Extra note: Please, please if you have questions or comments and would like a reply, make it a signed review or leave your mail address.

As always thank you for suggestions, but I draw the line at the Michael Jackson allusions. Thank you though, you're all entitled to your opinions and I'm grateful but I like to keep Mr Wonka separate from his similarities from the singer as I don't believe they're meant to be connected. If you watch the documentaries on CATCF, no one mentions him at all. Mr Depp says he was inspired by poor game-show hosts. The likeness can be a bit unsettling though I admit.

Oh yeah, another thank you. I hit the 100 review mark thanks to you wonderful people!

Yes I'm going to shut up now so you can read the darn thing. After this disclaimer: I do not own anything I've stolen from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory or any other thing you happen to have heard of before. Yes I can mix and match items from either film...because I can...because I am author and Creator. I am Goddess. Yeah. Here's the long awaited eighteenth chapter...


Five figures had made a seated circle once again on the sugar-candy meadow of the Chocolate Room. A great pile of edible treats had been collected in the centre – each of the men with their arms free laying into what took their fancy.

Captain Sparrow sat cross-legged with the thin bole of a candy-stripe tree across his lap, using his cutlass to slice off bite-sized strips. His hands were once again garnished with rings for, during his search for supplies, the Oompa thief had found much amusement in slipping them back onto the unsuspecting pirate's fingers as easily as they'd been stolen.

"Mr Wonka, you're one wit short of a genius," he proclaimed.

The chocolatier looked up at the pirate from over the confectionary heap.

"What makes you say I'm not?"

"Well, aside from the reason we're all in this place at this particular moment in time, you really need to 'ave a rethink about that haircut of yours, mate."

William took on a sulky expression and turned his attention to a daisy-like flower sprouting nearby. He promptly ripped it up at the roots.

Constable Crane had chosen to perch on the tough husk of a jelly pumpkin. He was sipping eloquently out of a cup and saucer that looked to all extents like the head of a daffodil.

"While we're on the subject of how we got here," he mused, "any further thoughts on how to fix the machine?"

Wonka nodded.

"It's all relatively simple, for me anyways. I'll get some soldering gadgets up here when we're done eatin'. You can help me get started."

"Aye. If something's going to explode, at least it'll only 'appen to old Bodders," Jack added.

Ichabod paused, his mock floral cup halfway to his lips.

"Mr Sparrow."

"Yes, Mr Crane?"

"Shut up."

"Right you are, Mr Crane."

Jack saluted and flashed an impertinent grin. He proceeded to carve another piece of candy cane and stuff it into his mouth. He frowned for a second or two but no one noticed.

"What's he doing?" Ichabod asked Mr Wonka. He was referring to Edward who appeared to be cutting at thin air with his scissors. Oddly he was meeting some resistance, the blades sometimes bouncing off…nothing.

"Invisible chocolate pineapple," William replied.

Mr Wonka had bitten off the petals of the daisy he'd extracted, revealing the head of a chocolate-coated spoon. He was now using this to scoop out the insides of another jelly pumpkin.

"Dare I even ask?" Crane sighed.

William swallowed down a spoonful of jam before explaining, "I saw Mr Edward trip over one when we were gathering. I said he could have it. Assuming he could find it again, that is."

"Why would you make an invisible pineapple?" Mort sneered, still trussed up in silver foil.

"Self-preservation obviously," William scoffed. "Every plant's gotta have somethin' to protect it."

"What's the point? Do you see any predators here?"

"No comment to your latter question since you started talkin' in Swahili. What's the point, my dear psychotic sir? My point is why aren't any of you asking how I made them invisible in the first place, huh?"

"Because you wouldn't tell us?" Jack suggested.

"Precisely!" Wonka beamed.

Ichabod grunted.

"It's preposterous. It's clear to me that Mr Wonka has been putting fancies into the boy's head. This may be a different world here but the basic laws of physics still apply, therefore such items cannot exist. You're just playing us, Mr Wonka. Invisible pineapples? Oh, sorry, invisible chocolate pineapples. It's really just a load of piffle, isn't it?"

Edward whispered something in the pirate's ear. Jack nodded. He tapped at the grass in front of the boy and cupped his hands around a section of air. Then he pulled away, holding up an imagined segment of fruit.

The constable eyed the space between Jack's hands with scorn.

"Don't think for a moment I'm going to fall for it, Mr Sparrow."

The pirate grinned devilishly.

"Your funeral," he said, and hurled the unseen object straight at Mr Crane.

Ichabod flinched instinctively, the daffodil china dropping from his hands. Something smacked him hard between the eyes and tipped him off his pumpkin stool. Edward laughed for the first time in his life. He was still laughing even when Jack had stopped to check he hadn't concussed the hapless lawman. Luckily, Crane got back up, his face dripping with pineapple juice and seemed if anything more cheerful.

