Author's Note: IIIIIIIIII'm back! Hopefully it wasn't too long a wait. Wow! I am sooooo happy from the reviews! Great job, guys, you're great! I really appreciate it when you just drop something in for me to work with, it makes my job so much easier. If you could just keep up the good work, I would… I would do a happy dance with my flesh-eating rabid Elijah Wood! I put a leash on him… it says "Mr. Tinkles" on the tag. I think he likes it, don't you wittle Ewijah, don't you? (Elijah Wood barks, spitting out foam in glee.) Yes, such a good boy…
To Noroi: I'm jubilant that you like me story! Once again, thanks for the great reviews. I totally agree with you on the Willy-romance thing, there are a few too many little girls stealing our favorite chocolatier's heart too quickly. I hope you keep reading, I look forward to your reviews!
To NitrusOxide: Wow… that was… random. Yay for randomness! Woot!
To TheWolfInTheShadows: You can buy rabid flesh-eating Elijah Woods at Pet's Mart©. They're very trainable, and loyal to their masters. Just remember to feed them, or they get a little… nippy. And that was how my math teacher lost her thumb when I was walking my Elijah in the park this one time… (shudders).
To Ridel: Thanks for the review! I hope you find this chapter to your liking!
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention: this chapter is pretty long. Hooray, I finally managed to fulfill my promise!
Since the library incident, Charlie and Chelsea decided that the library was not the best place for them to study. They came to this conclusion by stopping by the next week to see if Ms. Helkinson would react to them being there. As they shaded their eyes with their mittens to peer into the window, they spotted the librarian, donned in what looked like a sailor's uniform, smoking a pipe with her nose intently in a rather long text of the unabridged version of Moby Dick. She had her black galoshes crossed and propped up one a rather menacing harpoon gun. Charlie and Chelsea didn't know how Ms. Helkinson was able to acquire the lethal contraption, or rather why she was smoking a pipe when there was an obvious shiny plaque right above her captain's-hat-laden head that read in brassy letters, "Books do not smoke, so why should you?" Chelsea and Charlie were sure of one thing, though: Ms. Helkinson's performance on the Tuesday before demonstrated to them that she was planning on using the harpoon gun, otherwise it would not be in that location; and- as she caught glimpse of them gawking at her, and grinned malevolently as she leaned over to stroke the polished steel of the harpoon's tip- she was not the sort of woman to forgive and forget easily. So Charlie and Chelsea concurred that it would probably be in their best interest to find some other place to conduct their tutoring.
"So…" Chelsea said as they shuffled on the sidewalk alongside the shoveled snow from the streets, "where do we go now?"
"I don't know," Charlie pondered, "Could we go to your house?"
"My house?" Chelsea looked at him fearfully, "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"I…" she paused, and sighed, "I have this uncle, you see, and he's… not a people person. Very overprotective."
"Oh," Charlie nodded.
"Do you think we could go to your house?"
"No. No, no, no, no, no… I… um… definitely not." Charlie stuttered. Willy would definitely have a temper tantrum and eventually kill something if Charlie brought Chelsea to the factory. Bringing anyone into the factory was against all rules. Charlie was still wondering how Aunt Sarah ever managed to stay there. He uttered a short gasp. Oh, God, Wily would kill Aunt Sarah! He knew that would happen. Willy had the look in his deep purple eyes for weeks now. Aunt Sarah annoyed Willy to no end. Of course, Charlie could also tell the feelings were mutual. Maybe Aunt Sarah would kill him first. That wouldn't be good, oh no it wouldn't. Then Charlie would be terribly lonely, for one thing, since Willy was not only his employer but one of his only true friends; and Charlie would have to quit school and really run the factory all by himself. And then he would never see Chelsea again. Chelsea… oh! She was still here! Charlie had forgotten. He really was spending too much time around Willy.
"Charlie?"
"Um, my parents are… at work. And I don't have a… key." Charlie finished lamely. Well, it was better than 'I'm the secret heir to the world's greatest and most antisocial chocolatier, and if I brought you to my house my employer would murder my aunt, or vice versa.'
"I see," Chelsea looked down. "Well, there's always that one café we went to. I seem to recall there being some tables and comfortable chairs nearby; we could study there."
"Sounds great," Charlie grinned.
