Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Island of Sodor, from the map's perspective, was nothing special. Just a speck in the Irish Sea, overshadowed by its larger neighbor, the Isle of Man. Most thought little of it, and those that did were more interested in seeing family and friends than anything else. And yet, even they would be surprised when they learned the island's primary railway was woefully understaffed.

Not in flesh and blood workers, but mechanical ones. No one knew that better than Topham Hatt, known to the locals as "the Fat Controller". His top hat and tailcoat stood out from the coveralls and chambray shirts of the other passengers. Every so often, someone would whisper and gesture at him. The Fat Controller pulled his hat over his eyes. 

"Perhaps I should have worn more casual attire," he thought ruefully. It didn't help that the train from Sodor was late. The engines could hardly help it, he understood that. It didn't make the meetings with mainland personnel any less harrowing. At long last, a shrill whistle echoed around the station. James snorted his way in, hauling five coaches. His face was tinted red, though not necessarily from exhaustion.

"Why did I ever let myself get swindled by that good-for-nothing, lazy... Gah!" A creaking came from the engine's undercarriage as they stopped at the platform. The Fat Controller winced. He never got used to that sound. 

"Don't say that about Henry, James!" scolded a voice from behind the engine, "It's not nice!"

"Indeed!" added another, "It's not true either! You know Henry would-"

"Pah! What would you know?" James glanced over the waiting group of passengers. He stiffened when his eyes met the Fat Controller's. "I mean, uh. What a wonderful day it is! Isn't it so wonderful, Mr. Hatt?" The Fat Controller felt everyone gazing through the back of his head. He cleared his throat. 

"That will do, James." He clambered aboard a coach before any more was said. James heaved a sigh of relief and left the coaches to be turned around for the journey home.

By the time James came back, the coaches nearest to him were already buzzing with excitement. 

"Oh, Clarabel! It's really happening!"

"It is indeed, Annie! Finally!"

"What are you two blathering about?" James demanded as he backed down onto them. The coaches were too ecstatic to use proper discretion. 

"Didn't you see? The Fat Controller took a trip to the mainland!" 

"That's right, Annie! And you know what that means!" 

"...what does it mean?" asked James, bewildered. 

"We're getting a new engine!" the coaches cried in chorus. James' boiler fell a degree. He decided then and there that he wasn't going to listen to Annie and Clarabel anymore. 

The Fat Controller's journey home was thankfully uneventful. He disembarked at the railway's terminus, Tidmouth. Embedded in the station building, he had his own office where he looked over timetables, made phone calls and, more often than he'd admit, watch the engines go about their work through the window. They were mesmerizing, even if not all of them knew it.

He eyed the clock. He really ought to be having supper with his family by now. He eyed his desk. He really ought to have organized all these papers by now.

"Tomorrow," he muttered. He set his hat on the rack near the door and picked up another identical one that hung just below it. As he was about to leave, there was a hissing noise outside.

"Henry! Shh! You'll ruin everything!" 

"I-I can't help it! I must have a leaky cylinder!"

"I don't see the need for all this..." 

The Fat Controller sighed. He should have known the news would travel faster than him. He swung the door open. As he expected, all the engines were parked directly outside his office. All looked startled. 

James broke first. 

"Is it true?"

"What's true?" asked the Fat Controller innocently. James' frown deepened. 

"The new engine! Annie and Clarabel won't stop talking my smokebox off about it! I have to know!...Are they big?" 

The dam had burst as a slew of questions flooded out. 

"How fast are they?" asked Emily. 

"What's their name?" quizzed Edward.

"Do you know when they'll get here?" prodded Henry. 

"Do you regret it yet, Mr. Hatt?" The other engines gasped and looked at Gordon. Gordon failed to notice. "We have a perfectly good system as it is. A newcomer now would disrupt the order of things." 

"What he said," agreed James, halfheartedly. The Fat Controller let a smile cross his lips.

"No use hiding it, I suppose. Yes, I've brokered a deal; a new station pilot will arrive tomorrow morning." He was drowned out by a series of cheers and whistles. James promptly quieted down, following Gordon's silent lead. 

"A tank engine?" Gordon sputtered, "Oh, the indignity! It's even worse than I thought!"

Emily rolled her eyes. "What do you possibly have to complain about?" 

"Little Edward brings our trains very adequately. I see no reason to change everything." 

"I think it'd be nice to get out of the yard," piped up Edward, "I can help you more often, Henry." Henry smiled at that, but Gordon still sulked.

"Hmph! He doesn't need 'help.'" 

"Gordon!" snapped Emily. The Fat Controller turned on his heel and discreetly headed for his car. He'd hardly gone five paces before the station erupted into bickering. This was common. The sun already began its descent. No doubt it'd be dark by the time he got home. Stephen and Bridget would be bickering over who got the leftovers. 

The Fat Controller was about to drive off but thought better of it. He chuckled to himself and honked the horn. Almost immediately, the station fell into silence. He chuckled to himself as the car pulled out of the lot and onto the road. His home life and work life were hard to distinguish sometimes. He wouldn't have it any other way. 

Chapter Text

Gordon was right about one thing: Each engine played a role. Edward had recently been freed from the confines of the shed and was now used to working in the shunting yard. The yard was adjacent to the railway's terminus, Tidmouth, and consisted of siding upon siding. All were occupied by coaches and trucks at one time or another. It was the pilot's job to sort them out for the other engines. Edward was a diligent pilot, but he would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little restless.

As such, he was the most excited to greet the new engine. He idled near the front of the station, peering out into the distance. Emily drew alongside, squinting. 

