#weirdowithaquill

Flying Scotsman's Tales of Foreign Lands

The Island of Sodor was abuzz with news of Flying Scotsman's return. The world famous engine had been away in the USA for some time, and after a near disaster, he had been repatriated to England, repaired, and sent to the Island of Sodor to acclimatise to life back on railways that were more familiar to him than the giant trunk routes of the USA.

Or, at least, so Sir William McAlpine said.

It was - to those close to Scott - much more realistic to believe that the world famous engine's return to Sodor was at least in part to allow him the chance to speak to his last surviving brother as well as many of his closest friends, to recover from nearly being scrapped on a foreign continent.

The engines were all very excited to see their friend again, none more so than Gordon. "We need to think of poor Scott," the big blue engine said to all who would listen. "He has been through a very traumatic experience, and we need to be encouraging!" "An whit aboot us? We went throuch somethin traumatisin," Donald asked cheekily. Gordon sniffed. "You did not have to go to America." "An whit's wrong wi Americae?" Donald quizzed. Gordon winced. "Well! They are Yanks," Gordon replied. "Did you meet their soldiers during the war?" Donald had to admit he had not. "They were terrible! So rude, and womanising too. And their engines were so brash and callous."

Duck looked over, confused. "No they weren't," he said slowly. "We had a heap of them on the Great Western, and they were fine enough, if not a little blunt." In the background, Edward groaned to himself, not really wanting to try and explain to anyone the fact that the USA was not like England, and had a different culture where being at least a little forward was normal to them.

Not that the other engines would listen to him. Again.

But when Scott arrived, on a cool midsummer day when the clouds were white and fluffy while the breeze was cool and had just a hint of sea salt, he was not traumatised at all! In fact, he had a healthy tan and a beaming smile that lit up the sheds. Most of the engines - though not Edward - were stunned!

"Brother! You… seem oddly chipper for someone who's been through such hardships!" "Gordon! It's so good to — hardships?" "Yes!" peeped Percy. "Like meeting Americans! Gordon's been telling us how terrible and womanising they are!" He looked over to where Gordon was getting paler and paler. "Did you get womanised?" He grinned smugly at Gordon, and puffed away. Duck bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Scott took a deep breath, and burst out laughing. Gordon went as red as James' paintwork!

"Well Gordon?" asked the world famous engine. "Do you think I got… er… womanised?" Duck cracked up laughing, practically shaking on the rails. Behind him, James and Henry cackled and howled with laughter so hard they spat up lumps of coal! "No! Certainly not! I— well, that is to say—"

Scott took pity on his brother, and smiled warmly. "Nothing of the sort happened, I promise," he grinned. "It was actually a lot of fun - I'll tell everyone about it this evening. In the meantime, I do hope you have some coal to spare. I'm running low."

Gordon blinked dumbly, then led Scott away, not even reacting to the peals of laughter coming from the peanut gallery.

** ** **

That evening, almost every engine could be found at the Big Sheds. Even Daisy had deigned to wander down from Ffarquhar to see Scott and hear about his adventures!

Scott looked at all the expectant faces, a little stunned. "Um… well, this is a few more than I was expecting! How has Sodor been while I've been away?" "Who cares!" came a shout from someone - Scott suspected it to be either James or Thomas - they were shushed by a furious Gordon. "Who said that?!" "It's alright, Gordon!" laughed Scott. "I'm not surprised - well, maybe a little at how many showed up, but not at your excitement. It isn't every day an engine goes off somewhere foreign!" "It doesn't mean they can waltz on in here and make demands of you, Scott - you need to learn to stop being such a people-pleaser." "I am not a people-pleaser," huffed Scott. Gordon just raised his eyebrow, unimpressed.

Scott pointedly coughed.

"Well! It was a lot of fun over there - I started in Boston and wound up over in San Francisco, right on the other side of the continent! It is so beautiful over there, with scenery unlike anything you'd ever seen!" He paused, considered. "I remember being on the route to Slaton, Texas, and seeing a day clearer than any day I'd ever seen before it. There was not a single cloud in the sky, and it was so hot it looked as though the sky was no longer blue, but closer to being a light white. I was stunned by it!"

The engines all looked amazed! They very idea of a sky with not only no clouds, but where it was so hot that the colours themselves were beginning to drain away - it was beyond comprehension.

"I met a lot of wonderful engines and people over there two - the first was Hank." "Who," asked Gordon pointedly, "was Hank?" "He's our ancestor, Gordon!" replied Scott brightly. Gordon's jaw hit his bufferbeam. "Ancestor?! In America? What, was he sent over with Eisenhower?" "No," snorted Gordon, "he's a Pennsylvania Railroad K4 class locomotive."

There was a beat of silence.

"Sir Nigel Gresley used them as inspiration for our class, Gordon - though we got a different firebox and were built a little more sleek and a little less big." "Sir Nigel was inspired by an American?!" spluttered Gordon, stunned. Scott chuckled. "Oh yes indeed! Hank was doing railtours on his heritage line, so we visited and I even double-headed a special train with him. It was a lot of fun… Hank was a nice engine. Very nice. Real salt of the earth character."

Gordon blinked. "Right, because a steam engine whose class helped create our breed can be described in such terms." "Hank was nice!" Scott huffed. "Just because our siblings were about as pleasant as running into Jack the Ripper, doesn't mean their lot were." He paused, considered, then hummed. "Or at least, Hank wasn't. I didn't run into any other K4s over there. Hank told me most of them are nice enough though - they had their own fierce rivalry though, with the New York Central." "What, like you lot and the LMS?" quizzed Henry. "Surely there wasn't ever a railway rivalry as strong as that!"

"There was!" chuckled Scott. "Hank told me all about how they used to compete on trains between Chicago and New York, racing each other across the US North-East. Hank particularly remembers racing against a fellow called Connor - though, unfortunately, Connor was scrapped. There aren't many New York Central engines left anymore." "What, did they have a manager like Dr Beeching?" asked Oliver, astounded. "I know that the US dieselised faster than we did, but surely not!" "Surely so," sighed Scott, looking downcast. "While the Pennsylvania Railroad set up museums to remember their past, the New York Central scrapped all their steam engines as fast as possible, and now only eight steam engines survive from that entire railway. Poor Hank, he told me it doesn't feel the same, not being able to trade banter with Connor."

The engines all stared in shock - it was a truly horrible thought, to have a manager who would callously cut up and scrap hundreds of engines without thinking of preserving any of them.

"Well!" went on Scott, trying to keep the mood from plummeting further, "the next engine I should tell you about was the exact opposite of Hank. His name was Vinnie, and he was only a few weeks away from withdrawal, let me tell you! But he was the rudest, the nastiest, the most spiteful engine I'd ever met! And I met Spamcan!"

That got a snort out of Henry.

"Why do you say that about him?" asked Thomas. Scott grimaced, and looked very put out for a long moment before sighing. "Because he was a bully, plain and simple. He had absolutely no reason to act the way he did, and yet he loved to insult, berate and push around the smaller engines. He tried it with me! He came up and asked me if I was the shunter!" "The shunter?!" exclaimed Gordon, furious. "Let me at him! I'll teach him - shunter indeed, is he blind? You have a tender!" "In America, they use engines with tenders to shunt," Scott replied. "I didn't see one tank engine the entire time I was there… then again, I didn't see many steam engines at all."

Thomas smothered a snort, while Percy looked over at Gordon. "So, who doesn't shunt again, Gordon?" he asked. Gordon went as red as James' paintwork - again - and spluttered indignantly. "But a Pacific?!" he finally managed. "We're far too large! We'd derail! That's why tender engines of our size don't shunt."

Scott shared a look with Thomas and Percy.

"Well, Vinnie seemed to think that engines of our size do shunt, and he came storming over, smoke billowing everywhere - he looked like he was a bull about to go on a rampage! - and so I simply puffed out of the way. The idiot didn't slow down at all, so when the signalman changed the points he went roaring down a siding and crushed a boxcar into splinters! As you can imagine, the managers weren't happy with him, and even less so when he began spitting vitriol about me."

"What a rude engine," sniffed Duck. "I hope he got what was coming to him."

"He did," Scott replied. "They told him I was famous, and a privately preserved engine - and then he wasn't so cross. He wanted my former owner to buy him! But Mr Peglar wouldn't… The managers withdrew him on the spot. Last I heard he went to a scrapyard somewhere in Ohio." "A horrid fate for a horrid engine," agreed Gordon. "Serves him right! Imagine attacking other engines!" "He was notorious for it, apparently," Scott sighed. "The diesel shunters all told me he would bash them around, thinking that because he'd survived this long that he would be preserved. Thought no one would touch him. They got the privilege of dragging him into the out-of-use siding."

A few of the engines who had worked under British Railways were stunned at the idea of a steam engine bashing about shunters, just because he believed he would be preserved. "If we'd done that back on the Great Western..." muttered Duck, horrified. "Something was wrong with that engine."  "Not even the diesels would!" agreed Oliver. 

"And then there was Beau," mused Scott, with a low chuckle. Gordon looked over, confused. "What kind of a name is Beau? It's a term for a male suitor!" "What kind of a name is Flying Scotsman," retorted Scott. "It's an express train. Engines have odd names sometimes, you know that!"

Gordon grunted, and looked away. A few of the engines laughed at that, while Edward just smiled. "It's hard to try and understand other cultures sometimes, isn't it?" he said softly. Gordon sighed. "That's true enough, I suppose," he grumbled.

"Beau was the old 'American' type engine the San Francisco Belt Railroad was renting to pull enthusiast trains up and down the line." "An 'American' type - you mean like me?" asked Edward, a little surprised. "Not many of us still in steam, after all." "He was an ancient engine," grinned Scott. "Built in 1875, apparently. He's nearly a hundred!" "That's not special," sniffed Gordon to himself. "Skarloey and Rheneas are over 100 years old, and that engine Duke they found not too long ago isn't much younger." "Doesn't make Beau any less special," Scott retorted. "Especially because he was such an odd sort! He told me he used to work for a silver mine out in Arizona, and he had stories that'd make your steam turn to ice!"

"Ooooo, tell us one!" peeped Percy. "Well, there were several stories, such as raids by Native Americans, and accidents on stretches of line like 'devil's back'! Now that's a story to tell. Apparently, for nine years there were accidents on the same stretch of line. No one knew what caused 'em - but at least twice a year, a freight train would go hurtling off at speed! Engine crews and their locomotives taken in the blink of the eye, until finally one year things changed." The engines all watched intently, drawn in by the story.

"The driver and fireman had the local signalman on board, and for once the trainwreck didn't kill them! Instead, according to Beau, at the last moment the signalman threw the engine into reverse, right before the train crashed. At least, Beau thought it was the signalman. No one was ever quite sure - but what's curious, is that signalman was involved in the first accident, all nine years ago. And after that accident, the stretch of line became as safe as anything, well, apart from the occasional runaway."

"Wow! That is a really good story! Very chilling!" chirped Percy.  "Thank you," chuckled Scott. "But I'm not much of a storyteller - you should hear Beau! Now there's an engine who can weave together a tale."

