A/N: Here's your daily dose of Deppcharries. Am afraid it'll start slowing down now as (lol!) I now have a blister on my finger from typing and writing too much! Anyways, this is the longish chapter that makes the sheep joke in Little Shop Of Chocolates (my other ficcy) actually have a bit more sense. I wrote this before I even started LSOC. As always, enjoy :) DFQ xxx
Edit: Thanks to Druscilla the Mad for pointing out some glaring mistakes as per my dozy writing which have hopefully been rectified.
After sliding through a pitch-black tunnel for what must have been five minutes, the boy with scissors for hands tumbled into a brightly lit room. Mr Wonka hit the ground seconds later.
When Edward stood he was unnerved to see that every pair of eyes in the room was upon him, and none of them were human. The blades of his hands chattered together and he backed off against the wall.
William got to his feet and frowned at Edward's behaviour.
"What's up with you? You're acting like you've never seen a sheep before."
Edward looked at the chocolatier with an expression of fear and confusion.
"You've never seen a sheep?" Wonka said, amazed.
"In books."
"They only eat vegetables, grass in fact. They're nothing to worry about."
"They're not usually pink," Edward replied.
"Oh," said William, somewhat guiltily. "That was an accident. One of the workers mixed up our ordinary feed with an experimental version of the sugar-grass upstairs. We tried to get them back on their proper diet but they wouldn't have it. Poor critters turned themselves into candyfloss. It all turned out for the best though, just don't get too close."
Edward repeated his look of bafflement.
"They're usually pretty docile," Wonka explained. "Unfortunately one or two of them get it into their heads that people are plants. Temporary side effect of their addiction to the sugar-grass. You see, whilst being totally harmless to children and adults alike, to sheep it acts as one of the most powerful hallucinogens. Oh don't worry, it doesn't damage them at all, and it makes the candy taste fantastic." He paused for a second then added, "Remind me not to tell the kids about this either."
The handless boy nodded and resumed his curious wanderings while the chocolatier puzzled the situation.
"I just can't understand how it happened," William whined. "Is that horseman another one of us? Is my machine now bringing back only pieces of people? It'd be just terrible to think that I'll have a load of men up there missing body parts. I mean what next? A guy with no arms?"
Edward paused in his stride to give Mr Wonka a slight frown.
"Sorry," said William. "Maybe I'm thinking too much. I've gotta feeling someone talked about that headless guy before but I can't think when." He put a hand up to his head in thought but found himself trying to grip thin air. "Hey, where's my hat?"
He walked back to the mouth of the tunnel and rapped his fist on the wall alongside. His top hat bounced out and was soon restored to its rightful place.
"Where was I? Oh yeah, I'm certain we've heard about that horseman before but for the moment…Mr Edward what are you doing?"
Edward ceased pruning fancy shapes on the sheep and stepped out of the fluffy pink ring he had made on the floor.
"You are one weird little fella," Wonka said, astonished. "If we weren't fleeing for our very lives, I'd probably hire you. Anyways, I think we're gonna need reinforcements. Come on."
The chocolatier side-skipped a highly grass-induced ewe and led the way out of the room.
Captain Jack Sparrow was feeling very sorry for himself. He had hung on for dear life as the boat soared over ridges, plunged through rapids and spun almost out of control into the depths of the chocolate factory.
And he had loved every minute of it.
"It's never fair, is it?" he was addressing the unfinished prow. "If only I were younger and not so soon attached." His hand, partially gloved with a black rag, stroked the surface of the boat. "But I'm afraid I'm a one-ship man."
The Oompa Loompas were rowing at a slow pace along a narrow strait, great circular doors with small glass windows passing on either side. Every now and then, Jack would glance at the entrances to these intriguing rooms, his eyes beady and searching.
Ichabod stirred. He made to rub his face and grimaced as he smeared sticky chocolate across it.
"Where are we?" he asked without really caring why.
"Stop the boat mates," Jack called, ignoring the constable. "If you look hard enough in a place of insanity, you're bound to find exactly what you need."
The vessel slid to a halt before one of the immense doors. Crane got to his feet and squinted at the sign above the upper rim. The lettering had been scrawled clumsily in paint on a board too small for the word.
"'Wrprtzls'. What in blazes is that supposed to be?"
"I've no idea, mate, but whatever it is, it has something I want."
Jack balanced himself on the side of the boat and reached out to turn the wheel mechanism in the centre of the door. There was a hiss of steam and the circular entrance swung open just lazily enough for Jack to step out of the way. He saluted the Oompa Loompas and climbed inside the room, Ichabod following close behind. The door slammed shut behind them.
The room was shaped like a pentagon. At its centre, a beam of light shone down to make a large spotlight on the floor. The edges of the room were steeped in darkness, curved silhouettes – probably covered equipment – outside of clear sight.
Constable Crane walked ahead of Jack towards the ring of light and looked up to see where it was coming from. In the middle of the ceiling was a grille and through it he saw the moon.
"This is astounding," he gasped. "I thought we'd be miles below the ground in a place like this but I can see the sky."