"Haven't seen them, huh?"

"They'll be here soon," said Edward, though his voice betrayed anxiety. Emily noticed that he had his brakes on. 

"The Fat Controller never gave an exact time, you know. Maybe you should-" They almost didn't hear it, but amongst all the workers' chattering and hissing steam, it was undeniable. A faint whistle that neither had ever heard before. A giddy grin slowly crossed Edward's face. 

"It's them. It's them!" He whistled and the stranger responded in kind. Emily couldn't help but laugh.

"Edward, the whole town will hear you!" 

In the moment, Edward didn't care. He was a mild-mannered sort of fellow, most of the time, but if he had any vice, it was impatience. He whistled even louder as a teal green tank engine entered the station limits. The engine had six small wheels, a short stumpy funnel, a short stumpy boiler, and a short stumpy dome. 

"Hullo!" said the engine, braking right in front of Edward, "Either of you know where Tidmouth is?" Edward and Emily shared a look.

"This is Tidmouth," said Emily, matter-of-factly, "It's hard to miss." The locals were very proud of their station. A roof made entirely of glass enveloped all five platforms. Sunbeams danced around the rows of lanterns that hung from the ceiling. Thomas managed to stop himself from staring.

“Looks just like Brighton.” He feigned an offended gasp. “You stole it!”

“We did not!” Emily snapped. Edward intervened before first impressions were mangled any further.

“Lots of stations look similar. Are you from Brighton then, er…?”

“Thomas.” His smokebox swelled with pride. “You could tell? That is where all the best tank engines come from, you know.” The yard filled with booming laughter. Gordon pulled into the other platform, followed by a sheepish James. 

“If you’re the best they have,” said Gordon, “l shudder to think of the rest of the lot!” Thomas spluttered indignantly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tell you what. If you stay long enough, I’ll show you what the best engine can do.” 

“Which is?” 

Gordon blinked, then glared. “Pull the express, of course! That is my specialty. No one can even compare. Isn’t that right, little James?” Everyone looked at James, who coughed awkwardly. 

“Yeah…”

Before Thomas retorted, Gordon puffed out of sight. James lingered uncertainly for a moment before shuffling after him. 

“What a bossy buffers!” exclaimed Thomas. Edward winced.

"Yes, sorry about him. He's, well..."

"...like that all the time," finished Emily darkly. 

Thomas found that very discouraging.

He was still sulky when the Fat Controller arrived a few minutes later, but Edward motioned for him to smile. Thomas rolled his eyes and did so, just as the Fat Controller reached them.

"My apologies for being late,” said the Fat Controller, straightening his tie, “You must be the new tank engine! Welcome to Sodor.” Thomas wasn’t sure why, but he liked this man. A slow trickle of steam escaped his cylinders. 

“Happy to be here, sir.” 

The Fat Controller chuckled. “Just ‘Mr. Hatt’ is all right.” Thomas glanced at the top hat on his head. He understood, sort of. 

“Edward will show you what to do for a few days so you can get acquainted,” went on the Fat Controller, “But for now, you can have a rest. I’m sure you’ve had a long journey.” Thomas actually hitched a ride on another engine’s goods train…most of the way. (The engine didn’t seem to like him very much.) It didn’t feel right to tell Mr. Hatt that, though. 

“I don’t need rest. Come on, Edward!” In the blink of an eye, Thomas was gone, leaving Edward rather startled. 

“Do I…follow him?” he whispered to Emily. 

Emily snickered. “You’d better. Good luck.” 

Edward took a deep breath and set off to find where he’d ended up.

Thomas knew everything and anything there was to know about shunting. It certainly sounded easy. You just strolled around, picking up and setting down coaches and trucks to whoever needed them, and that was that.

Putting it into practice was far more difficult. 

“Henry needs his train assembled,” said Edward, motioning towards a few scattered trucks across several sidings. “How about you do it?” 

“Uh…” Thomas rushed forward, crossing the points and bumping the first truck. The truck rolled along on its own, eventually nearing the buffers at the end of the siding. Edward shut his eyes as the truck slammed into the buffers. The buffers stayed intact, but the truck now appeared rather lopsided. 

“How about we try that again?” Edward suggested, “Gentler, this time.” Thomas harrumphed. 

Thomas’ next task was bringing a rake of five emerald coaches to the platform. This time, as Edward enunciated, he slowly buffered up and pushed them along. He found out very quickly who the coaches were for. 

“Be very careful with them, Thomas.” Emily followed on a tangential line, watching him like a crow. “Don’t scuff their buffers. It takes the cleaners ages to make them look that nice.” 

“How about you take them yours-” The brake coach jumped the points ahead of Thomas and slid to a stop on the ballast. Emily gasped and glared. 

“What did I just say?” 

Thomas blushed. He didn’t know points were able to face the “wrong way.”

Even when he was simply topping up on water, he wasn’t safe. James came fussing while he was in the middle of his drink. 

“Thomas! Where’s my train?” 

“I don’t know,” said Thomas, sounding quite earnest, “I’m busy.” James stared for a moment.

“You don’t look very busy.” 

“I am, so you’ll just have to wait.”

James struggled to come up with a response. “I-I thought you were helping! How am I supposed to find my vans if you won’t tell me where they are?” Thomas’ eyes widened in faux realization. 

“Ooh, the vans! Those are at platform two. Have been there for a while now. You really must be more precise!” At that moment, Thomas’ stoker took the hose pipe out of the water tank. Thomas whistled and scuttled off, winking at James. James was at a loss for words.