Scott yawned, and Gordon coughed pointedly. "Right! Everyone back to your own sheds! Scott's tired - you can pester him another time." The engines all huffed, and a bunch of them shuffled off to sleep in the carriage sheds, not really wanting to make the trek back to the other side of the island this late in the evening.

Edward, though, sidled up alongside Scott, the two watching as everyone else fell asleep. "You changed the name, didn't you?" Edward murmured. Scott looked over. "Oh?" "In that last story - it was Devil's Elbow, wasn't it?" Scott hummed softly. "So you had heard that story, eh?" "Their government hushed it up cause of World War One, but an American soldier told me about it," Edward replied softly. "It's not a story they wanted to admit to, especially not to foreign press."

Scott didn't reply for a moment, instead gazing out the shed at the stars. "You're not wrong. I cut that story into ribbons because of the ending - Beau apparently had had that signalman as a driver for some years prior to the first accident. You can imagine what that felt like for him."

There was another brief pause.

"Did you enjoy your trip to America?" "I did. As wild as it was, I enjoyed seeing more of the world. Maybe one day I'll get to see more."

Sitting there, neither Scott nor Edward knew how true that statement would one day be.

Maybe Railtours Was Not the Answer...

Sodor was celebrating two-hundred years of railways, and it was shaping up to be a very busy season. The Skarloey Railway was hosting a 'narrow gauge gathering' on their line, and the Fat Controller was loath to be left out of the fun.

As such, he decided to organise for a heap of exciting rail tours and special excursions to take place before and on September 27th, the day of the first passenger train on the Stockton and Darlington Railway. These would take place all through August to catch the summer traffic, then through September to entice railfans from around the world.

The engines were very excited to see who would be coming!

"I heard they're not going to run specials on your branchline," sneered James at Thomas. "You're not important enough." "Please! Having some other engine on my branchline would just detract from my star power!" Thomas retorted crossly. "Don't kid yourself, Thomas," James sniffed. "We're all stars these days, your branchline just can't handle the kind of trains these engines will be hauling." "We've all seen railtours before James," huffed Thomas, finally losing patience. "You're just puffed up in the smokebox because you'll be double-heading a tour with Scots Guardsman."

James smirked. "You're right Thomas." "I — I am?" "I am double-heading a very special tour with Scots Guardsman!" James grinned. Thomas groaned. "Yes, and Duck is doing a special with City of Truro, and Henry is booked in, and Donald and Douglas have got a train, and Gordon is fully booked for the summer, and even Edward is apparently doing something!" Thomas let off steam crossly. "I am the most famous tank engine in the world, and yet I'm doing nothing! So stop your stupid boasting before I ram your funnel up your tender!"

James wisely puffed away to allow Thomas some time to stew.

However, even though Thomas was in a funk, the plans continued apace. The first railtour arrived mid July, hauled by 34067 Tangmere. The poor engine could barely see for the giant Golden Arrow nameboard in front of her smokebox!

"I can't see - how far am I from the buffers?" "A good couple dozen yards," Oliver replied from the next platform, resting between trains. "Keep coming, keep coming." "Seriously? I've had enough incidents in preservation thank you!" "You'll be fine," sighed Oliver. "I'm telling you I've had enough of — is that the buffers?" "Yep," chuckled Oliver, popping the 'p'. "You've arrived." "Finally! Now get this stupid thing off me!"

Oliver just tried not to laugh as Tangmere began to argue with her crew to get the nameboard off. He left after three minutes, then Daisy arrived and left, and finally nearly fifteen minutes had passed. In that time, the station pilot had been and gone, leaving Tangmere in the platform.

"You'll need to clear out now, please," Paxton called out, pushing a rack of coaches into a nearby platform for Edward. "We need that line for James." "I'm not moving until this dratted thing is off! I keep having accidents, and I'm sick of it!" Paxton just sighed, and rumbled away.

Tangmere didn't move. Her crew finally hopped down to remove the board, and the porter hurried over to help. But it was too late. As Edward left, James made it to the Big Station to find that his coaches couldn't be moved into the platform. Tangmere was in the way!

"Oi! Move!" shouted James. "I'm busy!" replied Tangmere. "Agh! Get that flag out of my mouth!"

James' train was delayed until Donald passed through with his ballast run and the coaches could be pushed into the platform. James fumed out of the station nearly twenty minutes late!

"Railtours are nothing but a nuisance!" he snapped to Thomas when he met the blue tank engine at the junction. "That Tangmere held me up for twenty minutes! Twenty! Cause she wouldn't move her fat tender out the platform!"

Thomas laughed until his pistons ached!

** ** **

After Tangmere, the railtours began to come thick and fast. 4930 Hagley Hall was next, running a special all the way up Duck's branchline. Duck was overjoyed to have a fellow Great Western engine around, and even more excited to hear she would be hanging around for a couple weeks.

Oliver cleared out and moved back to Tidmouth, where he found yet another railtour visitor on the turntable. "Was my sister that difficult?" "Yes! Blocked the entire station!" James wailed. Donald and Douglas both winced at the noise level, and shot pleading looks at Oliver. "One platform," Paxton softly corrected. "Kept us all waiting for hours on end!" "Kept you waiting for twenty minutes." "Trains cancelled, line blocked!" "Only your train was delayed…"

Oliver slunk backwards, ignoring the betrayed looks on the Caledonian twins' faces, and found Henry, Bear and Edward sitting in the carriage sheds. "So, that bad huh?" "Unfortunately," sighed Henry. "The Caledonians are trapped in there, but Gordon ought to appear in about twenty, and then James might shut up." "Might? Is that where we are with James now?" quizzed Oliver slowly. "He might stop ranting on and on like a lunatic?"

Edward tried his best to hide a chuckle. "Salty's had to take over station pilot duties until we can rescue Paxton from the sheds," Bear went on. "As you can imagine, that meant Molly's afternoon local was run with the vintage stock." "That's… not right…" "Oh, and there goes Arthur now with your coaches," put in Henry brightly. Oliver looked back to see a very confused Arthur steaming away with Isabel and Dulcie.

"Hey! Those're mine!" shouted Oliver, and he sped backwards just quick enough to see Dulcie vanish into the tunnel. "Damnit."

Edward sighed. "Well, the next few days ought to be interesting."

** ** **

34028 Eddystone did not talk to James after that first evening. Instead, he tried his level-headed best to glue himself to Toby.

Toby was most confused. "Why're you at Toryreck?" he asked slowly, staring at the giant West Country class that stood in the other platform with a single coach. "I'm filling in for Daisy, so we can pull trains together!" Eddystone replied brightly. Toby blinked. "You specifically are filling in… for Daisy?" Eddystone beamed. Toby wondered if the West Country Class engine's last overhaul had knocked some bolts loose. "Yep!" "Right… can you fit through the tunnel?" "Just about!"

Toby simply rang his bell and continued with his delivery of stone.

He found Percy at the harbour. "Did you see—" "Eddystone? Yes. He's very excited to spend time with you." "Me?" "Yes, you specifically. He… uhh…"

There was a thunderous bellow from the station. "WHERE'S EDDYSTONE? DAISY CAN'T PULL A RAILTOUR!" Percy and Toby shared a look. Hagley Hall zoomed past on a seperate railtour, seemingly unaffected by the furious shouting coming from the Junction waiting room.

"So, Eddystone swapped jobs with Daisy and blew off a railtour… to spend time with me?" Toby clarified slowly. Percy bit his lip to keep from howling with laughter. "It would appear so."

Toby had to wait for the trucks to be empties into a barge, so he began to quietly neaten up the harbour, while Percy headed off to try and soothe the Fat Controller before he blew a blood vessel. Again.

Toby was so busy shunting, he didn't notice the signal change. He did hear the still unfamiliar hoot of a Southern whistle, right as Eddystone steamed onto the quay! "Hello…" "I've brought the next train of stone!" beamed Eddystone. "I spoke to Mavis about it, and she said she'd be happy to cover for Daisy so I could take it!"

Toby got a vision of Mavis pulling the slightly confused Mark I coach into the Junction and meeting the Fat Controller, who was searching for Eddystone. He got the feeling it would cause quite a bit of pandemonium.

Gordon thundered by with the railtour Eddystone was supposed to be pulling back to the Mainland. Eddystone noticed it too. "Oh no!" he gasped in the fakest voice Toby had ever heard. "Gordon's taken my excursion - now I'll have to stay on Sodor longer!" "You're an odd one," chuckled Toby. Eddystone pouted; Toby wondered how such a big engine got a kicked-puppy expression so right.

** ** **

Hagley Hall left the next morning, and Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, as the talk of 'The Great Western Way' went from unbearable to merely overbearing. Eddystone was still around, as Gordon had - thanks to the West Country Class engine's antics - gotten himself stuck on Eddystone's railtours for the next week.

There was a little peace - for everyone but Toby - until 3440 City of Truro arrived that Thursday. Unlike most of the railtours, Truro was staying on Sodor until the end of September, when he was due for an overhaul at Crovan's Gate.

"Hullo again all," chirped Truro, puffing into the Big Station. He stopped easily at the platform, and the railfans all disembarked. Then, before Paxton could even move, Truro calmly pushed his coaches into their proper siding and made his way to the water tower.

"Oh thank Proteus one of them might be normal," Paxton muttered to himself. Murdoch just opened one sleepy eye to hum in agreement.

City of Truro was followed by 60103 Flying Scotsman, who was also slated to spend the next couple months of Sodor. He was meant to be catching up with Gordon, but to his surprise, his brother was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Gordon gone?" asked Scott that night in the sheds. Henry sighed. "He's replacing Eddystone on the mainland until he can get sent back," he replied. "Eddystone?" quizzed Scott. "He's here too? Where?" "Ffarquhar," James grinned. Scott paused, stared, paused again, and then snorted. "You're having a laugh! Surely!"

At that moment, Thomas bustled in, looking very put out. "He's stolen my shed! He's stolen my shed!" he hissed, steam leaking everywhere. "You're not having a laugh," Scott realised with mounting horror.

Everyone just shot him pained looks.

"Why is Eddystone at Ffarquhar?!" exclaimed Scott. "James' fault," Bear grunted. "It was not!" "You spent nearly two hours telling him all about how much you disliked his sister!" Bear snapped. "No wonder he's doing his best to get away from you!" "No, he's infatuated with Toby! Of all engines, Toby!" James retorted. Scott wondered if it was too late to return to the Greatest Gathering.

It was.

** ** **

That Sunday, there was an extra special railtour planned. 60007 Sir Nigel Gresley was planned to arrive at the head of a special train, spend two nights, then do a run back with Gordon.

Instead, 60007 Sir Nigel Gresley returned behind Gordon, who looked very tired. "I'm going to rip Eddystone's smoke deflectors off, and shove them in firebox," grit out the blue engine. "I'll be right behind you," Thomas agreed loudly from the next platform over. "He's still in my shed! My shed! Not his!"

Nigel steamed off the train and over to near Thomas. "Eddystone's in your shed?" he asked slowly. "Aren't there more spaces? We've all seen how big your sheds are." "Not Tidmouth!" groaned Thomas. "Ffarquhar!"

Nigel looked over to Gordon. "What's a Ffarquhar, and is it something to do with that one animated movie? The one with the onion ogre." "It's the top station on — what movie with an onion ogre?!"

