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Imperial Residence, Southern England
For the next three weeks, he could not shake the single, wild idea that had popped into his head in what had been an otherwise unremarkable day. Notions, crazy notions, danced in his brain…revolution, freedom, equality with the humans who so often looked down on him and Oompa-Loompas like him. But these were simply dreams, ideals, fantasies…far closer to home was the building rage that he felt against the Empress. He was no longer sad or disheartened, no longer embarrassed and degraded by his servitude. On the contrary, every time he was in the room with her, he felt nothing but cold hatred, interspersed with the occasional hot burst of rage. He wanted to do something, something that he would never have dreamed of before…but he had made up his mind. I am going to kill Veruca Salt. He delighted in the feeling, never letting it show…in fact, he was positively obsequious, cheerfully pandering to the Empress's every whim. Every humiliation drove a fresh, hot spike of rage into the base of his brain, reinforcing his will to do what none of his degraded fellows had ever dared to consider. They wondered what was wrong with him, the way he strutted about in their company, but the truth was that he felt himself their superior. If it were left to you lot, we'd spend the rest of our lives rotting in chains. He did not know what would happen once the Empress was dead…odds were that a new leader would just take her place, but it would still be worth it. Even if they killed him, which he was almost certain they would, he would go to the gallows or before the firing squad willingly…because he had the courage to stand up for his rights. And, in his daydreams, he imagined that his martyrdom would inspire Oompa-Loompas across the world to rise up and throw off the yoke of oppression. But even if everything else failed, and he left the state of his kin no better than before, he would still have the pleasure of killing the horrible woman whom he hated with all his heart.
He waited and watched, studying…though he had been around her for much of his adult life, he had never truly given much thought to the Empress's daily actions until now. Her schedule was simply the measure of how much abuse he could expect and at what times. But now he considered carefully…when she ate, when she slept, when she was guarded, when she was alone. He needed several factors to line up: he needed the Empress to be by herself, but he also needed to catch her unaware to make his assassination attempt. At night, while she slept, he was locked in the slave quarters with the rest of the Oompa-Loompas. He had to find some daytime opportunity where she was both unguarded and personally vulnerable; if he allowed an ambush to turn into a contest of personal strength, Veruca Salt still had a significant advantage in height, if not strength. Besides, she would instantly scream for help if a slave tried to overpower her. No…he had to eliminate her quickly and quietly, strike before she knew he was coming, and wound her mortally before she had a chance to summon any of the countless guards which patrolled the estate. He began to despair as a week passed and then another, with no opportunity to even get near his nemesis...he tried hard to keep himself calm, and to remember that his personal war effort might take months or even years to reach fruition. He wished like nothing else that he had someone to talk to, to share in the danger and the secret, but he did not dare trust any of the other slaves. While he doubted they would sell him out for personal gain, it would not do to have any of the others acting at all strangely…the moment there was the faintest hint of trouble afoot, the entire group of Oompa-Loompas would be shipped off to a labor camp and others brought in to take their places. He could trust no one.
But then he got his chance. It was a warm spring evening, and his labor schedule dictated that he was to serve as the Empress's personal attendant for the night. Only he found himself unnecessary. The guards had been exchanging lewd comments all day, and he knew why: the Empress, as was her increasingly frequent custom, had half a dozen young men and women delivered into her private chambers…all at the same time. They were drug addicts, runaways, society's rejects…the Empress did not care so long as they were physically attractive, and as long as they would not be missed. What exactly she did with her playthings, or where they went when she was finished with them, was something the Oompa-Loompa did not care to consider…all that mattered was that he had his opportunity. He already knew that Her Majesty would not send for him this evening…thankfully…but, rather than return to the slave quarters, he waited for hours in the corridor outside the Empress's personal chamber. The guards paid him no mind, though one of them laughed and suggested in a loud voice that the dutiful servant must have been some kind of pervert to be listening outside the Empress's door. The Oompa-Loompa gave the guard's retreating back a friendly hand gesture, and he continued to wait. He had stolen a key the day before, swiping it cleanly off the steward of the estate when the horrible man came in to check the slave quarters…now the key rested inside his overalls, just waiting to be used.
Eventually, the debauchery was over. A bell was rung, signaling that the Empress had had her fun; a group of guards approached, and he ducked into concealment as they entered the chamber. They reemerged escorting seven adolescents, all of whom had clearly been shoved back into their clothing a few moments beforehand…all of them were heavily intoxicated with heaven-only-knew-what, giggling madly and trying to joke with the troopers as they were half-dragged, half-carried away down the corridor. The Steward was the last one out the door, a lecherous grin on his face; he pulled the door to the Empress's chamber closed, and the lock automatically engaged with a click. Now…now was the moment…now was the moment of vengeance. For every Oompa-Loompa in chains around the globe! For every human being likewise living in oppression, fear, and degradation! This was the day the world would change!