Gordon was the worst of them. Thomas saw him often, but he was almost always in a deep slumber. Thomas had never seen an engine sleep so much. While he and Edward shunted coaches together, he watched Gordon on his siding. 

“Does he ever do anything, Edward?” Thomas asked suddenly. Edward was taken aback. 

“Well, he does have two runs with the express per day. That kind of work can take a lot out of an engine.” 

Thomas snorted. He’d been working harder than anyone, and he wasn’t even tired! He pushed his set of coaches into the siding, taking care not to bump them. Edward was about to praise him for how much better he was doing when Thomas scuttled towards Gordon’s siding. 

“T-Thomas? What are you-”

Thomas hushed him as he drew alongside Gordon. The big engine almost looked more like a sculpture than a machine. Thomas held back giggles, waiting for just the right moment.

PEEP! PEEP!

“Gah!” Gordon awoke with a jolt, eyes darting every which way. Thomas burst into laughter.

“Wake up, lazybones! Why don’t you work hard like me?” 

Gordon gaped as Thomas ran back from whence he came, still laughing. Edward, at first horrified, saw that the world didn’t end and chortled along. Thomas and Edward headed off to sort more stock, but Gordon didn’t go back to sleep again.

“The cheek! The audacity!” he thundered, “To think that a small, insolent tank engine like him could…” If it wasn’t settled before, it was now. The newcomer would have to learn his place. 

That night, Thomas was the smallest engine in the shed. A wave of exhaustion crashed through him; he was almost asleep before he backed into the berth. Edward smiled proudly at him.

“You did very well today.”

“Edward, he could’ve damaged my coaches,” hissed Emily, though Edward pretended not to hear. 

“You’re on your way to becoming a station pilot! Isn’t that exciting?”

“S’nice,” mumbled Thomas, “Would be nicer to get out, see the world.” Edward cast a worried glance at Emily. 

“I’m sure you will, Thomas. One day at a time.” 

“Okay…” Thomas’ eyelids drooped, and that was that. He was out like a light. The others found it awkward to resume their nightly conversation, so they opted to sleep instead. 

All except Gordon. He’d heard everything.

“So he wants to see the world, does he? Hmm… I can arrange that.” 

Thomas was still out of sorts in the morning. His stoker tried to build a fire, but no matter what he did, it kept going back out. Even after Edward had to leave to take his train, Thomas still didn’t have enough steam.

Emily sighed, agitated. “It’s almost time for the express. Thomas, you have to get the coaches ready.” Thomas remained dozing. Emily huffed and blew her whistle as loudly as she could. Thomas’ fire flared into life. His eyes cracked open. 

“Huh? What?” 

“No sleeping in today. All the passengers are counting on you.” She rolled out of the shed, humming to herself. Thomas yawned, still getting his bearings. 

“Botheration…” Smokebox still cloudy, he rolled towards the yard to find the coaches. Thomas hadn’t yet bothered with the express coaches. To him, they were all the same. So he buffered up to the first boxes with windows he could find.

“Goodness me! What’s happening up there, Annie?” 

“That new engine is trying to move us, Clarabel!” 

He wasn’t having much luck in it either. The coaches’ brakes were on, and Thomas was still sluggish. 

“Come along,” he tried to say, “It’s time for the express.” He snapped to attention when Annie and Clarabel laughed. 

“Silly!” said Clarabel, “We’re not the express coaches!” 

“Those are on the other siding!” added Annie, motioning towards an adjacent rake of shining coaches. They were painted cream on the upper half and green on the lower. Thomas, flustered, pushed Annie and Clarabel back into the buffers.

“Sorry, your ladyships. I thought you were, uh… Goodbye.” He scampered over the points and onto the other line. Even after he’d left, Clarabel was still giggling.

“It is flattering to even be considered an ‘express coach’! Do you think…?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, dear.” 

The express was the island’s most popular service. More often than not, the coaches were packed with people vying to get to the mainland or, on the return journey, to Sodor as quickly as possible. Today, they were all packed together on the platform, watching anxiously for their ride to arrive. 

Gordon stood just outside the canopy with a neutral expression. Something resembling a grin spread across his face when Thomas finally fussed into the station. 

“Hurry up, you!” Gordon said, sounding crosser than he was. 

“Hurry up yourself!” came the cheeky reply. The coaches bumped into Gordon, which normally would require a dressing down. But Gordon held his tongue. 

“Yes, I will…” 

A flurry of people stormed the coaches. The guard had to hurry back and forth along the platform to ensure everyone stayed in their lines. The doors slammed shut. The signal went down. The guard waved her green flag. Thomas found it difficult to understand all that was happening. Before he had the chance to even try moving away, his front coupling tightened. His wheels began to move. 

“What’s going on?” Thomas looked up. The cloudy sky above was now unimpeded by the glass roof. “Hey, this isn’t funny!”

Gordon didn’t answer. The train grew faster and faster. They clattered under the signal gantry and out onto the open line. Thomas whistled in the hopes that Gordon just somehow hadn’t heard him.

“Gordon! Gordon, stop! I need to go back!” 

Gordon laughed heartily in front. “I thought you wanted to see the world, little Thomas!” The world was merely a blur of green and blue now. Poor Thomas had never gone so fast before. His wheels spun so much that Thomas was afraid they’d pop right off. Just as he was about to try to brake to see what happened, another station appeared in the distance.

“Hooray! We can stop!” They didn’t slow down whatsoever. In fact, they seemed to be going even faster. Thomas almost didn’t notice as the station whizzed by. 