In the background, Neville and Murdoch puffed by with a heavy freight train. Gordon gazed entreatingly at the pair - and they summarily ignored him, picking up speed to get out of the harbour.

"The animated one - with the fairy godmother, and the Lord Ffarquhar, and the gingerbread man." "You're as barmy as Eddystone," muttered Thomas, slipping out from behind the A4 to go to the sheds.

Scott was there. "Why are all your cousins insane?" asked Thomas. Scott looked confused. "Which of my cousins?" he asked slowly. "Mallard can't be here, surely?" "No, wait - Mallard too?" "Who're you talking about?" "Sir Nigel Gresley! He's going on about onion ogres!" Scott groaned.

"Oh, oh no. When he was last being overhauled, they put on animated movies for him. He's probably watched one of those American films. I'd best go rescue Gordon." Scott steamed away, resolving to spend more time on Sodor, and less time anywhere near the other engines on the preservation circuit.

** ** **

The next day, Emily, Gordon, Sir Nigel Gresley, Pip and Emma were all displayed in the Big Station, as part of a special 'East Coast Express' reunion. Scott managed to get out of being left in a platform, and instead pulled the express with a chortling City of Truro. That duo managed to get more spectators than the East Coast reunion!

"It's so nice to be back amongst brethren!" beamed Nigel. "Move back," grumbled Emily. "My smokebox is out of the station! Who's taking up half the platform?!" "It's not us," Pip and Emma called back from the other end of the platform. "We're up against the buffers!" "We need a space for Scott," Nigel said. "Sir Nigel, Scott's on the express today," Gordon reminded, finally shunting back. "But what if he changes his mind?!" "He won't," Gordon replied with a huff. "I just wish I could, stuck here with all you."

** ** **

With Gordon having double-headed Sir Nigel Gresley into Tidmouth, it was decided to send Eddystone back out with him.

There was just one problem. "Where's Eddystone?" asked the Fat Controller slowly, staring at the engines. He noticed Neville looking very confused. "Do you mean the West Country, sir?" "Yes, Neville. Where is he?"

Neville winced. "Neville…" "He said you asked for him to pull my goods down to Brendam. Something about 'unusual motive power', sir." The Fat Controller went red in the face! "He's slipped the net again?!"

It was BoCo's turn to be placed onto a railtour in Eddystone's stead, and the diesel was dragged away at speed by Sir Nigel Gresley before he could even think of a complaint!

Derek watched them go, then turned to Edward. "Does that mean we're the only engines on the branchline right now?" "Yes, it does," sighed Edward. "Unless you count Eddystone."

"WE ARE NOT COUNTING EDDYSTONE!" roared the Fat Controller.

The engines watched their controller storm away; then James burst out laughing. "He's really into Toby, if he's willing to go this far!" "It's getting disconcerting," Edward replied. "He's disobeying everyone now."

Thomas just sprinted away, hoping to get his shed back.

** ** **

6115 Scots Guardsman arrived on Sodor to be greeted by Percy. The little green tank engine was furiously banging trucks together. "What's up?" he asked slowly, puffing onto the next line over. "Thomas won't come out the shed," huffed Percy. "Cause Eddystone keeps stealing his berth. Now I have nowhere to sleep!" "I… oh dear. Eddystone, eh? He's trying to spend time around Toby, isn't he?"

Percy stared. "How'd you know?" "He told me as much, a few years back. He's had a crush on that tram since they met at a steam gala on the Swanage Railway." "I don't know if Toby remembers that," Percy admitted. "He probably doesn't - Eddystone was rather in pieces at the time, being overhauled."

Percy groaned, and went back to banging trucks into place.

City of Truro puffed by with a railtour he'd just double-headed with Duck. The pannier tank looked about five seconds away from bursting with pride. "Double-headed with Truro himself! Oh, Oliver will be jealous forever!"

Percy wisely did not mention the fact that Oliver was perfectly happy not to get involved with any of the railtours, much less those which called attention to his Great Western heritage.

Emily steamed by in the other direction with her usual afternoon train, finally giving Percy the chance to cross over the mainline and to the sheds. Scots Guardsman followed, and the two found Arthur, Donald and Bear in the sheds.

"Hello! Wha's this now? Ach, it's Scots Guardsman, nice tae see ye again!" Donald exclaimed. Scots Guardsman gasped in excitement. "57646? Is that you?! Heavens! It's been forever!" "Ah gae bi Donal' now," Donald replied with a smile. "An' ma brother's Douggie now."

The two fell right into conversation, leaving Percy to chat to Bear and Arthur. Arthur was just about to leave for his next passenger train when…

"That's Eddystone! Get him!" shouted Percy. The three went charging out of the sheds to find Eddystone pulling out of the station with the express! "I… what?" "That's my express!" spluttered Gordon from inside the station. "Come back here, you thief!" "My train now," taunted Eddystone, already picking up speed. "This is getting ridiculous," huffed Percy. "We've already had to shuffle everyone around to handle BoCo getting stuck on the mainland, and now he's taking our work!"

"To be fair," murmured Gordon, "I was double booked - I was also meant to be about to take an excursion, so now I can, instead of James. Who is late. Again."

In the distance, Douglas whistled crossly at Salty to move out of the way, while Paxton wondered aloud if he could move to Vicarstown to work with Norman instead of at the Big Station. "Oh yes, a promotion. A great opportunity. Spend time the most famous engines… and now instead I deal with petty squabbles," sighed Paxton to himself. "I was too naive."

And with that, Percy slunk back into the sheds.

** ** **

Murdoch and Bear stood in the Big Station, watching with interest as 5029 Nunney Castle grew more and more red faced while staring down Dennis. "Who let him out of Wellsworth yard?" quizzed Bear. "He brought BoCo's goods up," Murdoch replied. "We thought he'd just wander off to a shed… not… well… that."

Dennis was asleep on the points, blocking the up line entirely. While traffic was being rerouted around him on the down line and the express line, poor Nunney had gotten trapped. "Will someone move him?!" she demanded. Bear and Murdoch shared a look.

"Your region," Murdoch murmured. "You're stronger," Bear retorted. "And I need to go." "The points are still set for Nunney." "Darn. Where's Duck?" "Arlesburgh." "Salty?" "Over there."

Bear looked over to see Salty trying his best to coax Dennis into moving just enough to clear the points so he could get back to his yard.

Paxton shoved Emily's coaches into the platform, then sighed. "I'll do it," he volunteered, and rumbled over. He buffered up to Dennis, was coupled up, and pulled.

Dennis moved an inch.

"Was that… it?" asked Nunney slowly. "You try moving him!" grimaced Paxton, heaving and hauling and trying to move the lazy lump.

"So, Paxton's finally reached the end of his tether," mused Murdoch idly. "He was bound to," Bear replied. "He's one of the nicest, kindest and sweetest engines I've ever met - but he's stuck in a shed with James." "We all are." "Yes, but Paxton's stuck in between James and Gordon most nights." "Ah."

"And he got stuck in the shed with James and Eddystone back near the start of all these railtours!" Emily added in brightly, backing down on her coaches.

Murdoch just sighed and went to help Paxton tow Dennis off the mainline.

** ** **

7812 Erlestoke Manor passed through the day after Nunney Castle left, bringing BoCo back to Sodor. He didn't spend long; he was out again by the end of the day, having only been allowed off his heritage line for a maximum of two days to come and visit. Bear was happy to see him at least; the pair had briefly worked together on the Western Region.

Henry was more happy to see the tail lamp of Erlestoke's return train vanish over the bridge to the Mainland. "He was too friendly with Bear," Henry complained to 44871 Sovereign and 44932 Rose. "It wasn't decent at all!" "Henry, is this really a conversation to have before our train?" asked Rose politely. "We're triple-heading a special all the way to York." "Wait, I thought I was meant to be taken off at Barrow— Eddystone." "He's up at Arlesburgh, helpin Oliver wi the ballast," Donald intoned. "That's your job!" spluttered Henry. "He wantit the run, an A wantit tae finish listenin tae ma audiobook," Donald hummed. "Very guid episode - aw aboot true crime i Glasgow."

Donald puffed away with a light freight train, leaving Henry stuck sandwiched between the two other Black 5s.

"I… York. Right. Time to go find out if Scott is really being truthful when he talks about how difficult Mallard is," Henry sighed. "It's not so bad," smiled Sovereign. "It's a lovely run. Good, long, fast run." "I get those here." "Well, you'll get… an especially long run!"

The triple-headed excursion train, pulled by three Black 5s, was so long it filled two platforms at the Big Station, and had to be arranged into the final consist, which itself was so long that Rose was almost in the tunnel!

They started away just as Eddystone slipped in with the ballast, the Bulleid Pacific watching the tail lamp vanish. "Oh, oh no. I must've missed my ticket home. Guess I'll have to fill in for Henry, eh sir?" grinned the West Country Class engine impudently.

The Fat Controller threw his hat on the ground and jumped on it.

** ** **

Toby watched on as Eddystone dozed in Percy's shed. "What do you think, Henrietta?" he asked softly. "He's nice, if not a bit clumsy in showing his affections," the old coach hummed. "I will say, he's quite funny." "I've never seen the Fat Controller so cross," agreed Toby. "It was a little funny."

Percy puffed by with the mail, looking longingly at his shed. Eddystone really did not fit, half his boiler sticking out one end while his tender stuck right the way out the other end, meaning he was at best protecting his cab from the elements.

The big tender engine was snoring softly, a smile on his face. "He's kind of charming," admitted Toby. "I… well… yes, charming." "Remember when he brought you that truck of roses?" Henrietta chuckled. "He stole them off Farmer Trotter." "It was a sweet gesture!"

Thomas muttered something in his sleep from the next berth over, tuckered out from his surprise railtour with 926 Repton. "I suppose it was sweet," Toby replied. He considered the big engine. "Then again, what am I to do? He's not exactly a Sodor engine." "Sometimes, you're very silly Toby. Who cares if he's a Sodor engine?" "I do. Bear and Henry wouldn't work if Bear lived on the Mainland, after all." That made Henrietta pause. "Well, have you considered doing something about it?"

Toby snorted; the old tram almost shook from how hard he was suppressing a laugh. "That's a good one! Do something about a privately-owned engine from the Mainland! Could you imagine? I'd be kindling before I could get a word in edgeways!" "You doubt yourself, Toby," Henrietta admonished. "But sure, take that defeatist attitude. It didn't work with Mavis, and it won't work now."

Toby went silent, not really wanting to reply to that. Instead, he found his eyes wandering of their own accord to Eddystone once more. He did look nice; a rebuilt Bulleid Pacific could never be considered bad looking if Toby was brutally honest with himself. But it was more the earnest, rather silly ways that Eddystone tried to confess his crush that were what made Toby like the younger engine.

What engine wouldn't find Eddystone funny?

Well, maybe Thomas or Percy - but that was their own fault for not wanting to share a shed with each other.

** ** **

Henry was gone for a lot longer than either Gordon or BoCo had been. According to the Fat Controller, the big green engine had ended up taking over for a failed diesel on a freight train, and gotten bounced around so much he'd wound up being accidentally towed to France!

