A/N: Okie here's a nice longish one for ya. This might explain why it's taking me so long to update things. This, and the fact I'm now doing 3 alternately as well as trying to get my Uni work done (sigh) ah well, hope you enjoy what you get when you get it hehe!

The florist in distress opened her eyes to find that she was underwater. Or at least that was how it felt, if only a little more restraining. Somehow she could see through the chocolate entombing her, somehow she could breathe.

Pushing out with her arms, Isabelle swam forwards to where she thought she could see a room of sorts. She stopped when her hands met with a plastic shield. Realising she was once again trapped in a tank, she battered her fists against the transparent wall, chocolate bubbles trailing from her open mouth.

Beyond this new prison, she saw the outline of what looked like a temple. The colours escaped her sight through the red-brown gauze, but there were stone steps leading down towards her. Torches were crackling in brackets on gargoyle-infested walls and a larger fire – perhaps a campfire – crouched in the centre of the monkey-puzzled floor. Yet the strangest to her eyes was the gathering of little people, no higher than her knees, all dressed in hooded blue robes. Some were singing and dancing around the fire centrepiece, others simply stood and observed her.

What are they? Isabelle thought. She smacked a fist again on the side of the tank and tried to call to them but nothing came out in the thick of the liquid.

Before she'd recalled how she got here in the first place, the gigantic black squid shot from above and latched around her, its tentacles crushing, the pressure of its suckers causing her bones to ache. The crowd outside were chanting as she struggled and kicked at the monster that had her in its clutches. She was a game, a sport.

"Come on, guys. Row faster!" Mr Wonka cried.

A great pink dragon-boat zoomed through the canal tunnels deep in the underbelly of the factory, propelled at break-neck speed by a score of Oompa Loompas. The chocolatier leaned to the right of the seahorse figurehead and struck at the chocolate river beneath with an oar.

I only hope those little devils don't take it too far, he worried silently.

Willy had lived to regret building the series of rooms within his home he had labelled 'Tartletarus'. The inspiration had come from a brief obsession with Indiana Jones movies he'd discovered during his Television Chocolate experiments. Although it hadn't been the sort of idea that appears in the form of a gleaming light-bulb over one's head, more the kind that occurs after you reach inside the television set to grab a chocolate bar you'd just transferred to find your hand getting squashed by a stray boulder the size of a tennis ball.

Tartletarus was designed as an Aztec temple but without the nasty shocks. That wasn't to say there were no surprises, for Mr Wonka was in fact very partial to them. However, a certain group of his workers had taken rather too much interest in the place over the years. So much so that they had reverted to an almost primitive way of life, one that dated even before their awe-inspiring treehouses in the Loompian jungles. These workers rarely left the temple, making it a shrine to their beloved cocoa beans – the valuable and desired currency in which Willy paid them for their services. Their overzealous isolation had led to secretive and odd behaviour. Mr Wonka became so concerned that he had eventually declared the place off-limits.

Shows how much they listened to me, he thought sadly.

"Almost there people," he shouted. "Full speed ahead!"

Isabelle screamed soundlessly and tried to squish one of the creature's tentacles in her palm, but it didn't even flinch. The thing did not seem to understand pain. Her stray hand clawed at the plastic enclosure, trying to attract the mercy of the cheering onlookers.

One of the blue-hooded people moved towards her and held up a hand for silence. The rest of them obeyed. As though reading her mind's pleas for reasoning, the Oompa Loompa closest to the tank reached into his robes and produced a thick wad of paper. The blurred print of a tabloid pressed against the wall for Isabelle to read.

The squid's hold seemed to have loosened enough for her to turn her face to the bold titling beyond the brown haze.

Wonka Sales Down By 40pc

Bubbles were the only reply she could utter, a short burst of confusion.

The leader of the blue-hoods gestured to the headline before pointing an accusing finger at her. Then he stepped back, whirled, and cast the newspaper into the flames in the room's centre. The cheering and chanting recommenced. Isabelle felt the monster's grip crushing once more, her vision fading.

She had almost lost consciousness, the roaring crowd overtaking her senses, when a loud resonance swept through the temple. From inside the tank, her ears clogged up with watery chocolate, the noise was unintelligible – like the lowing of a cow.

What the blue-hood Oompa Loompas heard, however, was making them uneasy. Their cries died out completely. The voice of their employer boomed through a megaphone into the temple.

"This room is forbidden. Would all the workers in the temple make their way to the boat at once, before I flood the whole darn place? Get out! Thank you."

The cult of Oompa Loompas stood transfixed, mumbling decisions amongst themselves.

Mr Wonka did not grant them his patience. The chocolatier strode into the temple, tapping the arm of each gargoyle that lined the walls with his cane. As the arms lurched downwards, the stone beasts opened their mouths and spewed out jets of liquid chocolate. It trickled down the steps, quickly beginning to fill the room.

The blue-hoods screamed and bolted from the temple, all but one who was huddled at the side of the great tank, wiggling a multitude of levers. Willy walked casually towards the remaining worker, his shoes miraculously avoiding the pool of chocolate gathering behind him. The Oompa Loompa trembled inside his robes and looked up into the dark slabs of Wonka's sunglasses.

"Hello there," said Willy. "Gosh, that's a really neat trick you got going on in here. Now why don't you scoot along with the others, 'kay?" He switched to a harsher tone. "Before I ship you off back to the jungle."

The blue-hood whimpered and dashed out of the room as fast as his little legs would carry him.

Mr Wonka nodded and pressed a yellow button on the metal hull of the tank. The plastic wall retracted, flushing the tank's contents into the temple.

Isabelle coughed up not nearly enough chocolate as she felt the need to and pushed away the limp form of the squid. As she sat on the floor the brown liquid was almost past her hips and rising, the tribal campfire long since extinguished. She glanced up wearily at the chocolatier who stood as yet unspattered by the substance, and opened her mouth to speak.

Willy shook his head.

"No time," he called as the sound of rushing chocolate increased in volume. Determined not to get the merest stain on his coat he reached out for her with his cane, almost yanking her arm clean out of its socket when she took a hold. Having dragged the florist to a temporary safety, he led her into a passageway behind the emptied tank.

"We gotta keep moving," Wonka cried. "This place is only as good as its purpose."

Isabelle parted the curtain of oozing chocolate that blinded her.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Willy bit his lip, continuing to pull her along with the cane as though she were on a lead.

"Well most temples are built to withstand the test of the ages," he answered.

"And this one isn't?"

"No."

"What's it designed for then?" Isabelle said, predictably.

Mr Wonka gave a childish smile of pride.

"It's designed to sink."