“There’s only two stops on the express run, little Thomas!” called Gordon. Thomas couldn’t ask what they were, but Gordon was happy to provide. “Crovan’s Gate is our first!”

“Where’s…that?” panted Thomas. 

“On the other side of the island! Don’t worry. I’ll get you there in record time!”

Thomas hoped all this was some kind of awful nightmare, but when he shut his eyes and tried willing himself to wake up, nothing had changed. 

It was going to be a long ride. 

It felt like years before, at long last, the train began to slow back down. The ache in Thomas’ axles truly set in. His cheeks were bright red as he struggled to get his breath back. They passed under a ***bridge, then finally came to a halt at the platform. 

Gordon allowed himself to grin properly. “Now you know what hard work is, don’t you?”

“Who are you talking to, Gordon?” On the other side of the platform, a small little red engine waited with a small set of their own coaches. Gordon hastily cleared his tubes. 

“Speaking to myself, Skarloey. I just broke my record, you see.” 

As the passengers disembarked, many pointed towards the back of the train and laughed. Skarloey was unable to see due to the white fence that separated larger and smaller rails. 

“Is that what’s so funny?” 

“Passengers are strange creatures. Never mind them.” 

Of course, the passengers were laughing at Thomas. A sympathetic shunter uncoupled him from the brake coach. 

“What were you doing back here, eh?” he asked kindly. Thomas hadn’t the steam to answer. The shunter patted his buffer. “I’ll get Stationmaster. She’ll sort everything out.” While the shunter was gone, Thomas trundled to the water column to get a much-needed drink. 

By the time the shunter came back with the stationmaster, Gordon had wisely disappeared. The stationmaster sized up the situation.

“Well, lad, you’ve been quite the stowaway. Since you’re here, we may as well get your repaint sorted. You need the rest anyhow.” 

Thomas almost thought that the whole misadventure had been worth it. Almost.

That night, Gordon returned to the shed feeling very satisfied. 

“Good evening, all! I beat my record.” He wasn’t surprised when Emily shot him a glare. 

“Who cares about your record? What happened to Thomas?”

Gordon’s eyebrows shot up. They hadn’t passed anyone on the main line. Or at least, he thought they hadn’t. “Pardon?” 

“No one’s seen him all day,” said Edward, “Do you have any idea where he is?” Gordon didn’t and, though he didn’t want to admit it, that concerned him. He hadn’t caught any glimpse of the little nuisance after he’d dropped him off at Crovan’s Gate. 

“Have you checked the yard?” Gordon thought that was a very clever suggestion, because tank engines were always found in yards, but Edward only sighed.

“First place we looked.” 

"Do you think we scared him off?" fretted Henry.

"No, Henry. Last thing Thomas did before he disappeared was shunt Gordon's coaches,” Emily said accusingly. Gordon gulped. He was about to admit to his misdeed when Thomas rounded the bend to the shed. He had the same shape, but his teal green livery had been replaced with blue and red stripes. Most annoyingly to Gordon, there was a yellow number one plastered on Thomas’ tanks. Nonetheless, his frame sank back down.

“Ah. You see? He’s fine.” 

Thomas was silent as he was turned on the turntable. He avoided eye contact with Gordon. When the table was set, he backed into the most opposite berth he could to him. 

“Thomas!” cried Edward, “Where have you been? I was so worried!” 

“You needn’t,” said Thomas, trying to sound nonchalant, “Do you like my color? Now I look like you.” 

Gordon ignored the ensuing chatter. He’d have plenty of time to rest tomorrow. Thomas wouldn’t wake him up again; he was sure of that. 

Chapter Text

Gordon was the strongest engine to Sodor’s name, though to him that wasn’t so important. Being the fastest was much more impressive. He wasn’t the first to pull the Sudrian express, but the way he spoke, anyone would think he’d done so since time immemorial — and that doing so made him king of the railway. One morning, it was just him and Edward left in Tidmouth Sheds.

“What I don’t understand, little Edward, is why you’re in charge of tutoring that little scoundrel.”

“I do what’s asked of me,” said Edward politely. Gordon scoffed.

“I’m the one who’s taught him any sense! If it were up to me, things would be quite different around here!”

Edward didn’t really want to know, but Gordon would tell him anything if enough silence passed. It would be better to sound interested. “Oh? How so?”

Gordon looked taken aback. It seemed as though he hadn’t actually thought very hard about what those “things” were.

“For a start,” he said, regaining his confidence, “everyone would have much more respect. I carry this backwater on my boiler, and it's high time I’m appreciated for it.”

As Gordon spoke, Edward felt a surge of steam reach his pistons. Relieved, he discreetly emerged from his berth onto the turntable. Gordon was so enraptured with his own ideas that he didn’t notice.

“And whenever you see me, you should whistle and say, ‘How do you do, Gordon?’ It is common courtesy.” Gordon finally paused and spotted Edward halfway across the yard. Gordon spluttered. “Little Edward! Where are you going?”

“Just doing some shunting, Gordon!” was the nervous reply. Gordon shuddered.

“Shunting! Disgraceful.” He whistled and rumbled away. “He’ll get a surprise when he sees me fly by.”

One of the stations along the main line was named Wellsworth. Its shunting yard wasn’t as elaborate as Tidmouth’s, but Edward still had plenty of room to stretch his wheels. There were always plenty of trucks, although he wasn’t quite sure who brought them. Whoever it was, they never seemed to leave the trucks in the right places.