"So, when will he be back?" asked Bear. "Next week," sighed the Fat Controller. "Once the French have stopped taking his photograph and making him pull excursions around Paris. In the meantime, the next engine who will be visiting us will be 60163 Tornado."

The news was received with great excitement! Tornado was still a young engine, and a peppy one too. All the engines liked telling her stories of the years gone by, and Tornado loved listening to most of them.

Unfortnately, that also meant that because James was the first to see Tornado, he decided to immediately begin recounting his 'great youth, spent besting even the grandest of express engines!'

Gordon physically towed James away before he could tell Tornado about the loop incident.

Tornado and Gordon pulled an excursion together, with Scott jumping in to pull his own railtour with Tornado the very next day. The young engine was overjoyed! "When 60532 Blue Peter arrives tomorrow, we're going to do a special line up! All four non-streamlined LNER express Pacifics in one place - who's excited!" "Woo…" Gordon replied unenthusiastically, scuttling away with Scott before Tornado could ask what was wrong.

"How does Tornado not know?" hissed Gordon. "They've met before!" "He was on his best behaviour, according to Nigel," Scott said with a grimace. "And how could we? Tornado sees Blue Peter as an older brother figure, and we both know they're too young to have that illusion shattered." "We had it shattered," came the snapped reply. "And look what it did to us - seven preserved A4s, of which two are on another continent, one is so stuck up no one speaks to her, another is Mallard, then there's Spencer…" "You made your point," sighed Gordon.

Truro sidled up alongside. "Blue Peter?" "Yes." "I've never had to talk to him before, but I've heard that he's… odd. What're you two going to do?" "Place him and Tornado as far apart as possible," Scott replied. "And… maybe invite Toby down? He's also ex-LNER, after all." "So is Molly and Emily, technically," mused Gordon. The two grinned at each other. "That'll be perfect!" grinned Scott. "Think we can get—" "Spencer is staying in the Duchy of Boxford, and that is final," hissed Gordon. Scott just laughed.

** ** **

"So, why's absolutely everyone here?" asked Tornado sweetly, looking over at Scott. "We felt like a big LNER reunion would be more fun - and look at us all, eh!" Tornado stood at one end, then came Scott, then Molly, then Toby, then Emily, then Gordon and finally Blue Peter at the far end. Emily and Gordon were keeping the A2 occupied with a story about Spencer, while Toby and Molly caught up and posed for pictures. That left Scott to handle Tornado.

"It is nice, I suppose," mused Tornado. "But I was hoping to speak to Blue Pe—" "Oh look, a photographer. Smile!" "Cheese!" The camera flashed; Molly looked over. "Tornado, I haven't gotten to hear about your 100mph run yet - how was that?" Tornado beamed excitedly. "It was so much fun! So, it actually started with these Germans…"

Scott let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he murmured. "We all want to keep Blue Peter from saying something too stupid," Molly muttered back. "He was going on about ley lines and crop circles earlier." Scott winced, and the two pretended to listen to Tornado's story, humming and posing questions at the exact right moments.

At the other end of the lineup, Gordon and Emily were having more trouble with Blue Peter. "Yes, mole people! And they're under us right this very second. I'm telling you - we should be hunting them before they hunt us. They want to harvest us engines for our chakra cores." Blue Peter's eyes were bloodshot and had bags the size of suitcases, leaving both Gordon and Emily to wonder if Blue Peter had slept once since being steamed up again.

"Right… and how is this connected to the wind turbines again?" asked Emily slowly. "The windmills are sending coded messages to the whales! Because the whales hate windmills, but only cause the messages keep telling them to hold off - it's why those whales were attacking the boats. They want vengeance!" Emily and Gordon shared a look. "Wind… mills?" "Yes! WINDMILLS!"

Tornado looked over, looking very confused. "Why is Blue Peter shouting about windmills?" they asked. "He's probably just talking about how nice the windmills are on Sodor," Toby replied hastily. "Have I told you about how I—" "The windmills are owned by the authoritarian mole people and their ant armies, which will be used to—" "EDDYSTONE!" shouted Toby as loudly as he could. The Bulleid Pacific appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Blue Peter and hurriedly dragging him away, whistling fit to burst to drown out the conspiracy-theorist.

"And to think," snorted Toby, "he was allowed on a kid's show."

"Why was Blue Peter ranting like that? Big brother Scott? Gordon? Molly?" "And I'm out!" called Toby, steaming after Eddystone. "It was great doing this - we should do it again sometime, but with the others too."

"NO!" the others all shouted as one. Toby cackled as he trundled over the points and past one very confused 5596 Bahamas.

"Is Sodor always like this?" she carefully asked BoCo. "Sometimes, it's weirder," replied BoCo, deadpan.

Bahamas wondered if it was too late to run back to the Mainland - but alas, she was booked to stay overnight, so off to the sheds she puffed.

Paxton was outside, being refuelled. "You must be the… third last of our railtours," mused Paxton. "Nice meeting you! I'm Paxton!" "Nice to meet you… is madness a prerequisite for living on this island?" "Not really, no," chuckled Paxton. "But live anywhere with this lot for long enough, and you get weirder. Salty talks like a pirate, Donald and Douglas always lay their accent on a bit thicker when they're peeved—" "So always," grumbled Arthur. "— Yes, thank you. Oh, and beware of Dennis - he likes taking naps wherever he can, which does in fact involve on the mainline. Brought poor Nunney Castle to a standstill just outside the tunnel." "You swore for the first time ever trying to move him," grinned Arthur. Paxton blushed as crimson as Arthur's paintwork. "I told Murdoch not to tell anyone!" he grumbled.

Bahamas escaped inside, only to be met with Neville's tender and James being cleaned ready for his next run. Derek was dozing lightly off to one side, having successfully evaded having to talk to anyone by feigning sleep.

"This island is mad. Mad I say!" muttered Bahamas.

** ** **

Duck, City of Truro, Bear and even Oliver were fidgeting, waiting in the Big Station for the next railtour. "She's really coming, eh?" "Yep, 7029 Clun Castle is bringing her in."

The signal changed, and all four looked up excitedly as twin Great Western whistles shrieked through the tunnel. Steam blew everywhere, and out stormed Clun Castle, followed by 4079 Pendennis Castle. Duck was beside himself with excitement!

"Hello all!" grinned Clun Castle, slowing to a stop in the platform. "We thought we'd pop by to say hello and take part in the railtours. How's it been?" Pendennis added.

All three Sodor engines, and City of Truro, burst into uproarous laughter. Both Clun and Pendennis shared a confused look. "Did we say something?" "You passed Blue Peter on your way in, how do you think it's been?" asked Truro between guffaws. "I told you it was Blue Peter!" exclaimed Clun. "But no, Pendennis had to insist it was Tornado!" "Couldn't have been; Tornado's leaving tomorrow," Oliver replied easily.

The two engines boggled!

"Tornado, Blue Peter? At the same time?!" "Bahamas is leaving on Tuesday," added Bear. "She's not to bad - I don't think she quite gets us, but she's trying." "Bahamas too? Who else has been he—"

Pendennis was cut off by Eddystone rumbled through with a ballast train, the Fat Controller shaking his fist at the Bulleid Pacific as he steamed past the Fat Controller's office.

Donald and Douglas clattered by in the other direction with a special of their own, and then there was Derek and BoCo with a container train, then Pip and Emma pulling in with the express, then Thomas with his coaches, and Henry with a freight train, and Salty shunting and Paxton collecting their coaches.

"It's rather overwhelming - like being back at Paddington!" exclaimed Pendennis excitedly. Clun chuckled at her sister. "It is, isn't it? Shall we go see where Bahamas and… wait, was that Eddystone?" "Yeah," grimaced Duck. "He's been squatting up at Ffarquhar for nearly two months now - we've tried to get him on a railtour off the island three times - and all three times he's slipped the net!"

"I… what?"

"You have a lot to catch up on," sighed City of Truro. "Come on, Scott's in the shed, so we can talk to him too there." "Scott - as in…" "Flying Scotsman, yes," Truro grinned. "He's here too."

The two Castles absolutely had to catch up on all the zany preserved engines who had visited Tidmouth.

** ** **

Finally, the day came. September 27th.

All the Fat Controller's engines, as well as their guests, made their way down to the Big Sheds the night before, filling it to capacity. The tank engines had to share berths - which made Eddystone scowl something fierce when Toby ended up sharing with Percy - while the tender engines crowded in, Gordon ending up on the turntable and Edward ending up sandwiched behind Oliver. "Bit snug," grumbled Dennis, before promptly dozing off. "YOU!" snapped Paxton, his eye twitching. "He's not wrong," grumbled Daisy. "We all barely fit."

Clun Castle grimaced from where she was getting a very good view of Gordon's tender. "Is this… dignified? At all?" "Not really, no," Neville sighed. "But it means we can all be present for the whistle up tomorrow. It's fully booked." "How noisy," grumbled Murdoch. "35028 Clan Line will also be arriving tomorrow with more railfans," the Fat Controller announced, striding into the shed. He shot Eddystone a nasty look before turning back to his engines. "It will be a very busy day to round out what has been an extremely busy season. Let's make it a good one, and then spend about four weeks doing as little as possible. No galas for a while, eh?" "Awww, I was hoping to return again with Blue Peter and Tangmere," Pendennis joked from somewhere in the shed. Everyone erupted in furious bellows.

** ** **

The day came. All the engines were steamed up extra early, one by one leaving the sheds to a hail of phtography. The Fat Controller had planned it all to the second - the engines came out in number order, Thomas first, then Edward, then Henry and so on, with Daisy following Neville, then BoCo, then Bear, and so on until all the Sodor engines stood in the morning dawn. Then, out puffed City of Truro, and Flying Scotsman, and Pendennis and Clun Castle, before Bahamas and finally Eddystone, who proceeded to fenangle a position next to Toby.

There was a brief pause, and then the Fat Controller stepped up to a podium. "Good morning ladies, gentlemen, engines. Two hundred years ago, on this very day, the first train left Stockton for Darlington, changing the history of transport forever. It was the world's first railway, and it birthed a revolution. And now, the engines will all whistle and honk in honour of that moment."

The Fat Controller pulled out a pair of earmuffs hurriedly. "Three, two, one!"

THE NOISE WAS DEAFENING!

A window shattered across the street! People held their ears, even as their camera lenses cracked from the intense sound.

The Fat Controller groaned to himself. "I shouldn't have agreed to this…" he muttered.

And as if right on cue, Clan Line steamed in with her special excursion. "Brother!" she exclaimed. "You need to come back to England at once! No more of this running and pretending to be a Sodor engine!" "I'm not leaving!" Eddystone snapped, a little childishly. "I've made amazing new friends on Sodor, and you won't drag me back to sit near Blue Peter or Tangmere again!"

"Yes, she will," muttered Thomas to Percy.

Toby trundled forwards. "Actually, he is staying," he said simply, with a sly grin. "Oh sir!" The Fat Controller slid down the back of the podium and sighed. "Fine, Toby, fine!"

He stood up, threw his hat at Eddystone and shouted. "I've bought you! Are you happy now?! So stop being difficult and go get a new coat of paint at the works!"