And that was that. From then on, they went directly to the café to study chemistry, English and mechanics, and civics as well. Of course, they had to pass the library to get there, but they usually just crossed to the other side of the street while passing; the library looked down upon them with cold, unfeeling eyes made of stone. They could tell Ms. Helkinson was still there with her harpoon gun, but she didn't frighten them anymore. Except for the one time in the future when she actually crossed to the big window in the front with her harpoon gun, and started yelling things at them in the manner of Captain Ahab; (she actually hopped around on one leg, however sadly the guise was not complete because apparently she had no wooden peg leg lying randomly around the premises,) Charlie and Chelsea were sure she was implying that they were the great fat albino whale known infamously as Moby Dick. That was a bit creepy.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Willy had given up trying to persuade his heir to give up his disgusting affections, stop mooning around sheepishly, and get some actual work done. He tried to remind himself that Charlie was merely a sort of normal young man, and had feelings and what Grandpa George called "bloody raging hormones", just like many other men. Willy never really had experienced the dread of raging hormones whilst going through puberty; he had fortunately been saved from this plight. While he was going through puberty, he was busy exploring the world, pestering and prodding it for all of its marvelous candy-making secrets. He spent a few years in Belgium, for that was one of the great candy capitals of the world, and after that a year in Switzerland. He even spent a few months in South America, studying the origin of chocolate, the almighty cacao bean. Willy thought he had been experiencing warm feelings for girls one time in South America, when he was staying with the rather large Venezuela family, whom harvested and exported a great plantation of cacao beans. There was one girl, the third-youngest daughter named Tichi, whom Willy thought he just might be developing affections for. She was very pretty, he supposed: she had long, dark hair and almond-shaped eyes, and a pretty laugh. Willy sometimes followed her around, with a listless feeling in his heart and a terrible knot in his stomach. However, she was very silly, and she always complained about the cacao beans, preferring instead to tease her pretty hair. Willy soon found out that he did not feel any warm affection for Tichi at all, how could he when all she did was ramble on incessantly about what havoc chocolate wreaked on one's complexion, what horrible pimples it gave one. Willy dismissed it as indigestion, and as fate would have it he was correct, for the affects of tasting and eating so many cacao beans and so much pure, hard chocolate was making him a tad sick. He ate his candy a little more slowly after that.
Anyway, Willy was left with a lot more work to do since Charlie refused to do his properly, preferring to lollygag around with his little girlfriend. However, Willy found that since Charlie wasn't there to do the work with him, it wasn't as fun. So Willy allowed himself to procrastinate for just a little bit until Charlie was fit enough to work, walking apathetically around the factory, disinterestedly admiring his works and nodding occasionally to the workers as they passed by. He decided to visit the family in the Chocolate Room, strolling down to the lop-sided house and knocking formally on the door.
"Come in," said a voice from inside. Willy entered the house to find the grandparents sitting casually on the couch and in the lounge chairs, where they normally sat (they had been able to get out of bed since they came to the factory), except for Grandpa Joe, who since when he first came to the factory had taken to walking around quite a bit.
"Grandpa Joe is taking a walk," Grandma Josephine said, "He needed some fresh air."
"He wanted to look at the pretty flowers that spew the green powderwhich tastes like blueberries that have been growing on the chocolate canyons lately." Grandma Georgina remarked.
Everyone stared at her in surprise. "What?" Grandpa George asked.
"Say what?"
"What?"
"That's what I said."
"I know what I said, I'm asking you what you said previously, you old biddy!"
"Well I can't remember back all that way, George!"
"It was only a few seconds ago!"
"Oh? Oh yes. I was talking about Roy Rogers."
"Roy Rogers? Why the bloody devil are you talking about him?"
"Opalescent."
"What?"
"Pumpkins. They're opalescent."
"Where did you get that from?"
"She doesn't know what she's talking about, George." Grandma Josephine moderated.
"But pumpkins aren't even opalescent! They're bloody orange! There is nothing shiny about pumpkins at all."
"Well I don't know about that…"
"What do you mean?"
"I saw a pumpkin once while it was raining, and it looked pretty opalescent to me."
"Well that's when it's raining outside, it's entirely different."
"Downright obsequious, if you ask me."
"What is?"
Grandma Georgina paused. "Dragonflies?"
While the senior citizens were rambling on, Willy noticed Sarah sitting in a corner. He proceeded to walk over to her. When one is so extremely bored to a certain degree, dear readers, one is even desperate enough to hold polite conversation with one's enemies, and very bored Willy was.
"Hullo," Willy mumbled, devising some wonderful insult about gray hair, or mismatching plaid skirts and striped stockings.
"Did you know," Sarah said thoughtfully, "that turtles are able to breath through their butts?"
"Really?"
"Yes. I read it in an almanac once."
"An almanac?"
"Yes. An almanac is an annual publication including calendars with weather forecasts, astronomical information, tide tables, and other related tabular information; didn't you know that?"
"I know what an almanac is, I just wouldn't think the fact that turtles can breathe through their butts would necessarily be located in an almanac."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because generally almanacs list things like weather forecasts, the scores of all the games played by the Boston Red Sox in 1983, and the average harvest of cranberries in Chunky, Mississippi."
"Do they harvest cranberries down there?"
"I don't really know; I'm just throwing out examples."
"Oh."
They sat like that for a few minutes. Grandpa George was going on about some Polish man that he met while fighting in the Second World War.
