"I never knew I'd find an angel..."

+The regular drrawwiing

At first, he had dismissed the noise as nothing more than a gaggle of human teenagers being loud for the sake of being loud, until eventually he realised that he recognised the voice.

“Isn’t that Duncan?” He asked of Rheneas - the only other occupant of the shed that morning. “He was out on delivery last night, was he not? Surely he doesn't have the energy to make such a racket.”

Rheneas tilted his head towards the sound, pushing his decorative glasses up his nose with a flick of his hand. He hadn’t quite reached temperature yet and his voice and mannerisms were rather sluggish as a result. “It certainly sounds like him,” he quietly confirmed Duke’s suspicions, “actually, I don’t think he’s alone. Listen - I can hear Rusty too, bless them. They were out last night as well, they must be trying to talk some sense into him.” “Can it really be called ‘talking sense’ if all they are doing is achieving the opposite?” Duke asked shrewdly.

Rheneas raised a printed eyebrow and tried to hold back a laugh. Tried. “I’m sure they aren’t deliberately riling him up. It’s hit and miss with Duncan I’m afraid,” he said, “sometimes all it takes are a few words to quell his temper, other times one has no choice but to just let him run out of steam - quite literally.”

“For the sake of our ears, I hope that happens soon.” Duke grumbled. Much to the Small England’s chagrin, the noise would only increase; growing louder and louder until the two culprits burst into the shed in a flurry of steam, effectively ruining any and all hope Duke had of losing himself in the morning paper. Duncan was in a state; working all night had clearly left him low on coal and water and it showed. With each ‘huff’ of steam, the hoarser his voice became, but unfortunately it did nothing to deter him. “I don’t get how you’re not going spare over this!” He exclaimed to a beleaguered Rusty, though it was less of an exclamation and more of a wheeze. “He’s a demon, lad! Why else would he have been skulking around on his own for all those years? He’s clearly no good at all. Now Percival says he’s coming here? I’m havin’ no part of that, none!” Rusty sent an apologetic look across to the shed’s other occupants, but a scandalised Duke was having none of it. “Now really,” he said sternly to Duncan, rustling his newspaper crossly, “that’s quite enough of this cacophony, youngster! It’s first thing in the morning; this is not the time to be shouting - implying that there is a time for such a thing. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate it if you could moderate your volume, poor Rheneas isn’t even in steam yet.” “Oh, believe me, I don’t mind at all; this is nothing new.” Rheneas chuckled kindly. Duke ignored him. “Rusty, you’re a sensible engine; what is the meaning of this disturbance and why do you insist on partaking in it?” He asked the diesel. Rusty promptly opened their mouth to answer, but Duncan steamrolled right over them. “Never mind him bein’ in steam, none of us will ever steam again if that spectre is allowed to take shelter here! He’ll curse us all!” He cried, though his passionate display ended in a rather wispy sounding cough. “So now he’s a spectre?” Rusty finally piped up, seizing the chance to speak while Duncan sagged where he stood, fighting to catch what little breath he had left. “Is he a demon or a spectre? Those are very different things, Duncan.” “Ach! You know what I mean!” Duncan growled hoarsely, waving a sooty hand through the hazy steam that was leaking from him. “I don’t want him bringin’ all his - his - his ghostly rubbish onto the estate, Rusty! One spirit is more than enough, we don’t need another!” At this point, Rheneas had finally found his voice; the coal at his core was now sizzling merrily and with it came his usual hearty, gallant charm. “Well now, you’ve certainly piqued my interest, you two.” He said curiously. “Although, I think Duke would be a tad more understanding were he fully informed of the situation. Who is this phantom who has earned your ire, Duncan?” The irate e-class wheeled around, clearly ready to spill his proverbial guts, but as he began to speak, his body juddered unpleasantly in protest. With a feeble ‘wheesh’ of steam, he slumped over again, managing only a jumbled stream of words that only barely resembled a sentence. “He - he - n - To - by - a - aa.”

