nodded.
"Good." Mr. Wonka smiled and began handing them out.
"Go on Charlie," urged Em, nudging her brother forward. Charlie took a hesitant step toward Mike and waited patiently.
"One for you, one for you and one for you." Mr. Wonka handed the three children their sweets and turned away.
Charlie looked over at her desperately, unsure if Mr. Wonka had seen him. Em raised her voice slightly.
"Um, Mr. Wonka –"
"And one for Charlie," smiled Mr. Wonka, turning back to the young boy and giving him a choice of three. Charlie grinned up at the man, gently taking a bright purple sweet for himself and returning to Em's side. Mr. Wonka sent a polite smile in her direction and she nodded back in thanks, losing herself slightly in his charming features.
"She's got two!" bawled Veruca as Violet glared at her, snapping Em out of her trance. "I want another one!"
"Can it, you twit!" snapped Violet.
"Everybody has had one and one is enough for anybody," Mr. Wonka called over the commotion. "Now come along." He moved off down the room and the group followed obediently. "Over here I have something rather special to show you."
They were greeted by a large machine. It towered over all of them, even Mr. Salt, the tallest in the group. Shiny metal pipes led off in all directions, cogs and gears disappearing below the base and seemingly into the floor.
"What a contraption," sighed Mike.
"Isn't she scrumptious?" agreed Mr. Wonka fondly. "She's my revolutionary, non-pollutionary mechanical wonder." He looked around eagerly. "Now: button, button, who's got the button?"
"It's over there," piped up Charlie, taking them all my surprise. Em followed his gaze, as did Mr. Wonka, and spotted a large red button on the side of one of the metal cylinders.
"Here?" Mr. Wonka questioned.
"Yeah," nodded Charlie, confidently.
"Sure?" he checked, smiling playfully at Em. Charlie paused for a moment, a serious expression on his face.
"Definitely," he nodded once again.
Without another word Mr. Wonka pressed the button and the machine let out a big puff of smoke, the cogs and gears grinding into life.
"What you are witnessing, dear friends, is the most enormous miracle of the machine age: the creation of a confectionery giant!" A small ping interrupted him and his eyes lit up in delight. "Finito!"
The machine presented them, rather extravagantly, with a small, white rectangle, no bigger than a matchbox.
"That's all?" sniffed Veruca, disinterested.
"That's all?!" hollered Mr. Wonka, alarmed. "Don't you know what this is?!"
"By gum," Violet took a step closer to the small item, "it's gum!"
Mr. Wonka looked at her in horror.
"Wrong!"
She looked up at him in fright, backing away slightly.
"It's the most amazing, fabulous, sensational gum in the whole world," he corrected, leaning against the machine, delighted.
"What's so fab about it?" challenged Violet.
Mr. Wonka grinned, his eyes sparkling.
"This little piece of gum is a three-course dinner."
"Bull," snorted Mr. Salt, rolling his eyes.
"No, roast beef," noted Mr. Wonka, "but I haven't got it quite right yet." He frowned slightly, clearly lost in thought.
"I don't care," shrugged Violet, grabbing the gum roughly from the machine.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that," tutted Mr. Wonka, "I really wouldn't." Em couldn't help but notice he made no move to stop the girl, merely watched on, his arms crossed casually across his chest.
Violet ignored his warning and popped it in her mouth.
"So long as it's gum, then it's for me," she spat between noisy chews.
"Vi, please don't do anything stupid," reprimanded her mother, shifting uncomfortably as Violet sighed in disgust.
"What's is taste like?" ventured Charlie, watching the girl warily.
"Madness!" she exclaimed. "It's tomato soup, I can actually feel it running down my throat!" She looked at her mother excitedly who forced a smile, her eyes snapping dangerously to Mr. Wonka.
"Stop, don't…" he mumbled halfheartedly as he caught Mrs. Beauregarde's gaze.
"Why doesn't she listen to Mr. Wonka, Em?" whispered Charlie.
"Because she's a nitwit, Charlie," Em whispered back, her eyes flicking between Violet, Mr. Wonka and Mrs. Beauregarde.
"And every chew gets better and better!" Violet chattered excitedly. "Second course is coming up… Roast beef and a baked potato!" she grinned, her eyes bright, her jaws smacking together noisily.
"Violet, don't get to dessert," ordered Mr. Wonka, uncrossing his arms, his face set in a stern expression.
"Dessert?" Violet turned to face the chocolatier, clearly not listening to a word. "Here it comes!" Em braced herself for some kind of explosion. "Mmm, blueberry pie and cream!" she hollered. "It's the most marvelous blueberry pie that I've ever tasted!"
Em's jaw dropped just as Mrs. Beauregarde let out a horrified gasp.
"Look at her face!" gawked Mike, pointing at the doomed girl.
"Violet! What's happening to your face?!" cried Mrs. Beauregarde helplessly.