"He had blonde hair," Grandpa George recalled, "so blonde, it looked white. What was particularly interesting about him was that he had seven fingers on his right hand. Now, six-fingered people- people with polydactyly- they're generally rarely found in this world, but this fellowwas even rarer- hehad seven fingers."
"One for each hand?" Grandma Josephine inquired.
"No, the seventh one sprouted out of the sixth one. Because he had this weird branching joint, he was able to shoot his gun in a manner that actually was quite helpful to him later on. You see, he held it like this, and then he-"
"So," Willy said after a while, "Turtles can breathe through their butts?"
"Yes, they can indeed. A most interesting paradox, don't you think?"
"Indeed," Willy paused, thinking, "I wonder how life would be if people were able to breathe through their butts."
Sarah looked at him. "What ever can you mean?"
"Well, I suppose it wouldn't smell too good, but it could really help you in desperate situations."
"Oh?"
"I mean, if you were on the swim team, you could be the most valued player, because you wouldn't have to waste time trying to breathe; you could just poke your rear end out of the water while you were kicking your legs."
Sarah smiled. "I suppose so. Or, if you were really in trouble and someone was trying to strangle you, it wouldn't be all that difficult to survive, would it? You could just breathe through another way. I mean, assuming the other person strangling you isn't covering that air vent as well."
"Yes." Willy tensed up little, edging away. She was freaking him out again, and that was what he did whenever people freaked him out a little too much. Like that mother of that terrible little bubble-gum chewing girl. Ugh. That was weird.
Grandpa Joe had returned now, with Mr. Bucket, home from work. "Good afternoon, Buckets," they called back.
"Good afternoon," the Buckets called back. Even Willy joined in; he was unofficially considered family, therefore making him an unofficial Bucket. After all, it was so much easier to just say 'Good afternoon, Buckets,' and assume everyone calling back would be either a Bucket or an unofficial one, than to call 'Good afternoon, Buckets and Wonka-who-is-being-officially-considered-an-unofficial-Bucket-therefore-having-every-right-to-answer-back-to-this-call-as-well.' Willy didn't want to make everyone go to the trouble of saying that. That was just rude.
"I also read," Sarah continued, as if nothing had happened in the past 3 minutes, "that it is possible to lead a cow upstairs, but not downstairs."
"No, really?"
"Yes! I read it."
"That can't be true."
"Well, it is." Sarah pouted.
"And you read this in an almanac as well?"
"Yes. Well… at least… I think I did… I don't know, I mean… I can't remember. But I'm pretty sure I did." Sarah was second-guessing herself, obviously having one of those moments where she doubted her sanity. Willy would have made a comment, but he had one of those moments this morning, and that would be… well, rude.
"I once read in a book that a duck's quack doesn't echo," Willy offered. Sarah looked up, snapping out of her doubting-sanity-trance.
"Really!"
"Yes."
"That's amazing. Not even in a very deep cave?"
"Nope."
"Not even in the Grand Canyon?"
"No."
"Not even in a tin can surrounded by hollow walnut shells in the middle of the Gobi Desert?"
"No. Well, I don't think so."
"And why is that?"
"Why is what, that I don't think so?"
"No, why is it that a duck's quack doesn't echo?"
"I don't know. Nobody knows. It's a mystery."
"Oh dear…" Sarah shook her head pityingly, "Well, we can't have that, can we? It would ruin the Good People who Make Almanac's reputation. I know what we should do: we should find out why ourselves."
"That's a good idea."
"Yes. Maybe if we did that, the good people who make almanacs would put us in a new edition of almanac, as the Good People Who Found Out Why Duck's Quacks Do Not Echo."
"I've never been in an almanac before," Willy considered.
"Really? Are you sure you're not in one as 'Chocolatier With Highest Candy Sales Around the World,' or something?"
"Well… I really don't know."
"Well, you should look; you might just be in there. That's what almanacs are for, you know." Sarah ordered authoritively. It made Willy feel rather meek, which he didn't like to normally feel.
"Do you even know who invented the first almanac?" Willy shot back.
"Um… was it Benjamin Franklin?"
"No."
"It wasn't?"
"No. I don't think so, at least. I think he made an almanac, but not the first almanac."
"Well, if you don't know, then why don't you go look?"
"Maybe I will!" Willy stood up abruptly, bumping his tall head on the slanted roof in the process.
"Fine!"
"Good!"
"Go, then!"
"I am! And I'm going to find out the reason why duck's quacks don't echo as well!" Willy turned on his heel to leave, and stalked to the door.
"Not before I find out first!" Sarah called after him.
Willy turned around, clutching his cane, trying to find a clever comeback. "You… you… grey!"
"BLONDE!"
"GREY!"
"BLONDE!"
"GREY!" with that, Willy bid the Buckets a quick farewell, shutting the door and stomping out to find the glass elevator. Sarah jumped up to dash to Charlie's room to see if there was an almanac somewhere.
"Such a nice boy, really," Grandma Georgina smiled.
"Who?"
She paused. "Dragonflies?"