“Duncan, you’re running on fumes, give it a rest, won’t you?” Rusty implored, pushing the worn out steam engine towards the nearest berth. “Sit down and top yourself up, I’ll tell them what happened.” Duncan may not have had the steam to fire back, but he certainly had enough to grumble and he did just that as he was guided into a berth. Duke watched the whole affair with a scowl, such behaviour certainly would not have been accepted on his old line. The saddle-tank felt the corner of his mouth twitch, he hadn’t allowed his thoughts to turn to Mid Sodor for quite some time, he found that oftentimes it wasn’t worth it. Reminiscing about the past was a pleasant experience, but Duke had found that too much of a good thing could be dangerous. Mid Sodor always brought with it a painful sensation that tugged at the corner of his mind, like a coupling hook that had somehow found itself embedded there. Though it was more of an annoyance than anything, it would always leave him with the horrible feeling that he had misplaced something. Something ever so important.

Beside him, Rheneas had finally pulled himself up from his berth and raised his arms above his head in a colossal stretch, filling the shed with steam and a tuneful clicking of metal on metal. Through the steam, he created a silhouette that caught Duke’s attention. The old engine’s eyes flickered over to his colleague and his mouth slowly began to twist into a wonky, confused line.

Funny. He could feel the strangest pang of Déjà vu. 

Why did this keep happening and why only when he looked at Rheneas of all engines?

Before Duke could linger on the feeling for too long, Rusty soon moved back into his line of sight, having finally succeeded in quietening their feisty companion. The little diesel looked utterly exhausted, yet they still endeavoured to provide the long-awaited context. “Right,” they began, “I don’t know all the details, but a few nights ago, Toby and some railway staff were on watch at the mines - you know, the ones at Arlesdale that were slated for preservation?” Duke only dimly heard Rheneas respond enthusiastically to the news, his mind had almost immediately begun to wander, his thoughts turning any and all outside noise into a dull rumble. Mines. At Arlesdale they had said? As far as Duke knew, no such mines existed, unless…

“The mines between Arlesdale and Mid Sodor?” He blurted out, stopping Rusty and Rheneas’ conversation abruptly. The old engine may have just been seeing things, but he could’ve sworn his colleagues exchanged a quick glance with one another. “Oh - yes, the ones between,” Rusty corrected themselves, “Sir Topham Hatt was made aware of them very recently, quite by accident! They’re being restored as part of the tourism effort.” They gave Duke a kind, yet puzzled look. “Is something the matter, Duke?” Duke didn’t respond right away, his mind was resolutely elsewhere, suddenly swamped with an unprompted, suffocating dread. “Duke?” Rheneas soon chimed in, “is everything alright?” “I, ah…” Duke cleared his throat loudly, shaking off that terrible smog that had descended upon him.

“I don’t know,” he said, before a correction quickly sprung forth to trample that moment of honesty, “I mean - yes, everything is just fine, my sincerest apologies. It seems that I am not quite up to steam myself.”

To his chagrin, the mood of the shed did not immediately return to normal; rather, both Rusty and Rheneas continued to look at him curiously, identical furrows had formed in their brows. Duke shifted uncomfortably, he didn’t like this one bit, Stuart and Falcon had made a habit of looking at him like that. He glowered at the two of them. “Well? These old mines, what role do they play in this blasted story, Rusty? Out with it.” “I - um.” Rusty began, clearly taken aback by Duke’s sudden demand. “Right, yes, sorry. Old mines, being restored, but the most peculiar discovery wasn’t even that, the crew found an engine there!” Rheneas’ face immediately lit up a stark contrast to Duke’s stony, surly expression. “No - operational?” He asked, clearly delighted.

“Not just operational, he’s alert; coherent; sane. They were astounded at how well he runs given there was no one there maintaining him.” “He isn’t right.” A voice suddenly came from one of the berths, a faint and wheezy sound. The three engines turned their heads towards the noise, Duncan had leaned forward to rejoin the conversation, his face was rigid, as if someone had carved him out of marble.

“Cannae believe none of you think this is strange,” he grunted, “this old engine all on his own for years, no number, no name, no…” “Duncan, for heaven’s sake, he has a name!” Rusty exclaimed, turning their eyes to the ceiling. “If you had given me a chance to speak, I would’ve told you earlier. Why oh why do you never listen to me?” As Duncan lapsed into his usual, reproachful grumbling, Duke felt that dread spike once again in his boiler. It was astounding how real it felt; it was as though someone had taken a cutting torch to him, sending its searing heat deeper and deeper into the metal of his body. Though it threatened yet again to overwhelm him, the old engine forced himself to form words, a question. “What is his name?”

