<Though I admit it's possible the chewing gum isn't doing all the clever work there. Well, where does a robin get his songs? And where do your best ideas come from, anyways?>

<Hmm. Good question. From the things around me, I guess. I look at a thing and see what things can be done with it, or look at two things and see what you get if you combine them. I guess being around candy all the time probably helps with inventing more candy, then, huh?> He attempts to grind his teeth thoughtfully and compromises the structural integrity of his lollipop. "Oopsh."

"Not to worry!" laughs Mr. Wonka from across the room. "There will be plenty of—"

A curly-haired Oompa-Loompa discreetly lets herself in a side door and hurries over to Mr. Wonka. In her hands is an ornate glass jewelry box. She whispers urgently in Mr. Wonka's ear.

"Oh dear, the whole batch? Yes, perhaps we are heating it too quickly. Mmm. What's the salt source this round? The sea breeze at dawn, mm-hmm, yes. Which batch number? Really? Why didn't you get here sooner? Oh, for heaven's sake; I didn't realise. I'll repair it this week if it's such a priority. No, of course. Thank you."

He opens the glittery glass case and eyes its contents morosely.

Kevin attempts to shoulder-surf unobtrusively. He's short enough that it ends up being more of an elbow-surf, but he's very quiet and stealthy about it.

An array of eight rose-colored chocolates in an elegant keycap wedge shape, stamped with the famous Wonka W and flecked with gold and glittering salt, is what Mr. Wonka would like to have seen.

These, however, are a haggard bunch. They're dusty-looking and cracked. Some have split, gently oozing their honey-colored interior.

He is initially lost in thought about this and muttering to himself. However, some combination of showmanship and a lingering obsession with espionage reminds him that Kevin exists. He twirls in place, fixes Kevin with a dazzling grin, and cries "Where are my manners? Of course you'll want to know all about these."

"Uh-huh. Did they dry out or something?"

"Yes, actually, I suspect so! They've got a nasty temper; I'd watch out if I were you." Mr. Wonka's eyes twinkle.

"Still, I am so proud of them. The Bon-bon Voyage—an end to boring, wasted Sunday afternoons for children everywhere. Sitting around hoping for something to do? Eat just one, and you're bound to discover a marvelous adventure full of friends, and heroism, and danger!"

He considers the glass case thoughtfully. "This batch is nowhere near up to snuff—I insist on the highest standards for my chocolates— but looks aside, I admit they're probably acceptable to eat if you'd care to try one. It's quite the experience."

He's not gonna turn down chocolate just 'cuz it looks weird! "Thank you!" Nomf.

"Wai, wha was tha abou dayger?" he adds around the mouthful of chocolate.

From the moment the taste of chocolate and decadent caramel hits your tongue, flared with an unexpected, invigorating burst of sea breeze, you feel the world calling to you. The colors around you seem suddenly richer, the smells brighter, everyday objects gleaming with useful application, crowds of possibilities unfolding like flowers after rain:

"I could just—"
"I always wanted to—"
"Wouldn't it be fun to—"
"At last, it's time to—"
"What if I—"

It is potential and camaraderie and bravery and fun. It tastes, simply put, like the concentrated essence of a fine day dawning.

A shimmering glowy feeling settles into your stomach and begins to build outward. In moments, you feel as if its power could shoot out of the tips of your fingers and toes. The lines of fate are drawing taut—something marvelous is bound to happen. A jubilee. A wish. A miracle.

And yet...it doesn't! Despite the initially smooth mouthfeel, this particular batch is more than a little off—greasier and grittier than one would like. The glowy, shimmery feeling fizzles quite unexpectedly, dropping the world out of its technicolor splendor and leaving behind a foul aftertaste like pickled boot leather, jet lag, and a hint of coconut.

Mr. Wonka, confectioner extraordinaire, having managed to swallow his own Bon-bon Voyage, does a fairly convincing imitation of a person who is not Suffering.

"I liked the lollipop better."

"So it goes. Negative results—hngh, pardon me—are bricks in the cathedral of knowledge." he explains hoarsely. "Great building material, but you'd hate to have one dropped on you."

He shuts the glass case with conviction.