Eddystone was so happy he nearly burst his safety valve. "You, no! - really?!" "I did," Toby replied sweetly. "And I do remember Swanage." Eddystone blushed as red as Arthur's paintwork.  "So..."  "Perhaps, one day. But let's go slowly for now, alright?"

Eddystone could only excitedly agree.

** ** **

"Hey!" called James. "I thought this story was meant to be about me!"

Back to Master Post

The State of the World

"Oh, to be a young engine. What a charmed life they have," grumbled Percy, watching as Diesel rumbled over the bridge and onto the Mainland. "Never a clue about the world." "Beg your pardon?" Gordon hummed from the next track over. "You don't normally say such things, little Percy." "I'm not as young as I look," Percy replied quietly. "And one day, Diesel will understand. Though, I'm not sure when."

After Diesel's lies had been exposed, the Class 08 was sent back to British Railways in disgrace - only, BR didn't really want him on their network, not after he'd failed so specatcularly on Sodor. So they kept him on at Barrow as the new station shunter.

The Big Engines were incensed! "Of all the places in England!" roared Henry furiously, backing into the sheds. "It isn't right!" agreed Gordon. "I have to trust in that Diesel to shunt my coaches? I shalln't!" "You'll have to," sighed Edward, puffing into the yard. "The Other Railway won't move him anywhere else."

Gordon and Henry both let off steam indignantly.

Percy was less hostile.

Once a week, every week, Percy had to deliver a top secret important train to the end of the line. He wasn't allowed to tell anyone what was in his trucks, he wasn't allowed to explain where the trucks had come from, and he was given the top priority to reach the Other Railway. Most of the engines had loud, cross opinions about Percy's train. They wanted to know why Percy had such an important job, or what all the secrecy was for.

Percy didn't tell.

This train, however, also led to Percy being at Barrow once a week, every week, without fail. He often had to wait there for almost an hour until the engine taking the train onwards arrived; this engine was always a sleek, modern diesel.

To Diesel's surprise, the engine who took Percy's trucks always treated Percy with the utmost respect, more respect that Diesel had seen any of his brethren give a steam engine.

It made him curious.

"What's so special about you?" sneered Diesel, sidling up near Percy. A man with a red flag kept him from moving closer. "You get treated like you're some sort of fancy, revolutionary steam engine, as opposed to the old, outdated claptrap that you are." "You're not good at complimenting engines, are you?" chuckled Percy. The green engine looked around Barrow, seeing the distance steelworks churning out wafting black smoke. "What's it to you?" sniffed Diesel.

Percy considered.

"You're a new engine, aren't you?" he said slowly. "Built only in the last year or so, right?" Diesel frowned, unsure what the change in topic was about. "Yes, I was built two weeks before I arrived on your railway," Diesel replied. "What's it to you?" "Well, my special secret that gets me such special treatment can only be learnt by engines who understand the state of the world," Percy said. "Of course, you'll learn that soon enough here."

Diesel raised an eyebrow, unamused. "You're sounding senile, shall I mop up the drool pooling on your running board?" "No, I'm fine. But you'll see what I mean eventually."

At that moment, the diesel who took Percy's trucks arrived, and Percy steamed off the train, puffing into a siding nearby. The new diesel, a Class 20 if Diesel was correct, backed onto the trucks. He had brought trucks for Percy to take back with him. "Thank you, Percy. Have a good week, and I will see you soon." "Thank you - have a good run, and stay safe!" Percy chirped back. He and Diesel watched the Class 20 rumble away, slowly at first before carefully picking up speed.

Diesel huffed, revved his engine, and rolled away before the train had left the yard.

** ** **

The question of what 'the state of the world' meant to Percy swirled in Diesel's radiators night after night. He grew impatient with curiosity, and decided to do something unexpected to try and learn what the little green engine meant.

He approached Edward.

Diesel knew better than to approach any of the other engines on British Railways - they all just ignored him, a silly little shunter who lived in a shed so far removed from the centres of thought that were the great engine sheds of Liverpool, Birmingham, London or Glasgow. He also knew better than to approach Gordon, Henry and James when they came by. Those three had a personal reason to hate him, and they made their feelings very clear.

Edward, however, Diesel felt was too kind for his own good. He would happily explain 'the state of the world' to Diesel and then the Class 08 could rub his knowledge in Percy's stupid face.

"Good morning, Edward," oiled Diesel, sidling up alongside the old blue engine. "How have you been?" Edward smiled politely. "Oh, just fine. How about you, Diesel?" "I've been so confused," Diesel lamented, looking forlornly out across the Barrow skyline. "Percy said something so weird, and I just wish I knew what he meant." "What did Percy say?" asked Edward, watching Diesel closely from the corner of his eye.

Diesel smirked to himself. "He said there are thing only engines who understand the state of the world can learn - does he think I don't understand the state of the world?" "Do you?" Edward quizzed, innocence ringing in his voice. Diesel bit his lip to keep from screaming. "Yes, Edward. I have learnt how hard it is to work in a yard by being here. I have learnt about trucks that don't need moving, and about how bad it is to trick other engines—"

Diesel was interrupted by Edward, who burst out laughing. Diesel couldn't quite compute what he was seeing, watching the old steam engine practically shake with laughter. Several of the other engines in the yard looked over, stunned.

"Oh, you're a hoot, Diesel!" Edward cackled, trying to calm down. "You haven't a clue! Let me guess, you wanted me to tell you so you could figure Percy out?" "I…" "What did Percy say that got you so fired up?" the old engine asked, shutting Diesel down before he could even think of any excuses. "He told me he would only let me know why he gets special treatment if I learnt about the state of the world," Diesel admitted with a pout.

Edward was reminded of how young Diesel was.

Still, Diesel would find out eventually. Might as well help him along.

"Well, I can help." Diesel's eyes gleamed with delight. Edward smiled softly, disarmingly. "It's easy - all you have to do is head into the newest part of the Barrow Steelworks. Most engines aren't allowed there without special permission though." "I can easily get permission," Diesel said with determination. "What you see will change how you see the world," warned Edward. "So be careful." "I know what my limits are." "I'm sure you do."

With that, Edward puffed away to collect his return train. Diesel grinned to himself; now he would learn about Percy's silly idea on the state of the world and make a fool out of the little green engine.

Edward sighed as soon as he was out of earshot, his whole coutenance crumpling. A diesel from the Other Railway looked over curiously. "Are you ok?" he asked, not unkindly. "I'm alright, just a little sad," Edward replied. "I've just helped send a young engine to learn about the state of the world, if you catch my meaning." The diesel, who Edward had seen head behind the Steelworks from time to time, grimaced. He did understand. "Ah. I imagine that would hurt." "It does. Especially cause this is where… well… I am the only engine left of my class, and we all used to live in the sheds you now call home."

The diesel - a Class 30 - looked back at the sheds, then at Edward. "Oh. Oh."

Edward backed onto his train and whistled. "It's the state of the world, isn't it?" he sighed, and puffed away.

Diesel was right to say he could easily get permission. He managed to smooth-talk the yard foreman into sending him into the Barrow Steelworks to help them shunt some trucks for a big order - and once he was inside, he managed to sweet talk the steelworks foreman into telling him where the 'newest part of the Steelworks' was.

It was near the back of the complex, surrounded by high walls and with a solid iron gate. Diesel stared at the outside of the area curiously as he pushed trucks piled high with iron ore and coal about, until finally he was called over by the steelworks foreman.

"Right - this lot here need to go in the back. Can you shunt that for me?" he asked. Diesel looked at the line of flatbeds, filled with rusted rails. He smiled as sweet as honey. "Of course, sir. Let me get right to it."

Diesel buffered up to the trucks, and began pushing them towards the part of the Steelworks he's seen earlier. "Maybe that's what the state of the world is," sniffed Diesel. "The old is freshened up to become the new. Old rails to new rails. Old, clapped out iron goes in, gets fixed up, and comes out. We'll see steamies with diesel engines soon!"

The gates groaned open in front of Diesel, and the shunter plunged into hell.

Rusted hulks of engines stood stark on weed-choked rails. Many had rusted beyond recognition, their paint flaked off and looks of abject horror and misery plastered on their faces.

Some didn't even have faces to look horrified with. More didn't have mouths with which to scream as men sliced into them, cutting off shavings of metal to be loaded into trucks and pushed away. Some engines had huge holes in their boilers, others were completely missing chunks - their tenders gone, their cabs ripped off, their tanks slashed beyond comprehension.

This was not a place for the old to be refreshed. It was a place for the old to be ripped into shreds.

"Right this way!" called a gruff man, sporting a grizzled beard and an eyepatch. "Get a move on!"

Diesel was forced to push the trucks deeper and deeper into hell, past the rusting engines and the rolling stock BR had said was 'being made useful'. It was being turned into kindling, the wood piled in one place and the metal frames turned into mangled steel and iron.

Then, near the back, Diesel saw something that made his oil freeze.

A diesel.

"Wha— no." "It's the cycle of life for an engine," rasped a voice. Diesel looked over, seeing engines he knew, steam engines he'd been so confident he would replace so they could become useful, sat on cold, damp sidings. "We are built, we work, we become outdated, and we are scrapped." "It's the state of the world!" another engine called. And the other hulks joined in, chanting the line over and over.

"It's the state of the world!"

Diesel picked up the pace, pushing the trucks of rusted steel rails into a warehouse. There, a rusted relic was sitting on another line, sitting beneath a huge claw. On one side of Diesel, a huge pool of molten orange bubbled soflty, churning round and round. "Right! Lift it up!" called a voice. The claw descended. It grabbed the relic, tearing through metal and ripping a pained scream from the engine. It was hoisted into the air, pieces of metal sheering off and falling to the ground. The claw swung, the engine followed, helpless. And then it let the engine go. The engine dropped into the molten lava, screaming.

The engine sunk away from view within seconds, completely gone.

"Right - these're them pure steel rails we were promised - easy to break up," the grizzled man said to his crew. "Slice em up, get em popped on in."

Diesel felt sick. He left the trucks where they were and sped backwards as fast as he could, away from the truth, the pain, the reality. It was too horrific.

As he did, he saw a man turn a valve - the molten lava was let out of its tank, running along a long tube towards a different building on the main campus.

It was only once he was out of that retched place that Diesel spoke up. "Driver… what was that?" "It's a scrapyard," explained his driver easily, not sounding the least shaken. "When old metal things are no longer wanted or needed, they're broken down, smelted, and turned into new metal that can be used to make new metal things. Those old engines are being broken apart by the type of metal they are, then they're smelted down to be turned into new ingots."

Diesel felt dread in the pit of his radiators. "Will… will that happen to me one day?" he asked slowly. "Probably," replied his driver, almost flippantly. Diesel shuddered. "That's what happens to old engines. It's the march of progress, you know. It's—" "The state of the world…" "Exactly!"

Diesel wanted to cry. Everything he had done was fell into perfect clarity.

The steam engines he had taunted with his 'revolutionary' spiel weren't impressed because they knew that this was their fate. They all knew - Edward, Percy, Duck, every steam engine he'd ever met.

Oh.

He'd called James rusty red scrap iron.