-

“‘Bertram the Old Warrior,’ hm?” Skarloey trilled, letting off a happy wheesh of steam. “What a name. Do you think we’ll have to address him like that all the time?” “Of course we won’t, where do you get ideas like this?” Rheneas asked, amused. “I’m just saying, if I had such a title, I’d want to hear it as much as possible, wouldn’t you?” The brothers’ chatter was mere background noise to Duke, the noise inside his smokebox that evening was more than enough to drown them out. His thoughts had been nothing short of a disaster since hearing the news of Bertram’s discovery that morning, jumbled and scrambled, refusing to be organised into their usual neat little boxes. He was adamant that he had never heard such a name or title before, yet something about the idea of an engine skulking around an abandoned mine by his lonesome had stirred something within him. A terrible, hollow feeling that he could not put a name to. Normally, talking with Stuart and Falcon would’ve settled him, but Stuart hadn’t spoken to him properly since the incident with the steam enthusiasts. Tonight had proven to be no different, as when the green saddle tank had returned to the shed, he had sidled right past Duke with nothing but a sullen mutter of; “‘scuse me please, Granpuff.”

Duke heaved a long and loud sigh that filled the air with steam, however he was spared the agony of being left alone with Stuart as Falcon soon arrived to fulfil his usual role as mediator. “Tired, Granpuff?” He asked the old engine gruffly. “Can’t say I blame you, it’s hot out there. Exciting news about this new engine though, hey? Didn’t think there was anyone left by our old line.” “Mmn.” Duke replied nonchalantly, sparing a glance over his armoured shoulder at Stuart; the little engine had taken up residence in his berth and was refusing to look at either of them. “Still angry with me, is he?” “Angry with y - oh, who, Peter?” Falcon followed his mentor’s gaze. “I think he’s coming to terms with it all. You know what he’s like, he doesn’t let go of stuff easily; the whole Smudger story really rattled him and me, if I’m honest.” “Acceptance is the only way to move forward in this particular situation.” Duke said haughtily, his words sharpening ever so slightly at the mention of Smudger. “As uncomfortable as it may be, there is nothing any of us can do about that wretched engine. It is childish to hold onto the past like this.” “Like I said, he’s getting there,” Falcon assured him, though Duke could tell by the look in his eyes that the blue saddle tank had little faith in his words, “anyway, we’d best give ourselves a top up. Percival says he’ll be meeting with the Warrior bloke soon, I don’t want to be wheezing at him.” “‘Warrior,’ indeed.” Duke snorted derisively, though he soon moved to follow Falcon’s advice. “What exactly has he done to earn himself such a title besides wandering around an old mine? He gave it to himself, I’m sure of it.” “You haven’t even met him, Granpuff,” Falcon sighed, opening up the grate set into his chest with a faint creak, “how could you know that?” “Hm. I couldn’t, I suppose,” Duke admitted reluctantly, “but I have to say, this whole situation has left a nasty smell in the air, Duncan was near-inconsolable when he first heard the news.”

Falcon gave a polite little titter, but said nothing more and eventually excused himself so he could check on the still sulking Stuart. As Duke refuelled, he watched the two out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t hear what they were saying due to the hustle and bustle in the shed, but Stuart’s face stayed resolutely stiff and horribly stubborn throughout. Really, Duke was at a loss as to when this nasty, mulish streak had come about in his protege, Stuart had an agreeable disposition and had always been the more level-headed of the two, the fact that a little disagreement between them had gone on for this long was utterly absurd.

Still, if Stuart didn’t want to talk to him, Duke wasn’t about to force it. You could lead an engine to a water tower, but you hadn’t a snowdrift’s chance in hell of making him drink.

How he wished he had been recovered from his shed sooner. Perhaps then none of this would have happened. “Look sharp, grandpa puffer.” A voice came to his left. Duke started, once again he had been so lost in his own mind that he had neglected to take notice of the things around him. 

Duncan stood a little way away from him, the feisty e-class still carried an air of anxiety about him. 

“Just heard a voice I didnae recognise on my way back.” He said under his breath. “Looks like the engine of the hour is here. You’re shit scared of him too, I can tell.” Duke immediately began to splutter.

“I don’t appreciate the cursing, you have a sewer for a mouth,” he berated Duncan, “as for me being scared, I can assure you that’s utter nonsense. Why would I be scared of an engine I’ve never met? Be off with you.”

Duncan pulled a face.