"Cool it, mom! Lemme finish," she demanded, unaware of her predicament.
Em watched as the young girl's face began to change colour, a deep violet spreading its way across her skin and seeping into her once blonde hair.
"But your whole face is turning blue!" her mother moaned.
"What are you talking about?" Violet looked at her in alarm, glancing down at her hands which were slowly turning the same shade as her face. She looked up in panic.
"I told you I hadn't got it quite right yet," shrugged Mr. Wonka, watching with interest.
"You can say that again!" cried Mrs. Beauregarde, "look at my daughter!"
"It always goes wrong when we come to dessert," Mr. Wonka shook his head, "always."
"What's happening now?!" screeched Mrs. Beauregarde as Violet began to bloat. "You're blowing up!"
"I feel funny," moaned Violet, her hands pressing against her expanding stomach.
"I'm not surprised," muttered Mrs. Teevee, taking a step backwards as Violet continued to grow. Mr. Salt placed an arm protectively around Veruca as he took a large step backwards.
"What's happening?!" begged Violet, the buttons of her coat beginning to pop off in different directions, some clanging against some hanging pots.
"You're blowing up like a balloon!" her mother sobbed.
"Like a blueberry," corrected Mr. Wonka calmly, taking a step away from the girl.
"Do something!" Mrs. Beauregarde demanded, confronting the man.
"Stick her with a pin!" urged Mike.
"She'll pop!" interjected Charlie, watching helplessly as the girl ballooned upwards.
"It happens every time," Mr. Wonka sighed. "They all become blueberries."
"Do something!" Mrs. Beauregarde hissed, her charm nowhere to be seen as she grabbed the collar of his shirt.
"Oh well," Mr. Wonka shrugged, ignoring her. "I'll get it right in the end."
"Help!" called Violet, her cheeks swollen beyond recognition, her fingers wiggling around like fat purple sausages.
"We've got to let the air out of her, quick!" suggested Mrs. Beauregarde, releasing Mr. Wonka and searching for something to prod her daughter with.
"Oh, there's no air in there," advised Mr. Wonka. He, too, seemed to be searching for something. "That's juice."
"Juice?!" the group chorused as one, Em's eyes widening at the size of the girl.
"Ah," Mr. Wonka waved over an Oompa Loompa, who seemed totally unfased by the giant blueberry materializing before him. "Would you roll the young lady to the juicing room at once, please?" The small man nodded quickly and called to a group of fellow workers who were currently swinging around on a broken piece of washing line. They jumped to attention and rushed over, sizing up the girl as they chattered animatedly.
"What for? Where are they taking her?" questioned Mrs. Beauregarde, apprehensively.
"For squeezing," answered Mr. Wonka. "She has to be squeezed immediately before she explodes."
"Explodes?!" shrieked her mother, her face going pale as she eyed up her daughter.
"It's a fairly simple operation," assured Mr. Wonka. "Oh," he glanced down at the group of Oompa Loompas, "and no singing." They let out a chorus of high pitched sighs and reluctantly got to work, immediately rolling Violet onto her side. Her mother watched in disbelief as they rolled her through the room, navigating around the various contraptions, her head, hands and feet barely visible.
Mr. Wonka watched the Oompa Loompas at work, his gaze eventually moving to Mrs. Beauregarde, who was frozen to the spot.
"My dear," he offered, "may I suggest you follow your daughter? The Oompa Loompas will take wonderful care of the both of you." He smiled politely as he directed her with his hands. She glanced first at him, then at the rest of the group.
"I – I have a blueberry as a daughter," she stuttered, as she took a wobbly step forward. "A – a blueberry."
"And what a wonderful blueberry she will be," he acknowledged, placing his hand on her lower back and giving her a gentle nudge forward. "Farewell, my dear. Take care." He came to stand next to Em as they watched the woman depart.
Mrs. Beauregarde stumbled away after her daughter, the Oompa Loompas struggling to squeeze her through the doorway. After one final push they disappeared from view and the door to the room closed once more, a silence settling over the remaining members of the group.
Mr. Wonka's voice broke the hush.
"Shall we roll on?" he suggested innocently, his eyes twinkling. Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and headed for a door Em had not noticed before. The group had no choice but to follow. He paused mid-stride and turned to face them once more.
"Well, well, well…" Mr. Wonka scrutinized the group. "Two naughty, nasty little children gone. Three good, sweet little children left." Em glanced at Veruca, not entirely convinced. "Hurry, please, long way to go yet." He turned and they continued on their way.
"What just happened?" whispered Charlie, covertly.
"She turned into a blueberry," mumbled Em. "A blueberry."
"Remind me not to touch anything in this factory," hissed Charlie, "ever."
"Agreed." Em held out her little finger and they linked them together in a promise.
They followed the group through the door and continued on their journey, unsure of what other wonders could possibly await them, or what fates might befall those greedy enough to test the patience of the mysterious Mr. Wonka…