A/N: I am so so sorry for yesterday's chapter. I'm trying to make sure future chapters don't get that short any more. It should really have included this next part too I guess but as I apologised before, I'm posting them in scenes rather than official chapters. Anyways, to make up for it...this is your Christmas present. I've posted two scenes in one, complete with a dramatic build-up of tension (I hope) at its end. Thanks again for your magnificent reviews!
Constable Crane was watching with disgust as the pirate examined the red sticky substance on his cutlass. Jack sniffed the blood of the Werepretzel before dipping a finger in and tasting it.
"That's revolting," Ichabod exclaimed.
"Actually, it's jam," said Jack. "Strawberry in fact."
Ichabod rolled his eyes and lay back on the floor to rest.
"Wake me up when it's time to go home," he muttered.
Jack glowered at the constable. He put his sword away once more.
"In case you 'aven't noticed, mate, we might never get back 'ome. Not if that horseman finds Mr Wonka before we do."
"I'm sure he can take care of himself," Ichabod yawned.
"Come off it. You knows as well as I that 'e's just a whelp in a fancy coat. First chance he gets he'll decide the monster's misunderstood and'll get 'imself killed offering teacakes."
"What about that boy with the deformity? Edward was it?"
Jack shook his head.
"He's more delicate than the chocolate-maker. I can see it in his eyes, 'e's all domesticated. There's antelope with more murderous intent."
Crane sighed.
"All right. Then tell me which way you think the exit is."
The pirate looked around.
"Well of course it's-."
All four walls were blank.
"Yes?" Ichabod asked with a whimsical smile.
Jack staggered along the edge of the room, rapping his knuckles on the walls.
"Why do you walk like that?" Crane said eventually.
Sparrow meandered past an invisible obstacle.
"Walk like what?"
"Like you still haven't got off from the boat."
"I'm sensitive," said Jack, continuing to listen for hollow responses.
"Sensitive to what? Air currents?"
The pirate paused irritably. He turned to Ichabod as though addressing a toddler.
"Look. Every bit of dry land is an island, right? Dry land floats, right? One such as me can feel the sea miles below the ground. Now do me the courtesy and shut up."
Ichabod didn't say a word. He was used to some of the most convincing liars and Jack wasn't half bad at the game. As Jack resumed his search, Crane followed his progress with a little more interest.
"If I can't find a way out of 'ere," the pirate grumbled, unaware of the echo beyond his fist, "my name isn't Captain Jack Spa-."
A sliver of wall shot up and Jack tumbled down a near vertical chute. He skidded on his front across a polished blue floor and came to a halt before a tall shadow. Gulping at the black hoof resting inches from his nose, he slowly lifted his head.
"Good horsie."
"Now that's all sorted," Mr Wonka was saying as he skipped back into the industrial section, "we'd better go find the others and wrap up this whole horseman problem. Don't dally now, Mr Edward."
He strode back to the elevator entrance and stopped abruptly. So abruptly that Edward bumped into him, accidentally jabbing the chocolatier in the back.
Mr Wonka bit his lip.
"S-sorry!" Edward stammered.
"It's okay," said William in more of a high-pitch than usual. He wondered how easy it was to dry-clean blood.
Clasping his hand over the top of his cane, he lifted it to poke through the gap of the lift shaft. Once again the elevator was absent. Mr Wonka's brow furrowed. He took out a couple of coins from his pocket and dropped them down the shaft. He listened for impact; but they hit nothing and were lost.
"That's odd," he voiced. "Why would an Oompa Loompa use my elevator when he knows more efficient routes about the factory than I do?"
Edward had spotted something. He tapped William on the shoulder and pointed to something just above head height.
The Oompa Loompa technician was hanging by its legs from a dormant robotic arm. It was tied up with a rope of liquorice, only one hand free to flap incoherently.
"Rollicking raspberries!" cried Mr Wonka. "How'd you get up there?"
The little man waved his arm, drawing signals in the air. William tried to interpret them with some difficulty.
"Slow down, I can't read when you go too fast. Look…no? Uh, camel… no that can't be right…bright green squiggly thing? Oh no wait, bird, I got it, oh-." He broke off, puzzled.
"What's wrong?" Edward asked timidly.
"Nothin'," Mr Wonka replied with a frown. "He just keeps sayin' the Loompian word for 'duck'."
Edward heard the scrape of a slipper behind him. He knocked William down just as an iron bar swept a millimetre above his hat. It struck the side of a machine, sending a shower of sparks into the air.
The chocolatier rolled onto his feet before his attacker could take another swing and ran with Edward through the aisles of conveyor belts. Out of breath, they stopped to hide behind the cylindrical bulk of a great mixing vat.
"You can't hide from me," the sinister growl of Shooter's voice rang out. "I know how this story ends."
"Oh? How's that?" Wonka answered, hoping it wouldn't give him away.
"Like every good story ends, Willy, perfectly."
Mr Wonka and Edward trembled, trying to listen out for any kind of movement. All William could think to do was to keep stalling.
"You mean where everyone dies and you get away with it?" he called.
For a moment there was silence, then –
"Basically."
Mr Wonka swallowed.
"I was afraid of that," he said quietly.
A hush filled the room again.
The two hiding peered either side of the vat. Mort was nowhere to be seen. They looked at each other, whispering and shrugging, neither knowing that their hunter had stepped onto the slow moving spokes of the mixer above them.
Mort waited until he was inches away before thrashing the broken-off lever at his quarry. The iron rod slammed into the side of the vat in between Edward and Mr Wonka.
The latter screamed. They staggered across the aisle, backing themselves against the rotund belly of another machine. Mort dropped down from the vat and watched them emotionlessly. He was wearing a black Stetson spattered with dried chocolate.
"H-how did you find us?" the chocolatier stuttered.
"I discovered a particularly useful switch marked 'Mr Wonka' in that elevator of yours," said Rainey.
"Darn it. I knew there'd be a catch with that button some day."
"There ain't nowhere to run boys," the Mississippi persona drawled. "Once you and the others are gone, I'll be able to get my rest. I'll get all o' your damned voices outta my head."
William hooked his arm around Edward's and reached upwards. He grabbed a handle, yanked it down and slapped a button to his left. The handle flew back up, taking them with it. Soaring over the domed top of the machine, they slid down to the conveyor belt on the other side for a rapid escape.
Mr Rainey took this surprisingly well. He smashed the sharp end of the iron bar into the machine's innards, and twisted it once. The whole contraption died; the belt ground to a halt.
"Ew," Mr Wonka winced.
Mort watched his prey dart off through the factory on foot. He ripped the iron lever out by its rubber handle, flexed his jaws and moved after them.