“Sheesh. Who’s knotted your circuits?” He grunted to himself as he slunk into the shed. Duke could have fired back and he certainly intended to, but at that moment, the pencil-thin figure of the railway’s controller; Mr Percival came into view, chatting away animatedly to his companion. At his side, lumbering along the path towards the sheds, was the subject of the day’s unrest.

“Bless my boiler, he’s big for a narrow gauge build, isn’t he?” Skarloey spoke up, his comment clear as day owing to the shed falling deathly silent. “Perhaps he’s a hybrid, though he looks far too old to be one, didn’t they only come out in...”

“Button your trap, Skarloey, I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.” Duncan groaned. What followed was a bout of furious whispering, though thankfully it was quiet enough for Duke to overhear the conversation between Percival and the new arrival. “... more than happy to have you, if you’re looking for work!” The human was saying, his voice wavering ever so slightly, obviously Bertram’s size had unnerved him a tad. “Rusty is away for tonight so you will have a berth for tonight, but I can’t guarantee you an allocated space once they come back, I hope you ah, understand.”

Aside from his weathered livery and bulky appearance, Bertram’s face did not immediately put Duke in mind of a warrior. His eyes were deep set with hooded eyelids, a smudge of soot was smeared across his large nose and his mouth was organised in a pensive line; listening intently to the man as he rambled on.

Until he wasn’t. It had only taken a split-second, a half-hearted glance towards the engine sheds for Bertram’s attention to shift abruptly away from Percival and onto Duke.

Duke blinked furiously, completely thrown off guard by the way the engine was staring at him. Though the rest of Bertram was completely unremarkable, the same could not be said about his eyes. They burned with a fire jarringly unfamiliar to Duke, far from the element that gave him and his fellow engine movement, this fire contained a fury, a bitterness and a sickening discontent that the Small England could feel, even from feet away.

He straightened himself up a tad, unwilling to be stared down and returned the Warrior’s gaze calmly, though his mind was anything but. This was deeply confusing, what on earth had he done to earn such ire from this complete stranger?

“He doesn’t look happy, does he?”

To Duke’s great surprise, Stuart had moved to the front of the shed to get a better look.

“Have you met him before, Granpuff? He seems to recognise you.”

Duke shot the younger engine a contemptuous glance. “Speaking to me again, are you?” He asked, his voice clipped. “As for your question, I have never seen him before in my life. He looks ill tempered to me, I sincerely hope that once Rusty returns, this Old Warrior character will move on. He’s obviously accustomed to living by himself, why should that change now?” Stuart gave him a strange look, a defeated expression that piled the decades of Duke’s absence onto his face all at once. “You don’t get it, do you?” He asked sadly. “We all need to stick together, especially now.”

The older engine didn’t say anything else, he wasn’t interested in decoding his protege’s oddly cryptic statement. Instead, he let him retreat back into the engine shed without further comment and returned his gaze to the railway’s visitor.

Stick together. While that was a lovely sentiment, he wasn’t sure he could appreciate its value if this was who he was destined to be stuck with.

-

As the afternoon slowly turned into evening and then into a warm night, Sodor’s balmy summer heat simmered down with it and became a pleasant, cool breeze that blew mercifully into the engine sheds. Though he had clearly stated that he would return to the old mines in the morning, Bertram had taken up Percival’s offer of the empty berth. He had initially intended for his visit to only be a short one, or so he had said, but he had soon been roped into a conversation with the older engines and before long it looked as if he were settled in for the night.

Now he sat between Rheneas and Skarloey, never showing much emotion, yet keeping up an amicable and attentive conversation with the two. Though the Mid Sodor trio - particularly Duke - couldn’t help but notice those fiery eyes would consistently flicker over to where they sat, always stained with that bitter look.

Duke could tell that Stuart and Falcon were rather perturbed by his presence, but he himself was just annoyed. This stranger hadn’t even acknowledged him besides glowering at him and if there was one thing he just could not stand, it was disrespect.

“The bloke gives me the willies,” Falcon muttered, taking care to speak only when Skarloey’s characteristically loud laugh rang out, masking his words, “I hope he warms up to us soon, don’t know why he’s so keen to talk to them but not us.” “Maybe it’s all an act; he might just be shy,” Stuart suggested, “Granpuff is a pretty influential engine, perhaps he doesn’t know what to say.” “It’s childish if you ask me,” Duke replied, unlike his two proteges, his righteous annoyance demanded that he not keep his voice down, “he obviously has a problem with me and hasn’t the guts to just come out and say what it is.”