Kevin giggles. "What're you going to change in the next batch?"

Failure nonwithstanding, Mr. Wonka now has a rather pleased smile. "Well, I had better see to it anyways before the next batch goes out. If you're interested, I'll show you exactly what I'll do. Follow me then, quickly please!"

And with a burst of renewed enthusiasm, he zips out of the room.

Kevin runs after him, and does a pretty good job of keeping up despite his disadvantage in the leg-length department.

Mr. Wonka hurries down the corridor. Left, right, right, left again.
Every twenty paces along the wall are fine, neatly labeled doors like these:

Dread Nougat — Frighten Your Enemies
Mulliganeer's Gum—Replace your family's vile supper
Gender Snaps — Impress and Amaze Your Friends
Esper Candy — Sweets that Know What You're Thinking

"So, the next batch! It's stultifyingly simple to make good chocolate by hand." he calls over his shoulder. "You could make Bon-bons Voyage in your own kitchen if you had a mind to! And would your chocolate be mixed by waterfall? Would you have the freshest sprigs of wondermint plucked from a scenic mountain peak? No! But with good ingredients and a watchful eye on the temperature, it would be fine chocolate. The trouble is scale! I make an enormous amount of chocolate in this factory. An eye-watering amount. The Oompa-Loompas are terrifically clever and hard workers, but I've got to make machines that can do what I do a thousand times faster. A million times faster. And machines can be temperamental temperers. They need to be tuned to do the job exactly right, with ingredients to match, and therein lies the problem. Oh, dear, we really are running terribly behind."

Perhaps...

He glances backward. Is Kevin following? That is, not just on foot, but on mind? Does he appreciate the grandeur of what this factory can do? There are ways of making up for lost time and giving an extraordinary tour besides, but Mr. Wonka needs to be sure that it's worth it.

"A million times faster? That's so many! You should put secret passages in here so you can get places in a hurry."

Kevin is:

- totally unaware that he's being evaluated

- having a great time 

- eagerly anticipating an engineering info dump

- very into the whole concept of machinery and especially Huge machinery 

- definitely also hoping for more candy to become available 

- not out of breath yet

Oh, yes, there will be more candy, and types of candy, and marvelous explanations about candy, than Kevin has ever dreamed of.

"Secret passages?" Mr. Wonka stops, his expression thoughtful. Mischievous, even.

"You know, I really shouldn't suggest this. It's not at all showroom ready. And I'm certain the Oompa-Loompas would be very annoyed with me. But it also happens to be the finest and most efficient method of transport ever devised. Oh but do I really dare? We are later than a white rabbit losing a footrace to the Red Queen's own tortoise. And there are simply so many wonderful things to see and do. Hmmm."

"I wanna see it! I won't tell anyone." Secret passage secret passage through the mountains secret secret secret secret passage Avatar hasn't come out yet and Kevin can't make that reference.

He presses an innocuous square of corridor wall, which slides away to reveal a strange arrangement indeed. The biggest part by far is an enormous gold-framed floor-to-ceiling mirror. Inset into the wall next to it is a slot, perhaps for some kind of access card. Next to that is a toaster-sized oven compartment so full of roiling flames that any contents are completely obscured.

Mr. Wonka, noting his reflection in the enormous mirror, takes a moment to adjust his bowtie. "Now where did I put my key?"

Emblazoned in bright red letters above the oven are the words

IN CASE OF FIRE. USE FIRE ESCARP.

"Ah, right. The case of fire." Mr. Wonka snaps his fingers. He opens the oven—there is a blast of heat— fishes around inside with one grey-gloved hand, and retrieves a seemingly unharmed bar of solid chocolate, which he proceeds to bite the end off of before sliding it into the slot. "Through the looking glass at last!" he crows.

The mirror recedes into the floor, revealing a startlingly white passageway beyond. "Mind you, there's a bit of a jump down the fire escarp. After you, Kevin, my dear boy."

Kevin doesn't speak that language and is about to ask what that meant but then SECRET DOOR. And a fire! And--

"Are you immune to fire? I wanna learn how to be immune to fire! And why's it called an escarp, I don't see any fish." But he steps down into the corridor as directed.