Edward didn’t mind. Unlike the other engines, he enjoyed shunting. He had a game where he would see how long it took for the trucks to figure out he was there.

He crept up to a singular truck which dozed in the sun. Careful not to wheesh any steam, Edward was coupled up to it. Edward grinned and reversed. The coupling tightened. The truck stirred.

“What’s happenin’?” he mumbled, slurring his words. Edward pulled the truck over the points, then pushed it onto another two that had yet to be disturbed. The trucks bumped into each other, waking with a start.

“Oh! Oh! Who did that?” the trucks exclaimed in chorus. Every truck in the yard glared at Edward, who smiled innocently.

“Hello!”

“That wasn’t funny!” said a truck.

“Yeah! You can’t come in here and push us-oof!” Edward bumped into the truck that was speaking, sending her cascading into the others.

“It seems I can!” said Edward brightly. He kept on running behind trucks that weren’t expecting it and pushing them into their proper places. Just as unexpectedly, he’d stop and let the trucks roll. Sometimes, a worker would change the points, and the truck would end up on another line. That was most disorienting of all for them.

One truck, stranded from his comrades on an adjacent siding, was very dizzy. “Ohh… My buffers…”

Feeling satisfied for the day, Edward stopped to survey his handiwork. As he rested, he heard what sounded like slow, hoarse puffs. Edward raised an eyebrow as a familiar big blue engine trundled toward the station, red-in-the-face. The engine’s puffs were soon replaced with hissing and grumbling.

“A goods train… A goods train! Oh, the shame of it! The shame of it!”

“Is that Gordon?” wondered Edward aloud.

It was Gordon, though he didn’t have his shiny coaches with him. Instead, he pulled a long line of dirty coal trucks, all of whom sang a little song.

“Proud old Gordon thinks he’s best, but he’s been taken off the express!”

“Be quiet!” snapped Gordon. He tried to bump them, but Gordon was not an expert in bumping like Edward, so the trucks held their ground. A porter on the platform waved him down.

“Oy! You’ve got to stop here! More trucks are being added to your train!”

Gordon groaned but nonetheless stopped. It was only then that he noticed Edward gawking at him. A smile appeared on Edward’s face. Gordon’s wheels dug into the flanges of the rails.

“This isn’t what it looks like, little Edward!”

“Oh? Because it looks like you’re pulling a-”

“I am not!”

“Liar, liar, firebox on fire!” taunted the trucks. Gordon attempted to bump them again, but he only succeeded in getting coal dust all over himself. Edward managed not to laugh.

“W-Well,” said Gordon, for once rather abashed, “It’s not my own choice! Henry made me do it!”

“Henry?” asked Edward. Henry was not the sort to coerce another engine, and even if he was, Gordon would never let himself be on the other end.

“That idler just so happened to ‘fall ill’ the moment he was assigned these dratted trucks! Very convenient, isn’t it?”

“Gordon, Henry isn’t pretending. He really is-”

“I can’t wait around all day. If you won’t shunt those little imps, I’ll leave without them.”

Edward grimaced. He wanted to defend Henry, but he supposed now was not the time. He meekly went to shunt one of the lines of trucks he’d sorted onto Gordon’s train.

The trucks were expecting Edward this time. They slipped on their brakes and snickered to each other. Edward kept having to stop in order to catch his breath again. Gordon watched, although Edward couldn’t discern if it was out of pity or sympathy.

Knowing Gordon, the former was more likely.

At last, Edward managed to push the trucks onto the rear of the goods train. Gordon remained completely disengaged. He only looked up when the guard blew the whistle.

It still took a minute for Gordon to actually start moving. The train groaned as it slowly drew out of the station. Edward stayed to watch despite himself.

“Would you like some help up the hill, Gordon?” he called. It wasn’t as if Gordon needed it. No one had ever gotten stuck before; the engines and their trains were light enough to not make it a major concern.

Edward expected the lack of a reply, but it still stung.

Just beyond Wellsworth lay the steepest hill on the railway. Gordon thought little of the hill. The change in gradient was noticeable at his speeds, but it only lasted for a moment or two before being vanquished like all other challenges to his success.

He was going slowly, already a strike against him. If Gordon had it his way, he’d be on the other side of the island by now. But “slow goods” wasn’t just an ironic name. The second strike was the trucks. There were a lot of them, and they knew how to work together when it counted.

They especially knew how to make someone cross.

“Hold back! Hold back!” The chanting drifted down, then back up, then back down again. The slope grew steeper by the yard. Gordon had hardly made it halfway up when he was enveloped in a cloud of steam.

Gordon had stopped. The trucks laughed in triumph.

In his cab, his crew had noticed they weren’t moving.

“What’s he up to now?” asked the stoker. The driver sighed dully.

“I’ll talk to him.” When the driver strode up to Gordon, he looked just a little too calm. The driver crossed their arms.

“Come on, Gordon! You’re not even trying!”

“I can’t do it,” said Gordon simply, “The noisy trucks hold an engine back so. If they were coaches, now that would be different.” Before the driver had the chance to say just what they wanted to, the stoker came up.

“No use arguing with him. We’ll have to get someone to push us.”

The someone, of course, was Edward. He was having a drink at the water column when a porter came up, wringing his hands.

“Gordon needs your help, Edward.”

“My help? Are you sure?”

“He’s s-stuck on the hill. You’re the closest engine. Sort of an emergency, you know.”

That wasn’t supposed to happen. The hill was steep, to be sure, but even Henry hadn’t gotten stuck on it before. Had he somehow cursed Gordon by suggesting he help? He was only trying to extend an olive branch.