He hadn't known what that referred to, only that some of the other diesels like to called the red steam engines that. He'd thought it was funny, the way the steam engines cursed and swore at being called that.

He was so naive.

** ** **

Diesel met Percy at the end of that week.

"Oh, hello Diesel," chirped Percy. "How're you?" "You—" hissed Diesel. "You sent me into hell!" "Ah, so you did end up back there," Percy sighed. "It's horrific, isn't it?"

Diesel blinked.

"I… yes." "My first job as an industrial shunter was in a smelter's yard," Percy mused softly. Diesel blinked - he'd had no idea Percy had once been industrial. "Yes, way back when I was first built, it was for a smelting yard down south. I didn't have the stomach for it, so they sold me on to a quarry. But I was there for a couple years, and I saw a lot of engines come through the gates. Ships too, if you'd believe. Anything metal, really." "But why?" "Because it's progress, to some humans at least," Percy replied. "Not all humans, no. The Fat Controller doesn't believe in scrap, though he's only really told those of us who know about this."

Diesel blinked. "I… beg your pardon?" "Engines like Gordon, James and Thomas just don't really know about scrapping engines. They've always lived on Sodor, and we don't have the facilities for it on the island. They'll learn soon enough though."

Diesel was left in a stunned silence.

"Now, I did promise to tell you why I got special treatment - I think you'll understand my answer now. You don't get to know. You don't want to know. Because sometimes, isn't it better to not know?"

Diesel didn't reply. Percy smiled, almost pityingly. "Chew on that, ok? And I do hope you've thought about what you almost did to Duck - had we been on any other railway, he'd have ended up here."

And with that, Percy puffed away.

Sir Handel, in the Aftermath

1955:

The shed was small. Falcon — no, Sir Handel felt almost as though the walls were closing in, his eyes constantly darting about. Back at the Aluminium Works, there had been no shed - Fal — no, Sir Handel and Stuart — no, Peter Sam, had slept in the main warehouse, two tiny engines dwarfed by the machinery around them. Back then, Sir Handel had been unable to sleep for how massive the space was, how easy it would be for one of the huge aluminium crushers to tumble sideways and crush him in an instant.

In these new sheds, however, the opposite was true. The benchtop was so close to Sir Handel's saddle tank that he could feel the splinters flaking off the aged wood. A tool could be bounced off by a passing train on the big railway, and fall right into his motion. It was all too claustrophobia.

There was no Granpuff to save him then, and there was no Granpuff to save him now.

Sir Handel looked around again. Stuart - no, Peter Sam - was dozing lightly - of course he was. Peter Sam had always been such a people pleaser. Always happy to smile and do whatever it took to keep water in his tank and coal in his bunker.

He'd been like that on the Mid Sodor, near the end. Always smiling like it was the only thing he could do, even as Granpuff was ripped away from them and they were sent away into a world they had never known.

He'd not been like that before, back when the railway was in it's golden age. Maybe it was a new coping mechanism, buried into his brain deep by a crew who whispered false promises of salvation into his ears.

Peter Sam wanted to tell the Thin Controller about Duke, to convince him to go and find their beloved Granpuff. Falc— NO, SIR HANDEL - knew better. Sir Handel knew better. He did. The Thin Controller would not restore Duke like he was Rheneas and Skarloey. He would scrap Duke. He only kept Skarloey and Rheneas around because he was emotionally attached to them, unable to let them go.

He had no connection to Sir Handel or Peter Sam, he would not care about their sob story. Sir Handel and Peter Sam were only here to fulfill a gap in the engine roster until Rheneas returned.

Sir Handel knew this.

He did.

Their third home was only temporary, in the same way their second home was, in the same way their first home - their true home - was not meant to be, and yet was. Still, Sir Handel remembered the good times, back before it all went downhill so fast.

Back when he was Falcon, when Peter Sam was Stuart. Back before Peter Sam began blindly agreeing to everything in the hopes it would get him what he wanted, back before Sir Handel became aware of how awful the world truly was.

Back when Falcon had Granpuff, the older engine had always stood between them and the world, hackles raised against any threat like his Bulldog namesake. He had stood firm, unwavering, powerful. He had fought for their survival when the manager had considered selling him and Stuart off to keep costs low in the early 1930s, when the Great Depression had rocked everything.

The manager had spent days arguing it over with Duke, and in the end they had lost the nicest of the coaches, but Stuart and Falcon had remained.

Granpuff had always done his level-headed best to protect them, even going so far as to pile extra work onto himself in the last few years, intentionally worsening his health to ensure his youngsters stayed in good condition, just in case a buyer was found to save them.

Duke's gambit had worked, at the cost of draining away any chance of his being bought.

Sir Handel's reminiscing was broken by another train passing by on the big railway. That was another thing that was different. At almost all hours of the day, a big engine grunted past with a big train. Sir Handel had met Gordon - had bested Gordon before the bigger engine could get a word in edgeways, ensuring that their future interactions would be on his terms. But there were several others, all hulking giants with trains longer than the horizon. Many of them did not even stop to talk to the Skarloey Railway engines, instead whistling loudly until their signals turned green and they could continued onwards.

Sir Handel missed the peace and tranquility of his home - his real home. At the very least, the Aluminium Works had been silent after the day's work was done. Here, there was no respite.

Sir Handel missed his home.

Reminiscing did little to assuage the pain and loss. There was nothing that could fix the feeling that was boiling deep in Sir Handel's boiler.

He hated how different everything felt. He hated how little he could trust the world, how little protection he had against those who wished to smash him up, tear him apart. He needed to protect Peter Sam, who was too naive to protect himself, and he needed to hold firm until there was a time he could bring Granpuff back.

Sir Handel was not going to let this new railway take away his memories of his old home.

The NWR was Busier than Ever...

The Little Western was busier than ever as the summer holidays loomed closer. A new resort had been built near Haultraugh, and guests were flocking to it for its stunning views and easy access to the sandy beaches the little line was known for. Duck and Oliver just couldn't keep up with their usual trains, and Donald and Douglas were too busy with their own work to help with more passenger trains.

Sometimes, Thomas, Percy or Daisy went to help out - but they couldn't be away from the Ffarquhar branch for more than a couple days at a time. Something had to be done, and the Fat Controller knew just what to do.

"Good evening engines," Sir Stephen said, standing proudly in front of the sheds. His engines all gazed down at the greying man curiously. "Good evening, sir," they chorused. "What brings you here?"

The Fat Controller grinned, sitting down on an oil drum someone had left behind. Unlike his predecessors, Sir Stephen much preferred to sit down when talking to his engines, to be more on their level rather than some powerful authority looking down on them. His suit got dirty cause of it - no one thought to leave a camping chair or even a stool lying about the engine sheds where it wasn't needed, leaving the Fat Controller to rely on whatever was left lying around. Boxes, barrels, even an old, upturned wheelbarrow had fallen victim to Sir Stephen's desire to sit down when delivering news.

"It has come to my attention that you're all very busy." Sir Stephen began. "You can say that again!" snorted James. "We've been rushed off our wheels!" "Indeed - as such, I have spoken with some other heritage railway owners, and we've come to an agreement. A few engines in the heritage circuit are coming up on their boiler certificates, and in return for access to our works and engineers at a discounted price, they've agreed to let us use the engines for the summer season, so I can relieve you all of some of your work."

The announcement was met with great excitement!

"Wha's coming?" asked Donald. "An whit part o the railway will they be workin' on?" "I have gotten confirmation that Bahamas the Jubilee will be coming to help on the mainline, Repton the Schools class will be coming to help on Edward's branch, Robert the Austerity will be coming to help out on Thomas' branchline and one other special guest will be arriving soon to help on the Little Western. Bahamas will arrive first, and will be here on Tuesday."

There was a short pause. "Who's coming to the Little Western?" asked Duck eventually. The other engines had begun chatting excitedly about meeting faces new and old - but the Little Western engines were left wondering just who was coming to join them for the summer. "It's a surprise," grinned the Fat Controller, easing himself up again. His age was finally beginning to show, slowing the man who had for decades run the railway with his brightness and energy.

"Is it a good surprise or a bad surprise?" Duck tried, looking a little nervous. "Last time you said 'it is a surprise', it turned out to be that one insane Class 42 who babbled on about a magical purple industrial engine and destroyed the coal hopper in the yards."

Sir Stephen winced, remembering that particular incident. "I promise that engine is not returning," he said. "Have some faith, alright?"

Duck - being an old engine - did not have much faith at all. Donald and Douglas, being far older than Duck, just grinned. No matter what happened, it would be interesting!

Duck fretted all through the next couple days. He missed Bahamas' arrival on Tuesday, then Robert's arrival two days later. Percy was happy for the help at least.

"Oh, Rob's a dear," Percy hummed, sitting with Duck at the water column. "He actually cares about something that isn't his own paintwork! I tell you - sharing a shed with Thomas and Daisy, you'd think the sheen on your buffers was the only thing that mattered!" "That's nice, Percy," Duck replied, a little distracted. He was too busy thinking about who would be sent to help him. Maybe the surprise was Percy? The little green tank engine had been around the Big Station more and more often ever since Robert arrived.

"It is!" beamed Percy. "Rob's even started taking the milk when Daisy refuses to, which gives me some extra rest after my post run! He did get into a tiff with Mavis though - all three of us are ex-industrials, you see. And we all— Duck? Duck you are listening, aren't you?"

Duck blinked. "Er… yes, Percy. Rob's a right dear, and Thomas is complaining about Mavis again." Percy scowled. "That's not it at all!" "So Rob isn't a right dear?" Duck managed a smirk at that, knowing he was just pushing his friend's buttons. "Duck! I've been your friend for over sixty years now - I know you. You're just worried about who's coming to join you, because if they're not up to your standards, they'll just mess your whole system up. I get it! Still, it's no use worrying over things you can't change."

Duck snorted. "That doesn't change things," he huffed petulantly. Percy just laughed.

Duck's mood did not improve when Repton arrived the next day, only spotting the Southern Railway engine for a couple minutes before he was whisked away to Edward's branchline and Duck headed back up to Arlesburgh, rushed off his wheels with passenger trains.

With the amount of work that needed doing, Duck was just about ready to ask for anyone to help out - well, anyone but the insane Class 42. That engine would never be welcome back to the Little Western, or indeed any part of Sodor.

Even if Ms Britt Allcroft had fashioned a character out of them.

That evening, Duck spotted Sir Stephen as the Fat Controller left his office, and decided to inquire about the engine coming to help out. "Sir! Sir!" "Good evening, Duck. It's a lovely night, isn't it?" "It is for some," Duck muttered. Sir Stephen frowned, and sat atop a porter's trolley. The porter blinked, raised his hand to say something, then sighed and went to find another trolley.

"What's the matter, Duck?" asked Sir Stephen. "It's just how busy we've been," Duck replied. "Donald, Douglas, Oliver and I aren't afraid of hard work - no not at all, we always enjoy the challenge… but, well, sir…" "You can't work miracles," Sir Stephen finished kindly. Duck blushed. "Well… no, sir."

Sir Stephen smiled kindly, and stretched, nearly knocking a suitcase over beside him. "It's alright Duck, I understand completely. You will be very pleased to know that the engine assigned to help you out will be arriving tomorrow." "Oh, that is a great relief sir!" beamed Duck. Sir Stephen chuckled. "I can imagine it is - now you can stop worrying about who they are."