Jack 'mmhmm'ed and remained out of the light. The constable turned his illuminated face towards him.
"So what now?"
"Well first off, I think you should come back here," said Jack.
Ichabod was too tired to argue. He looked narrowly at the pirate before he made his way back into the shadows of the entrance.
"And now you may want to think about sitting down," Jack advised.
"What on earth for?"
"Because, Mr Crane, whenever something especially eerie happens you have a tendency to become somewhat, shall we say, horizontal. So just think of me doing you a favour, savvy?"
Ichabod shot back a dour look.
"Suit yerself," said the pirate and marched into the pool of moonlight.
From the constable's view, the soft beams had a horrific effect. Crane watched, petrified, as the skin on the backs of Sparrow's outstretched hands melted out of sight. What had become of the rest of him, he could not see.
"S-Sparrow? What's happening?"
The figure in the moonlight whirled around.
Ichabod's mouth formed a fearful 'O', his face whiter than ivory. A skeleton was grinning back at him: a bearded skull atop a clothed carcass, garnished with beads and red cloth.
"You're still conscious, Mr Crane," said Jack. "My inner crowd ripples with applause."
"W-wh-wha-." Ichabod stopped and cleared his throat. He took in a deep breath to regain his composure. "What are you?"
"The French ambassador. You know what I am. Flesh and blood same as you."
The constable laughed hysterically.
"Flesh and blood? I can see your bones, man!"
"It's just a curse," Sparrow replied, and it was then that Ichabod saw that Jack's eyes remained intact.
Crane kept himself from hyperventilating and watched as the skeleton pirate parted his shirt. Jack's bone knuckles rapped at his ribcage. Something rattled and dropped into his waiting hand. He held up to the light a tiny lump of lead.
"That's a-."
"Bullet, aye."
Ichabod shook his head in disbelief.
"You mean to tell me that you've had a bullet lodged in your chest since that fight with Mr Rainey?"
"Well," said Jack. "I didn't want to complain."
The constable gaped, but his words faltered. He watched Sparrow flick the chunk of metal into the shadows. The man didn't want to complain? Most people shot at point blank range into the chest cavity wouldn't have had so much as that luxury.
"H-how? What gave you this, this power?" he asked.
The cursed pirate reached into his right boot and plucked out a shining gold coin. He flashed the image of a wailing skull in the constable's eyes before flipping it up repeatedly into the air.
"Aztec gold, mate," said Jack. "Anyone who takes so much as a piece from where it lies and fails to return it with a drop of his own blood must spend an eternity lost of his own senses."
"Oh, you stole it then," Ichabod blurted, candidly.
Jack scowled.
"With good reason. If I'd wanted to steal something for personal profit I'd've chosen what works well on the markets. No, this is part of a mission. Before I ended up here I was crossing swords in an epic battle, right? Saving the girl, and her sweet'eart too. All in the name of good and whatever else those 'ero types say. There's no use taking on immortal nemeses without being one an' all."
Ichabod coughed.
"Immortal?"
"Aye," said Jack.
"Then pray tell me Mr Sparrow, Captain, why you felt it necessary to run from that blasted horseman!" Crane seethed.
"Look mate," Jack growled. "I don't fancy losing my 'ead more than anyone. I don't even know how immortal this curse makes me and I'm not planning on finding out."
"You could have at least tried!" Ichabod shouted.
"Sshh."
Crane barely had time to think about how impossibly odd it was seeing a skeleton attempting to hush him. Something was moving in the shadows around the edges of the room.
"We need to get to the door," Jack whispered. "Now!"
They hurried out of the light and back to the entrance, taking care not to make a sound. Ichabod's hands scrabbled across the smooth surface of the door.
"There's no handle!" he hissed. "It must only be opened on the outside!"
Jack, who was back to his normal skin-coated self, shoved against the solid steel. It wouldn't budge. The two men leaned back against the door and fell silent, watching the room.
Something waddled past them on four legs. Through the dark they could see it was narrow with a curved ridge for a back and about the size of a large dog. It snuffled around for a minute or two and then crawled into the beam of light.
The constable and the pirate burst out laughing.
The giant pretzel teetered around on its doughy legs to face its observers.
Jack and Ichabod carried on, shaking with mirth. Even when more shapes began to emerge from the gloom, a myriad of eyeless bakery products gathering around the ring where the central pretzel stood.
Crane's laughter faded. The pretzel in the middle of the light beam was shuddering, its stumpy legs barely able to keep it upright. The constable tapped Jack's shoulder frantically. Jack stopped chuckling too. Great chocolate chip spikes erupted along the lead pretzel's spine, the thin edge facing them separated in the middle and sharp fangs filled the gap. The pretzel howled.
"Now's a good time for a plan, Mr Sparrow," Ichabod squeaked.
Sparrow grabbed Ichabod's arm as the other pretzels crossed the line into the circle of light.
"On the count of three we run for that grille in the roof," he said, hurriedly.
"But it's too h-."
"One…two…"