Across the shed, Bertram’s eyes were once again drawn to the trio, except this time his top lip had slowly begun to curl. Obviously he had overheard at least some of what Duke had said.

Stuart leaned back a little, keen to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. “I ah, I wouldn’t call it childish,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at Bertram, “they call him the ‘Old Warrior’ after all. He must’ve earned that title from somewhere.”

Duke let out a loud, rather obnoxious scoff. “‘Old Warrior’ indeed. How utterly trite.”

His words were enough to stop the conversation and turn heads in the shed, even Duncan - who had purposefully sequestered himself away in the deepest berth in the shed - poked his head out to inspect what was going on.

Skarloey and Rheneas looked a little put out, but Bertram was clearly deeply affronted.

“Poking fun at my name, huh?” He asked, finally addressing the trio’s corner of the shed. “Pretty rich, comin’ from an engine named after some human who no one remembers.”

Silence fell, the loudest silence anyone had ever heard.

Duke stood up abruptly with a cacophony of metallic groans and creaks, downright ignoring Stuart’s feeble pleas for him to sit back down. The old engine had sat through quite enough, disrespect was one thing, but disrespect towards his Grace would absolutely not be tolerated. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?” He demanded of the bigger engine. “‘Some human’? My Grace was a man respected and loved by all who knew him. Yet here you stand, comfortable enough to spout this sort of nonsense about him? It seems clear to me that you haven’t the foggiest idea who you’re talking to.”

Bertram regarded the older engine through narrowed eyes, though he hadn’t stood up himself, his hands gripped the edge of the berth he sat on, poised to push himself up if need be. “I could say the same about you, old timer.” He replied smoothly, an eyebrow cocked and the beginnings of a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Why - you insolent, rusted old…”

“Granpuff, stop, it’s not worth it,” Falcon had gotten to his feet now, doing his best to soothe his mentor’s frazzled nerves, “leave it alone.”

“Sir Handel’s right, sit down, please!” Stuart implored him, reaching up a hand towards Duke.

Bertram’s smirk grew and his armoured shoulders began to shake lightly with a dark chuckle, though not a hint of mirth could be heard. “Listen to your underlings, Granpuff, they clearly have your best interests at heart trying to hold you back from me. Though whether you would do the same for them is up for debate. You don’t exactly have the best track record, do you?”

Another, horrible silence fell, wherein the words ‘track record’ bounced about in Duke’s mind, growing louder and louder until he shook his head, firing back a furious retort.

“Who do you think you are, speaking as if you know anything about myself, or them?” The Small England demanded, utterly stunned. “I am unsure as to what I - no - what we have done to earn such vitriol from you, but I think it’s high time you just come out with it! Use your words, Old Warrior, if you can.” Bertram paused for a moment and his expression slowly began to soften into one of confusion. His eyes swivelled from Stuart, to Falcon and then finally they landed upon Duke, his thin mouth moved slowly, forming words that no one in the shed could hear; he appeared to be thinking, mulling the situation over in his head.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he spoke again, his gruff voice cutting through the uneasy silence like a razor through foam.

“Well, this has been pretty enlightening,” he said, getting to his feet and pulling himself up to his full, intimidating height, “seems that you aren’t quite as sharp as I thought. Doesn’t matter though, I guess my time here hasn’t been completely wasted.”

He turned to look down at the scandalised brothers, his brows pinching together, he genuinely seemed regretful when he next spoke. “Rheneas, Skarloey, it’s been real nice talking with you guys, but I think I ought to go. I’ve caused you all enough trouble; tell your controller I appreciate the offer of a berth for tonight, but home is where I should be.”

“So soon?” Skarloey lamented quietly, but Bertram didn’t reply, he had eyes only for the Mid Sodor trio and those eyes held no warmth whatsoever. “I am Bertram, the Old Warrior,” he said solemnly, each word directed straight at the irate Duke, “unlike some of the engines here, I know exactly who I am and I do not want to share this fine shed with a doddering old fool.” Duke opened his mouth furiously, but no sound came out, it appeared that this level of confrontation was just too much for his programming to deal with. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, flanked by Stuart and Falcon as Bertram walked purposefully towards the double doors and soon disappeared into the night.

Nobody spoke for a long time, even Skarloey and Rheneas hesitated to comment on the situation and instead gave each other grave looks. Eventually, Duncan’s voice rang out again. “Lads. I’ve changed my mind.”