He moved swiftly to the Empress's door, the key in his hand before he even realized that he had reached for it…he inserted it gently into the lock, gave a slow turn, and eased the door open. He crossed the first empty apartment and gently turned the knob of the next door…he pressed inward with the gentlest touch, easing the door silently open until he could just see…Oh, yes. She was quite alone, and quite vulnerable. Empress Veruca Salt was stretched on an ivory-colored divan in the center of the room, wearing nothing but a silk robe which was in danger of slipping off one shoulder…she lay back, idly stroking a hand up and down her own silk-clad body as her head lolled drunkenly against the cushions. The Oompa-Loompa did not know what she had taken, but it had clearly been a large dose. He eased into the apartment and gently closed the door behind him, making only the faintest click as it closed. He turned the lock and pushed an enormous sofa just far enough over to block the door…in the Empress's current state, it would be enough of a barricade. She would not get out of here alive. He turned and started to cross to the second door, when the Empress suddenly sat up on the divan. "Wh-what are you doing here?" she asked, her words slurring slightly as she tugged her robe tighter around her shoulders.
He stopped and sank into a gentle bow. "I just thought I would stop in and see if Your Majesty needed anything before I retire."
"How sweet," Veruca said with a laugh, falling back against the cushions. She plucked a jewel-encrusted hand mirror from a small table beside the divan and looked into it for a moment, sitting up straighter as she did. Her hand rose to the left side of her face, the nails tightening until they pulled at her skin…she lowered the mirror suddenly and looked at the Oompa-Loompa, who was moving steadily toward the room's opposite door. Her tone was suddenly gentle and vulnerable, her face set in an expression that would have been tragic on the features of any other woman. "Tell me, slave…am I still beautiful?" She almost sniffled on the last word, and he struggled not to laugh.
"Of course, Your Highness. Very beautiful…as you always have been."
The look on the Empress's face remained for a split-second more, and then she suddenly threw herself back on the divan in a mad fit of giggling. The Oompa-Loompa smiled and then joined in the laughter as well, though his was for a far different reason. She has no idea what's coming…"Bloody hell!" He said the last two words aloud as the mirror suddenly flew across the room and exploded against the wall above his head; the shot had obviously been intended for him, but the Empress's aim was somewhat compromised.
"Shame on you laughing at me!" she said, the pouting expression on her face and the tone of her voice so infantile that he almost started laughing again purely on reflex…she sat back on the divan again, and her usual tone of arrogant command returned. "Slave, I want something to drink."
"With pleasure, my lady," he said, crossing to the small wet bar built into the far wall of the room…as he passed the opposite door, he slid the Steward's key into the lock and broke it off with a faint snap of metal.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Your Highness." He reached the bar and selected a bottle of the finest French cognac; popping the top off, he took a gulp himself before deliberately climbing up onto the bar's shelves and then dropping the bottle on the hard counter. It shattered, and Veruca swore in surprise, saying a word that even the Oompa-Loompa was astonished that she knew.
She turned to glare at him. "What are you doing back there, worm?!"
"An accident, my lady. I dropped a bottle…" she started to rise, but he stopped her. "Please don't trouble yourself, Your Majesty…not on account of a clumsy fool like me. I'll clean this mess up, and I will tell the Steward exactly what happened so that he can have me flogged properly."
"Good," Veruca said, even the drugs unable to disguise that malicious edge in her voice. "See that you do that. And tell the Whip Bearer that you are to receive ten extra lashes…on my decree."
"Very good, milady." He had poured a fresh glass of liquor and set it on the counter of the bar…now he reached down to the shattered bottle, and his fingers closed around a long, thick shard of glass, strong enough to be used as a dagger without breaking. In his anticipation, his hand squeezed the glass so tightly that it cut him, but he did not even feel the pain as blood dripped out from between his fingers. He slowly approached the back of the divan, listening to the Empress humming discordantly to herself…For my people, and for yours! He slid the shard of glass behind his back and stepped around the corner of the divan, proudly presenting the glass of alcohol with his free hand. "For you…Your Majesty."
She took the glass with what was intended to be an alluring smile…but then her leg lashed out and caught him in the side of the head…hard. "That's for my bottle," she said, slumping against the back of the divan. "I want you to leave now."
"Very good, Your Highness." He got unsteadily to his feet as Veruca's eyes started to close, the glass tipping dangerously in her hand…only he did not leave. On the contrary, he jumped up swiftly onto the end table, now standing over the Empress. Her eyes opened, and she looked up, staring at him upside down.
"What…" but she never had a chance to say more. The deadly piece of glass materialized in his right hand, and the Empress's words ended in a scream as the razor shard stabbed into her neck. He swung his arm with a rough overhand motion that suggested he was using a hammer rather than an improvised knife…his blood mingling with that of his enemy as his hand clenched tighter and tighter, slicing open his own flesh. He jammed his weapon into the Empress's throat again and again and again, her screams giving way to a strangled gargling as she choked on her own blood. She swung her arms and kicked wildly, making a vain effort to defend herself. Crimson liquid poured out over the ivory cushions of the divan, spraying out onto the carpeting…the Empress coughed involuntarily and spewed blood into his face, adding to the gore which already covered his green hair, brown shirt, and white overalls. The carotid artery burst to unleash a fresh torrent of blood, and the Empress's frantic but unguided thrashing came to an abrupt halt as she slumped on the divan, her eyes staring into nothingness. Veruca Salt was dead. The Oompa-Loompa stabbed several more times just for good measure and then threw his piece of glass aside, laughing maniacally as he stood there covered in blood. He heard the guards outside but made no attempt to hide…and he was still laughing when the soldiers kicked the door down and saw him standing unapologetically over the body of his victim. The last thing he saw was the stock of a rifle swinging toward his head, and then everything went black.