“I’m on my way,” said Edward, hoping he didn’t sound too guilty. Edward whistled and set off to the rescue — though a small part of him wondered if he’d even make much of a difference.

“No use at all.” Gordon sniffed. He’d brought the trucks back to the bottom, and now Edward was buffered up to the brake van. The trucks weren’t particularly happy to see him either.

“Yeah! You can’t beat us!” sneered a truck.

“We’re the winners!” grinned another.

“We win! We win! We win!” The trucks resumed their chanting. Edward grimaced. Any counter would be silenced. Perhaps it was best to just ignore it. It had worked before.

Edward blew his whistle loud and long.

“I’m ready!”

Gordon’s whistle was short but not sweet.

“No good…”

“Just ignore him, just ignore him…” Edward muttered. He began to push, only to find that all the train’s weight plus Gordon’s pressed against his buffers.

“Oh please, Gordon, try!”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright…” He began to pull, and with both his and Edward’s efforts, the train managed to budge.

Gordon was still rather apathetic. “I can’t do it.” His lament synced with the puffs of smoke from his funnel.

On the other end, Edward overheard and pushed even harder. His cheeks were soon tinted pink. “I will…do it,” he said, synced with his own puffs.

Hearing that must’ve irked Gordon, because he replied almost immediately. “I can’t…do it,” he wheezed.

Edward was growing tired. Just as he was about to consider if they really would be able to do it, a nearby engine whistled. Gordon’s face paled as Emily appeared on the crest of the hill. Emily grinned as she passed by with her coaches.

“Oh my! Are you having some trouble there, Gordon?”

Gordon spluttered in fury, but he hadn’t time to retort as Emily had already made it halfway down. She whistled in encouragement to Edward.

“Go at it, Edward! Show him what you can do!”

Edward gave a grateful whistle in reply. Remotivated, he resumed his pushing, harder than he ever had before.

“I…will…do…it,” he wheezed, “I…will…do…it…”

“I can’t do it!” The top was in sight now, albeit Gordon hadn’t noticed. Or if he did, he was already so demoralized that it didn’t matter.

“I…will…do…it!”

“I can’t do it!”

“I…will…do…it!”

The trucks gaped as, with one final effort, Gordon reached the top. It took a moment for Gordon to realize that he had. A sliver of the sea glistened in the far distance. The next station, Maron, was ever so near. Gordon heaved a hearty laugh.

“I’ve done it! I’ve done it! I knew I could do it!” He barreled down the other side without even thinking about who was at the other end.

Edward gasped as the brake van separated from his buffers, dragged into the horizon with the rest of the train. Edward was left gasping for breath at the top of the hill.

“Not even so much as a ‘thank you’... Hmph…” He shouldn’t have expected one, but he’d hoped.

He felt a comforting part on his cab.

“Never mind, old boy. You were brilliant,” said Edward’s driver, face aglow, “How about we get you some water, then we can go to the Works? I’m sure there’s some spare paint left over. No one will mind if you have it.”

“That’ll make you the smartest engine in the shed,” chimed in the stoker, “Won’t that be nice?” Edward wasn’t sure if he ever could be “the smartest engine” but a drink and some paint did sound lovely nonetheless.

He was able to say he earned it.

While Edward’s new coat of blue and red stripes glistened in the sun, Gordon’s pride was in tatters. The story of his run-in with the hill spread quickly and became the subject of gossip for several days.

“Well, well, well!” Emily winked at Henry and James as Gordon shuffled into the big station, eyes fixed to his buffers. “You’re always going on about your ‘speed records’, Gordon. Looks like you set a whole new one! You must be proud!”

Gordon pretended he hadn’t heard.

“I think they’re calling it ‘Gordon’s Hill’ now,” went on Emily with a sly smile, “He’s earned it, I say. Unless one of you claimed it first!”

Henry giggled. “Oh no, Emily. Nothing but smooth sailing for me!”

“And me!” added James hastily.

Gordon groaned under his breath. He was not used to being the center of the joke.

“There you have it! Gordon’s Hill it is!” said Emily, “What do you think of that, Gordon? You have a landmark!”

Gordon covered himself in a thick cloud of steam.

Chapter Text

As the days wore on, Thomas became more proficient in his work. He tried not to bump the coaches, and he was even soon acquainted with the sidings hidden in shadows. 

Too acquainted, he would say. 

“I should like to do something else,” he said while arranging Henry’s passenger train. Two other coaches, Annie and Clarabel, happened to eavesdrop by proximity. Clarabel felt sorry for him.

“How do you mean, dear?” 

“The rest of the lot get to pull trains!” As he brought another orange coach to Henry’s train, he pushed too hard and the coaches bumped into each other. Annie tut-tutted at Thomas, but he was too cross to care. “Except for me! It’s not fair!”

“Such is life on the railway,” said Annie, resigned, “We can’t do everything we want to.”

Thomas eyed James as the larger engine passed the yard with a goods train. “They can,” he huffed, unbothered by the scowl on James’ face, “What makes them so special? I’m just as good as they are.” 

“Of course, Thomas,” said Clarabel, “You’ll get your chance one day.” Thomas smiled, but it wasn't to last.

“Don’t get his hopes up, dear,” whispered Annie hoarsely. Thomas snorted and stormed off to the station with Henry’s coaches.

Everyone who passed through the big station soon learned of Thomas’ increasing disposition.

“I spend all my time bringing you your coaches just so you can take them!” 

Emily rolled her eyes as Thomas pulled up alongside her. 

“Yes, Thomas. That’s your job.”