"It's like the childhood I never had in here," he thought aloud.

Childhood. That word struck the famous chord of silence in the room, the one that hinted that perhaps the factory should invest in tumbleweed. A Mexican wave of shudders passed around most of the circle.

"If you'll pardon, have I said something wrong?" Ichabod asked of the crestfallen crowd.

William coughed.

"Well I for one am sure glad I'm not a kid any more. P-p-parents always telling you how you should do things. My d-da-." He broke off, grinding his teeth.

"Dad?" everyone prompted.

"That's the one. He didn't want me to be what I am. Didn't approve of chocolatiering at all, no sir. So I've not talked to him in a long time."

Jack shook his head sympathetically.

"A father should always accept 'is son no matter what 'e turns out as. Do as you will, mate, so long as you keep honour in the family."

"What would you know about honour?" Crane wondered, a little less cold in tone than expected.

"I knows a lot about honour, Mr Crane. You might see me as some sly nautical thief driven to a craze from too long under the sun. Not that I'd be denying it, but some things are of astronomical importance. Mutiny, for example, now that's one of the few crimes my forgiving 'eart can't handle. When it comes to my own family, well…" He paused, eyes cast down. "I'll keep that one to myself."

At this point Jack shot a suspicious glance at Mr Rainey, daring the man who claimed to know all of their stories to reveal something. Mort clicked on to the meaning of the pirate's glare.

"I'll add nothing, Sparrow," he said. "Your sequel's not out yet."

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Sequel? You mean I survive the Isla de Muerta?" he squeaked hopefully.

Mort smirked. He could have fun with this.

"Maybe. Or maybe you don't and this is a prologue."

"You said it was a sequel."

"Perhaps I was misinformed."

Sparrow shook his cutlass at the captive writer but lowered it when Mr Wonka barged into the conflict.

"What was up with your childhood, Mr Edward?" he asked loudly.

The malformed creation withdrew his blades from the invisible pineapple innards and summoned the courage to answer.

"I wasn't ever a child. I was made like this, but I guess I started off emotionally as one. The Professor, I could call him a father, was good to me but he was…he was very old."

Edward's eyes had turned glassy at this point. Jack placed a tentative, rag-dressed hand on the boy's shoulder to console him.

"Has everyone here had a bad start?" Ichabod wondered. It wasn't looking good for him in the multiverse.

"Actually I had quite a happy upbringing," said Mort.

Mr Wonka didn't even bother to unwrap the next chocolate bar he shoved between the writer's teeth.

Captain Sparrow reached over to the mound of sweets and took a toffee apple.

"Seein' as our young stripling 'ere was the most hard done by, he can 'ave a small token of consolation," he announced, offering the apple to Edward.

"Hold your horses, Mr Sparrow, sir. Mr Crane hasn't told us his story yet," said William. He looked to the constable. "Well, what are ya waiting for? Spill those jumpin' beans already."

Ichabod swallowed and avoided eye contact.

"There's really not much to say," he mumbled. "Nothing to say at all."

Jack recommenced donating the toffee-coated fruit to Edward but the chocolatier's glare stayed his hand. Everyone was watching the constable, who appeared to be lost in a daze. Ichabod stared at his open hand, keeping it concealed from the others in fear of them seeing the vision upon it. Tiny red puncture marks dotted the surface of his palm.

"Well?" the pirate pressed. The others were too curious to scold him for his impatience.

Ichabod muttered something too quiet to catch.

"Mr Crane?"

"My father killed my mother," Crane repeated, so loudly this time he was almost shouting.

In the stunned hush that followed, Jack hung his head like the rest of them and tossed the toffee apple across the circle to Ichabod's waiting hand. The constable winced from some psychological pain and bit into it half-heartedly.

Wonka coughed after a moment or two and smiled brightly. He picked himself up, having devoured his edible spoon and dusted his gloves.

"Okay then, whenever you're ready Mr Crane, and anyone else who can do more help than harm, let's mosey over to my machine and get her up and runnin'. We'll have to work double time now."

"Why double time?" Ichabod asked with a frown.

The chocolatier nodded over at the figure over the hill. The headless horseman was stamping around in exasperation, trying to stop Daredevil from grazing on the addictive sugar-grass, or swudge as Mr Wonka personally called it. Of course, Daredevil wasn't listening.

"Because I don't think your friend over there will be overjoyed at the idea of a pink, fluffy cloud for a mount," William informed. "The effect this grass has on animals is surprisingly decorative. Enough of the dallying, people, to work!"