Duck blinked. "I - sir, how did you know?" Sir Stephen laughed, and stood up. The porter, who had just found another trolley, suppressed a scream and went to put the new trolley away. "I've been your controller for long enough to know your real feelings on surprises," he said with a grin. "Have a good night, Duck." With that, Sir Stephen tipped his hat and strode away.

Duck headed back to the sheds feeling much better about things, even if the identity of the surprise engine was still a mystery to him.

Duck slept the best he had in weeks, and woke up feeling quite a bit more refreshed. He steamed well, and collected his coaches smoothly. The Fat Controller had reshuffled the timetable to accommodate the extra engine, giving all the engines on the Little Western some more time between trains.

"Whoever this visiting engine is," mused Oliver, "he's got to be a right firecracker - to keep up such timings!" Duck raised an eyebrow, and checked over the new schedule again. "It's not impossible - those're London timings, sure, but not difficult—"

Realisation struck Duck right as the signal dropped, and from far away an engine whistled. A gleam of yellow shone through the tunnel. "It's Stepney!" he exclaimed, right as Stepeny proudly steamed out into the Big Yards, crossing under the signal gantry and into the platform next to the two Little Western engines.

"Hullo Duck!" Stepney greeted excitedly, face flushed from his fast run. "It's been too long!" Duck was gobsmacked! "Stepeny! You're our surprise?" "More your surprise, Duck! I've been at your works, getting a full overhaul. I feel better than I have in years!" "I'm so excited to see you!" beamed Duck. "I have so much to tell you - and you probably do too, and that explains why Sir Stephen kept you a secret - that was so mean of him! But you're really here! I didn't think you were able to."

Stepney laughed heartily, while Oliver just looked amazed. "I've never heard you say so much at once!" the Little Western engine joked. Duck frowned. "I am not rambling! I'm just a little surprised - Sir Stephen should've told me, then I'd be more prepared - look at my paint! It's so shoddy, I'd have asked for a new coat if I'd've known. I'm so sorry, Stepney! Here we are, having a reunion, and I've forgotten to do the Great Western thing! Let me introduce you to Oliver." "It's a pleasure to meet you, Oliver," Stepney said with a chuckle. "I've heard a bit about you." "All grand, I hope." "And all of it true, too," murmured Duck with a grin. Oliver rolled his eyes, but kept smiling.

Stepney was quick to get to work. The mechanics at Crovan's Gate had done a splendid job repairing him, and he proved it!

"I feel lighter than I have in years!" Stepney exclaimed at he sped along, hauling passengers and light freight trains along the Little Western. Percy was ecstatic to see Stepney too, and the three of them, Duck, Percy and Stepney, wasted many hours away in the sheds catching up.

Gordon ended up kicking them out after the fourth night!

"I'm overjoyed to be back," Stepney admitted the evening before he left, summer finally over. "I've been just sitting around back home - they've not really had the funds to repair me, what with the newbuild, so it's great to be back to work. It's what an engine loves." Duck couldn't agree more! "Still," Stepney went on, "it'll be hard to go home again. You Sodor engines are so lucky - your railway is popular, and you have both passengers and trucks to keep you busy! Even if the summer rush has my wheels aching, it's so satisfying knowing I'm doing real, proper work."

Duck sighed, feeling very bad for his old friend. Sometimes, Stepney would tell stories from the 1870s and 1880s, long before even Edward had been built. They were stories from London, and painted a very different portrait of the city to what Duck remembered from his youth at Paddington. Stepney loved to work, and Duck wondered if there was a way to help out.

An idea floated through his funnel, and Duck grinned softly to himself. Yes, he'd have to speak to the Fat Controller, but it could work.

The next summer, Stepney was back. And the next, and the next. Stepney always had the season to look forward to, being able to go up to the Island of Sodor to enjoy a summer with his friend Duck.

And Duck didn't have to think about a huge reunion with Stepney, as Stepney was around often enough to be practically thought of as a Sodor engine!

Endlessly

A Reminder...

And even today, one has to wonder if Rebecca will ever feel the sun again?

Rebecca sat atop her plinth, peering out the door that led to the outside world. It was made of glass, so it wasn't impossible - but the plinth was just a little too high up, meaning Rebecca could only really look down at the little ground in front of the door was visible from her position. She could only see slate grey concrete.

It hurt to look at.

Sometimes, when it was raining, Rebecca got to see the droplets soak the concrete until it became a different shade of grey. Even more exciting were the days when it rained really hard, and the rain splashed up and onto the glass. Then the concrete went a little fuzzy thanks to the rain, and Rebecca could pretend she was looking down at ballast.

But she wasn't, and she got the sinking feeling she never would again.

The room she lived in - the great, cavernous hall - was little better. The floor was shiny white tile, the kind which blinded Rebecca if she stared at it too long. There were no windows, but rather murals painted on the walls in sickly bright colours, kept touched up by dedicated painters in white overalls. The one Rebecca could see were of teddy bears and playing blocks and little marionettes marching along the wall - but she knew there were more behind her. She knew her tender held its own mural in the form of the company's logo.

The murals were better to look at than the floor or out the door, but they made her eyes ache after a while, and grew horridly boring to stare at for hours on end.

Then there were the sickly white lights that illuminated the whole room. They came from bright lightbulbs hidden in special cases, and cast harsh, artificial light over everything. Rebecca hated them the most, for their poor imitations of the sun. These lights did not warm her metal or comfort her. They only shone a light on how cold and alone she was.

Rebecca kept her eyes closed most of the time now, pretending to sleep.

Sometimes, schools did tours to the factory. Rebecca had to be awake for those, and she had to be smiling, kind, yielding to the children. They crowded into the hall in their school uniforms, a sea of monochrome colours - but still colour against a white floor.

"And this is our mascot, Rebecca. Say hi Rebecca!" chirped the tour guide, a young blonde woman with an accent that grated on Rebecca's nerves for how unrelentingly cheerful it was. Rebecca now realised the irony in that, having been much the same once upon a time.

Not anymore though.

"Hi everyone!" Rebecca replied, forcing herself to sound more present than she was. "How is everybody?" "Good!" cheered the kids. They were one of the younger groups Rebecca had seen, happy to reply and take part in activities and talk to Rebecca than the older grades. Normally, when Rebecca asked how people were, she got half-mumbled grunts of a reply.

Rebecca had lost the will to try and pep those children up when they acted all closed off and unhappy with touring a toy factory.

Young kids, however, loved to chatter. Their voices rang in Rebecca's smokebox, making her bite her lip to keep from wincing.

"Rebecca loves to see you all!" the tour guide went on, acting as though Rebecca had no voice of her own. "Rebecca works very hard here at S. J. Edwards' toy factory, greeting all our guests and quality-checking all our toys before they leave."

That was a lie. Rebecca barely had the energy to smile when people arrived, let alone the bogus idea that the toys left through the front of the factory as opposed to via a lorry round the back.

Rebecca did not correct the tour guide. There was no reason to.

The tour guide left, taking the young children with her. Rebecca closed her eyes, and felt the rails beneath her. They were bolted to the concrete of the plinth beneath her, rather than connected to sleepers like they ought to have been.

Everything about living on this plinth was unnatural.

Rebecca hated it. She'd have rather the scrapper's torch. But she would never get that. It had been… some period of time. She wasn't quite sure how long. Years? Decades? Maybe. The uniforms the children wore had not evolved, though their backpacks sure had. The workers too looked different, no longer wearing overalls or suits, but rather more casual clothing with jeans.

According to one chatty receptionist who had been and gone far too quickly for Rebecca's liking, the factory Rebecca lived in didn't produce many toys anymore, instead being the company's 'financial and technological hub'. Rebecca didn't understand what that meant, and she didn't really want to.

Rebecca did know they still made some toys in the factory behind her, because otherwise there would be no tours.

Rebecca needed those tours to stay sane. They kept the days from blurring together into one endless blob, causing her mind to slowly decay into nothing.

One of the 'business analysts' who worked in the factory told Rebecca that Mallard and some of the engines plinthed in museums had lost their minds, checking out from reality due to the monotony of their lives.

Rebecca feared the idea of that happening to her.

Still, the days dragged on.

Endlessly.

Edward; 1916

The Island of Sodor really was quite pretty, in Edward's humble opinion. It was similar to Cumbria - in geography, in mineral deposits, in the lakes that took Edward's breath away no matter how many times he saw them - but it was also startlingly different.

Perhaps the biggest difference was in the temperament. Sudrians were stubborn. They dug their heels in when up against adversity and kept driving forward. The new NWR mainline was proof of that - Edward had only arrived the year before, when there was not even a route from the port at Norramby to the Industrial cities of Cronk and Killdane. Now, however, the rail line stretched from Norramby all the way to Tidmouth, with work being done to carve a tunnel through the hills around Ballahoo to reach Vicarstown.

In only a year, the island's people had simply stood up, picked up their tools, and gotten to work. The route was not finished - far from it, considering the ramshackle corrugated iron sheds cosplaying as stations at every new station - and the line had yet to be double-tracked anywhere - but now it was possible for Edward to make his way across the island.

Unfortunately, that also means Edward is no longer being used for very light passenger services and track work.

"I'm not fond of it," sighed Edward softly, his wheels clattering as he crossed over the points. Tidmouth harbour was leagues bigger than its Norramby rival, nature giving the burgeoning town far more advantages than either Suddery, Norramby or even Barrow can lay claim to.

It's in a cove, for one thing. For another, there were large naval batteries that had been installed on either side of the cove, guarding the entry to the harbour like a twin pair of sentries packing enough firepower to sink the grandest of battleships.

Edward did not like gazing up at them, it reminded him of how drastically the world had changed in the last three years, from the moment that idiotic Archduke had died right through to now, when men were sent to France to spend their months in the mud.

Edward had met a returnee before he'd been shipped to Sodor; the man was missing a leg and had a haunted look in his eyes.

The former Furness engine slowed to a halt on the quayside, whistling as cheerfully as he could force himself to. The steamship returned the whistle with a mournful wail of her own, her eyes looking far more haunted than anything Edward had ever seen before.

"Bonjour," the ship said softly, gazing down at Edward. "How many?" "Morning," Edward replied, equally softly. "About two-fifty. They're part of the new Killdane regiment." "Ah, I see," murmured the ship. "So your Island is creating more than one regiment?" "I had to bring the Vicarstown Regiment and the South Sodor Regiment in the other day," Edward sighed, gazing out beyond the ship to the bay. The great artillery guns were aimed and shifted every so often, the Drill Sergeant up in the hills forcing his men to move them back and forth despite there being absolutely no German boats in the area.

"How many regiments then?" "Six, being organised into the Sodor battalion," Edward said. The ship had no name painted on her sides, instead a large patch of dark brown paint had been slathered over it, an obvious rush job and not a great one. "I see."

Behind the pair, several of the loaned engines shunted about, pushing trainloads of supplies about ready to be shipped off. A good deal of food and machinery was being loaded onto the ship beside Edward further down the dock, the big cranes swinging crates up and into the ship's hold.