“And what’s yours? Where do you all go?” 

Emily perked up; she always liked explaining things. “To the other side of the island, usually. Sometimes we go halfway.”

“I went there,” boasted Thomas, “and it wasn’t so hard.” Emily raised an eyebrow. 

“Under Gordon’s power…and I didn’t know you enjoyed it that much.” Before Thomas could retort, Emily continued. “You don’t know how much work goes into pulling a train. You have to make sure your boiler’s filled with enough water, your tender with enough coal-”

“I don’t have a tender,” interrupted Thomas. Emily glared.

“There’s your problem. You’re too impatient.” 

“I’m not impatient!” 

Emily burst out laughing. “Yes, you are! You’d be sure to leave something behind!”

Thomas furrowed his brow as he watched the train depart. “Hmph. Silly big engines. Just let them wait. I’ll show them!” 

Thomas didn’t like to admit he didn’t know something. He always felt silly. Someone was sure to laugh at him. So it was a bucket to the firebox when he realized he had no idea how he was going to go about his crusade. 

Edward said he should ask someone for help if he didn’t know something. So that’s exactly what Thomas did.

He tried asking nicely.

“Can I take your coaches, James?” Thomas vaguely remembered some word you were supposed to say to make asking sound better. “Please?” 

James laughed right in his face and flounced away. Annie and Clarabel gave him a pitying look as each passed him. Thomas found it aggravating. 

He tried asking not-so-nicely.

“Hey!” Thomas stopped behind the yard manager, who stared thoughtfully at a clipboard. “Give me a train!” Thomas whistled once, then twice, but the manager didn’t turn around. 

“Bother,” muttered Thomas, and he slunk off to continue his shunting. It was lucky he didn’t hear the manager’s chuckle.

By evening, Thomas had given up. The sheds weren’t far from the shunting yard, so even traveling home wasn’t much of a stretch for his wheels. As he rounded the bend, he was surprised to see Henry all alone in a sort of smaller shed beside the main one. He was surrounded by inspectors — and utterly miserable.

Thomas crept closer, more curious than frightened. “Henry?”

Henry looked up. “Oh… Hello, Thomas.”

Thomas glanced around; there wasn’t a lot of room inside. “What are you doing here? This isn’t a very nice shed.” 

"It’s for trucks,” said Henry glumly, “and me…” 

“But you’re not a truck.”

“No, but something is wrong with me. My boiler, I think.” One of the inspectors climbed down a ladder propped against his footplate. She shook her head, and another climbed back up in her place. Henry sighed. “Maybe I’m just a failed engine…”

“Nonsense.” Thomas wasn’t sure why he felt so strongly about this. “Everyone has a funny feeling in their boiler sometimes. That’s what testing’s for.” 

Henry snorted and looked away. Thomas pondered for a moment. 

“I can stay with you here tonight, Henry, if you don’t mind.” 

“Really?” 

“You shouldn’t be all by yourself.” Thomas found it strange that Henry was so surprised. He rolled into the small shed, ignoring how close the walls felt. Henry gave a small smile.

“Thank you, Thomas.” 

Another inspector climbed down, even more stonefaced than the previous. He too shook his head. 

“Sure thing, Henry.” Thomas yawned and promptly fell asleep.

Thomas awoke next morning to Henry’s wheezing echoing through him. A different group of workers now stood around Henry, all conversing with each other.

“It’s no good,” one said, “We’ll just have to get him to the Works.”

“But I have…a train to pull soon,” Henry said, straining to speak, “What’ll happen to the passengers?” Thomas’ worried frown slowly morphed into a grin.

“Aha!”

Henry and the workers were most startled as Thomas flew out of the goods shed and towards the yard. 

Thomas had a spring in his puff as he ran about the yard marshaling coaches together. He hummed a tune to himself as he approached Annie and Clarabel on their siding. 

Clarabel was the first to notice Thomas’ sudden change in mood.

“Good morning, dear. I’m glad to see you feeling- oh!” 

Thomas bumped into her as he was coupled up, and Clarabel bumped into Annie.

“Careful! Careful!” they both scolded. Thomas wasn’t listening. He pushed them onto the back of the line of coaches. Annie and Clarabel were taken aback when the sleepers flew under their wheels.

“Thomas! Slow down!” said Annie.

“There’s plenty of time!” added Clarabel, “You’re making our couplings rattle!”

“Sorry!” called Thomas, “It’s just that Henry’s sick!”

Annie and Clarabel shared a horrified look as they were brought into the big station. 

“Thomas!” cried Annie, “You shouldn’t be happy about that!”

“You should be ashamed!” Clarabel agreed. Thomas, of course, wasn’t.

“But if Henry doesn’t come, I might get to pull his train! Think of that, eh?” They stopped at the platform. A crowd of people waited to board. Thomas was uncoupled from Clarabel and began to reverse. 

Clarabel gasped. “Just a moment, mister!”

“What’s he doing, Clarabel?” asked Annie, who hadn’t a good view of the situation.  

“He’s trying to get in front!” 

Thomas promptly stopped and smiled innocently.

“No I wasn’t.” 

“He’s fibbing too, Annie! I don’t believe it!”

“Henry may still come,” said Annie, “He takes some time to get started in the mornings. So don’t you steal his train, Thomas!” By now, the passengers were listening to their argument and watched anxiously. 

Thomas was caught. He pouted but stayed where he was. The passengers, assured that Thomas wouldn’t take them on a joyride, made their way to their seats.

