It Must Be Believed To Be Seen

The Inventing Room

The Inventing Room was full of the craziest contraptions Em had ever seen. Rows upon rows of shelves and counters and cupboards and drawers; pots bubbling on stoves, paddles churning thick, gloopy mixtures while kettles whistled and buttons beeped and lights flashed and blinked various different colours. There were plants potted in old shoes and top hats, jumpers and shirts hung from the ceiling on a makeshift washing line, rubber gloves stuck to the end of long wooden broom handles, bowls of strawberries and raspberries spinning slowly around on a run-down washing machine; blasts of steam and smoke shooting hot and cold air around the room.

Charlie looked at her in astonishment.

"Even if Slugworth did get in here, he wouldn't be able to find anything!" he joked as they wandered past a pile of yellow socks with the toes cut off.

"Have you got a garbage strike going on in here, Wonka?" tutted Mr. Salt, eyeing a garbage can full of broken clocks warily.

They followed Mr. Wonka deeper into the room, pausing as he came to a halt next to a large, smoking cauldron. Em spotted an Oompa Loompa in deep blue overalls peddling the front half of a miniature tandem bike lazily, another behind, peddling furiously in the opposite direction. She grinned at the sight, hiding her smile behind her hand.

Mr. Wonka picked up an old wooden spoon and began stirring the mixture in the cauldron.

"Shouldn't you be wearing rubber gloves?" enquired Mr. Salt. "You'll have the health inspectors after you, you know that?"

"Who does your cleaning up?" asked Mrs. Teevee, watching in disgust as a banana peel was fired over her head, followed closely by a determined looking Oompa Loompa in safety goggles.

"Invention, my dear friends, is ninety three percent perspiration," divulged Mr. Wonka, as he threw a handful of multicoloured buttons into the cauldron, "six percent electricity," he paused, pouring in a small vial of purple liquid, "four percent evaporation," he kicked the base of the cauldron and it began to bubble furiously, "and two percent butterscotch ripple," he added a small flourish of golden powder to finish.

Em watched in fascination as he worked, intrigued as he dipped the spoon in and took a taste.

"That's a hundred and five percent!" hollered Mrs. Teevee, outraged.

"Any good?" questioned Mr. Salt.

"Yes." Mr. Wonka coughed, alarmed, his voice two octaves higher than it should be; Em couldn't contain her giggle and Charlie stifled a laugh. Mrs. Beauregarde shot them both a glare and Em felt herself turning red.

"Excuse me," he coughed again, letting out a laugh of his own and grinning in their direction. He moved away from the cauldron and turned his attention to a rusty looking bucket. He reached into a silk bag and pulled out an old fashioned alarm clock.

"Time," he stated, his voice back to normal, "is a precious thing." He motioned to Veruca to step forward. She did so eagerly and he threw the alarm clock into the bucket with a clang. "Never waste it." She looked disappointed as he moved away.

"He's absolutely bonkers," frowned Veruca, loud enough for him to hear as she glanced into the bucket.

"And that's not a bad thing," retaliated Charlie, defensively.

Em felt a swell of pride and she squeezed her brother's shoulders appreciatively.

There was a loud explosion from behind the group as Mike came flying past them, an alarmed looking Oompa Loompa peering over a pile of old books to inspect the ruckus.

"Mike!" Mrs. Teevee screeched, running to her son.

"I told you not to, silly boy," admonished Mr. Wonka, his eyebrow raised.