"Where're you heading?" Edward eventually asked. "Le Harve, and then from there I'm heading towards Italy." "Italy?" quizzed Edward, looking very confused. "Why Italy?" "They're struggling. Everyone is struggling. I will deliver to Italy, then head to North Africa and then somewhere else, I imagine. Such is life, non?"

Edward hummed softly. "I suppose it is, isn't it? I don't get to go quite as far as you, but I certainly don't get my rest."

The last man boarded, the cranes pulled their hooks from the steam ship.

"Ah, it seems it is time for my departure," murmured the ship. "Good luck with your work." "Thank you," replied Edward softly. "Take care of them, will you?"

The ship smiled, the first smile she had shown Edward that day. "Of course, I wouldn't dream of anything else. Adieu, little engine." "Farewell."

Edward waited until the ship was in the throat of the harbour before whistling loudly. Several of the soldiers, standing on the stern, waved back vigorously.

Edward sighed, and whistled one last time before slinking off back to work. As much as his job never allowed for breaks, he really wished this one did. He knew that for at least some of those men, this truly would be farewell, to Edward, to Sodor, to their youths and lives.

Edward just wished he had had more time.

Sodor 1935; An Unwelcome Visitor

There was a visiting engine at Vicarstown. She stood on the points, staring out down the North Western Railway mainline. "What a sad little railway," sneered the engine. Gordon, who was waiting to take his return express but had been halted by a faulty signal, looked over with a glare. "I beg your pardon?" the big blue engine snapped. "I said," repeated the visiting engine haughtily, "that this is a sad little railway. Look at it - dilapidated sheds, rusting rails - what is the point of it." "This isn't the terminus," sniffed Gordon crossly. The visiting engine just rolled her eyes.

Gordon looked a little closer. The engine had a large, impressive nameplate on her middle driving wheel splasher - and the name stenciled onto it made Gordon wince.

"Princess Louise, I take it?" he said. "Yes, I am," came the snooty reply. "Princess Louise of the London, Midland and Scottish Railway, first of the name, honoured to hold the title gifted unto me by the great Princess Louise herself—" "How'd you end up here?" Gordon interrupted. "You're too fat for the line from Carnforth." Princess Louise nearly burst a safety valve! "I BEG YOUR PARDON!" she screeched, steam hissing everywhere. "I'll have you know I got diverted - it was the signalman's fault. Normally, I know my way by instinct."

Gordon tried not to snort, remembering saying that himself a decade prior.

"Well," Gordon hummed. "Instinct ought to get you back to the LMS, oughtn't it?" He smirked as the young express engine huffed and puffed, very flustered. "I am the most modern express engine in Britain, how dare you speak to me in such a way!" "Easily - I am the finest express engine in Britain, if not the world. I am Gresley's prototype!" "Oh, I've heard of you," sneered Princess Louise. "The engine Gresley rejected to a sleepy little island. I bet you are bored out of your mind. Nothing challenging at all on this island - we have the Shap and Beattock Summits on our line."

She looked over at Gordon with a smirk. "Those are the two highest railway points in England and Wales, you know. Your silly little faux-mainline could not compete."

Just then, the stationmaster walked over, holding a note in his hand. "Gordon, leave your coaches please. The Board of Directors has gotten stuck in Leeds due to a rail accident, and they want you to go rescue them. Princess Louise, the LMS has graciously allowed us to borrow you to finish the express run. You'll take the evening express out, and meet Gordon at Barrow."

Princess Louise grinned. "I'll see you tonight then," she said to Gordon. "I just know that this little railway and its silly little express will give me no trouble at all." Gordon just snorted, and uncoupled from his train.

Princess Louise had a fast run to The Works Station, meeting a clanking old narrow gauge engine called Rheneas with his little train, and finding it thoroughly underwhelming. "I'm a guaranteed connection for you?" she snorted, staring at the little red engine. "No wonder this island is so sad, you look like you belong in a cutter's yard, not leaking steam all over the platform."

The passengers were horrified, and the coaches were furious. All engines and rollingstock had a great respect for Rheneas, who worked very hard to keep his railway running. The coaches began to form a plan.

From the Works Station to Maron, the line climbs continuously. It is one of the longest continual climbs on any railway in Britain, lasting over twenty miles. Gordon was used to this, and always built up steam at the Works Station while waiting for Rheneas. Princess Louise did no such thing.

The coaches dragged over the long, long climb. Princess Louise, to her own horror, found herself beginning to pant! "I am the finest of the LMS!" she exclaimed furiously, thundering along. "I will not be defeated by some piddly little railway in the middle of nowhere!" She huffed and puffed, and made it to the top of Gordon's Hill.

"I've done it!" cheered Princess Louise, feeling the line even out. She barely took notice of the grade as she rushed down through Edward's Station, whistling fit to burst. She saw an ancient Furness K2 out of the corner of her eye, but ignored the old engine as she sped all the way to the Big Station.

There was a blue tank engine waiting impatiently. When Princess Louise thundered in, he took one look at the clock and glared. "You're late," he snapped. "Twenty minutes behind! What would my passengers say?" He shunted back crossly, and grabbed his special coach off the end of the express. "You've made me late, and you've ruined Percy's schedule too. Gordon wouldn't do this." And with that, he coupled the special coach to his coaches and steamed furiously back around to wait for the guard's whistle.

Princess Louise was speechless!

"I— I—" "I haven't time for you," sniffed the blue tank engine, as the guard blew his whistle. "I am a proper engine, who likes to keep to his schedule." And he steamed away importantly.

Princess Louise watched him leave, then uncoupled from the coaches and ran round to the sheds, finding a coal loader and a water tower. She watched, intrigued, as a little green engine came and collected the coach before moving them away. He worked very hard, this little green station pilot, until finally he made his way over.

"You, what is your name, little one?" quizzed Princess Louise. "Oh, hullo! You're not Gordon," grinned the green engine. "I'm Percy, who're you?" "I am Princess Louise of the LMS," replied Princess Louise grandly.

To her surprise, Percy began to laugh.

"Oh, that's a good one! A princess! Where's your tiara, oh Princess? It's ok, you can tell me your real name, I know the big railways over on the Mainland love pretentious names - but you're quite alright here." "No, I am Princess Louise - that is my name. It was given to me by the LMS to honour a real princess." "So you're not a princess." "I am! I am a member of the Princess Royal class!" "And I'm named after the Dukes of Northumberland," joked Percy. "Doesn't mean anything though, does it?"

Princess Louise was outraged!

"Impudent lump!" she snapped crossly. "I am a glorious express engine, and you are a shunting whelp. If we were on my railway—" "But we're not, and I'm not an LMS sadsack like you—" "SADSACK?!" "Shame I can't talk any longer," Percy went on, interrupting Princess Louise again, "but I have real work to do, not like you slow express engines. Twenty minutes late, was it? Gordon's never been twenty minutes late." And with that, Percy steamed away laughing.

Princess Louise decided to sleep the afternoon away, hoping that when she woke, she would be able to prove her point and get off the silly little island.

Engines came and went; Princess Louise heard an engine called 'Edward' chat to an engine called 'James' about their trains, as well as engine named 'Henry' rumble through with a heavy freight train. Several freight engines from the LMS came and went as well, bringing freight to Tidmouth harbour.

She was altogether extremely underwhelmed. "Apart from Gordon, this railway barely has engines suited to any of their jobs. It's a little pathetic," she said to her driver. "I cannot wait to be off this island." "Now, now," soothed her driver. "We just have to take the 6:25 express back, and we won't have to be here any longer."

That made Princess Louise feel better.

Night slowly fell. Princess Louise rumbled over to the station, prepped and ready for her fast run back. The old K2 was in the next platform over, his own coaches waiting behind him. "Oh, one of you survived," sniffed Princess Louise. "I heard from my predecessors that all your kind had been snuffed out." "Hello, I'm Edward," came the overly cheerful reply. "That's normally how you begin a conversation, anyway." "I'm not here to converse with a relic, I'm here to prove my superiority in comparison to that great blue sausage you call an express engine." She sneered down at Edward. "You belong in a museum, no, worse - a scrapyard."

The coaches were horrified! Edward just sighed.

"You're not exactly a charmer, are you?" he mused, still beaming. "It's alright, you'll learn. All engines do eventually." "I am a Princess Royal! There is no learning, there is doing, there is my superiority. I am of a line of the greatest express engines in Britain!"

Edward just chuckled softly. "You sound like Gordon did, when he first arrived. I'll let you in on a secret, Ms Princess Royal - technology evolves. We are never at the top for too long, as our designers work to to make engines faster and stronger. You just wait." "You're senile!" snapped Princess Louise furiously. "Lunatic! Completely lost to your age! Begone, and take your stupid rambling with you." At that moment, the guard blew his whistle and Princess Louise started with a will, as if excited to get off the island.

Now, the evening express is always the heaviest. More often than not, it carries mail vans, as well as a dedicated buffet carriage and extra luggage wagons not offered on the morning or midday trains. To make things even more difficult, on this night in particular, the train had three vans full of money being moved to London in the run up to the upcoming Bank Holiday. It made for a very long and heavy express. Princess Louise didn't mind at first - the line was clear, and she was able to really open her regulator, thundering along at a right speed.

"I'll show them, I'll show them!" she exclaimed. "Fastest and best in the country, that's who I am!" She burnt through her steam as fast as her boiler could produce it, saving absolutely none for what lay ahead.

Princess Louise and her crew had forgotten all about Gordon's Hill.

They clattered through Edward's Station at a right rate, and then the line began to climb. The coaches, who had heard Princess Louise insult not only Rheneas, but Edward and every other engine on their railway too, had had enough. Their chance for revenge had come. "Now!" they cried, and all began to hold back. "Hold back! Hold back!" they chanted in unison. Princess Louise had not been saving up steam for the steep climb. She tried and tried to pump her pistons and force her way up the grade, but it didn't work. She slipped, her wheels spun, and she ran right out of steam, halfway up the climb.

"I… I… what is this hill?" she spluttered, glaring at the rails. "And you lot! How dare you hold the express back so!" "We," snapped one coach, "won't have you desecrate our friends." "Desecrate?!" "You deserve this," agreed another coach. "We won't let you move!" The coaches stood firm. Passengers began to lean out of their windows, wondering what was going on. The guard came jogging up. "What's the hold up?" he asked. "Isn't your fancy Midland engine supposed to be good at hills?" The driver and fireman went red in the face. Princess Louise seethed silently.

James and Edward both had to be brought to coax the coaches into releasing their brakes and starting the train anew - and both of them had to pull the train, as Princess Louise was so sulky that she just wouldn't raise any more steam. All she did was leak steam everywhere.

When they reached Crovan's Gate, Rheneas laughed until his siderods ached!

"No wonder the Mainland is so sad!" he joked. "When it's engines are always late and leaking steam all over the place!" Princess Louise was outraged.

And when Gordon saw them arrive, he could only watch. There was James, leading Princess Louise into the platform, with Edward banking behind. "One express!" chortled James. "And not too late either considering!" "Well," hummed Gordon, "it looks like Sodor's mainline defeated the very best of the LMS."

Princess Louise left the island with a lot to think about.