The clock ticked on and on and on. Annie and Clarabel were sure that Thomas’ shaking would damage the track. They and the rest of the coaches were soon full. The doors were shut. The guard had a green flag and whistle in each hand. Still, Henry was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh dear,” said Annie, “Maybe he isn’t coming after all…” The door to the Fat Controller’s office swung open. He stepped out, eyebrows knitted. 

“This train should’ve left by now. Where is Henry?”

“Fallen ill, we suspect,” said the stationmaster, “He won’t be available anytime soon.” The Fat Controller paced up and down the platform, shaking his head. 

“Dear, oh dear… This won’t do at all. We have to find another engine at once.” 

The stationmaster and guard side-eyed each other. 

“There’s only Thomas.” The stationmaster gestured with his thumb to Thomas, who had a plastered smile on his face. The Fat Controller stared for a moment.

“...I see. You’ll have to do it then, Thomas. Be quick now!” 

Thomas whistled and scampered off to run around the train. Annie and Clarabel eyed each other nervously. 

“Mr. Hatt,” said Annie, “Are you sure about this? Thomas, he’s…”

The Fat Controller had already walked to the other end of the platform to wait for Thomas. Annie and Clarabel quietly groaned. 

By the time Thomas came back, Emily was due to leave with a goods train. She blinked repeatedly to make sure her vision wasn’t deceiving her. 

“Thomas?” 

Thomas smirked and backed down onto the coaches. 

“Oh my! You said I couldn’t pull trains, didn’t you? But here I am! How strange!”

Emily sputtered. “I never said you couldn’t, but…” She subsided as the Fat Controller cleared his throat and stepped up to Thomas. 

“Don’t be impatient, Thomas. Wait until the guard blows their whistle.” 

Thomas didn’t dare show it, because the Fat Controller was right next to him, but he was annoyed. 

“Waiting, waiting, waiting, it’s always waiting!” he thought. Then, he heard what he’d been waiting to hear all morning.

The guard’s whistle. 

Thomas took off like a leaf in the wind, whistling as he hurried to the junction. 

Several shouted “Thomas!” The Fat Controller, Annie, Clarabel, Emily, but Thomas didn’t care. 

He was tired of waiting. 

Thomas soared up the line, grinning from buffer to buffer.

“I’m doing it! I’m doing it! I’m pulling a train!”

Up ahead, James came in the other direction with some trucks. He seemed to stare as the two were about to pass each other.

“Thomas?” he said, bewildered, “Where are you going?”

“To the other side of the island, silly!” Thomas sped by James, as if going faster would somehow prove his accomplishment. “Or halfway, it depends!” he added. Thomas wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard laughter coming from behind. 

“Wonder what’s so funny,” he muttered. 

As Thomas passed a signalbox, its occupants barged onto the balcony and waved and shouted at him. 

“They’ve never seen me with a train before,” Thomas said, “It’s nice of them to wave!” He whistled and hurried on.

Pulling a train was much easier than he anticipated. All he had to do was keep on puffing. He expected it to be heavier. It was as if nothing was there at all.

“I am very strong. I must just be destined to pull things rather than shunt them!” One of the big engines should take his place in the yard, he decided. How fun it would be if they had to shunt for everyone while he pulled trains. 

Amongst the trees, Thomas noticed a red glow. 

“Oh, bother!” Thomas slowed down as he approached a signal. “I was going so nicely too. What a nuisance signals are!” He halted just before the signal arm and managed a smile. 

“I’m brilliant at stopping too! How was that?” Thomas waited for a response from Annie or Clarabel, but strangely he didn’t receive one. Before he could think about this too much, a signaller walked up. 

“Hello, Thomas. What brings you here?”

“Pulling a train,” answered Thomas, condescendingly, “Can’t you see?” The signaller rubbed the back of his head.

“Not really.”

“Well, that’s just silly. It’s a very long train; one that I’m managing perfectly, by the way. Right, Annie?” 

The silence returned. A chill rippled through Thomas’ boiler. “Clarabel?”

Thomas finally glanced back. He froze in horror. Annie and Clarabel weren’t behind him, and neither were any of the other coaches. There was only empty space.

“W-What? They were right there, I’m sure they were! They must’ve…disappeared!” He looked to the signaller for reassurance, but he wasn’t going to provide.

“Afraid not. You left them behind at Tidmouth, Thomas. I just got the call of a ‘wayward engine’ before you arrived. You’d better go back quickly and fetch them.”

A pit formed in Thomas’ firebox. He really, really did not want to go back. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to stay on Sodor now. Scrounging up coal and water on the mainland couldn’t be that bad.

“Cheer up,” said the signaller, “You can always try again.” 

Thomas gulped. Nonetheless, his wheels began to roll back the way he came.

The platform was in an uproar. Passengers swarmed the Fat Controller, the stationmaster, and the poor sod who would’ve been Thomas’ guard. 

“What kind of railway is this? Trains with no engines?”

“I had plans, you know!” 

The Fat Controller managed to hide behind the other two, thanks to his rather low height compared to the average .

“Please, everyone, calm down! This is not a common occurrence! Emily will take your train in just a moment!” 

The passengers stilled somewhat at this. Emily was still at the station, due an “obstruction” on the line preventing her from leaving. She had already been uncoupled from her trucks, but she still hesitated. 

“What about my goods?”

“We’ll take care of that later,” said the Fat Controller, poking his head out from behind the stationmaster.

“Please, Emily!” wailed Clarabel, “You have to!”

”We also have plans!” added Annie. Emily raised an eyebrow but relented. She almost reached the points when Thomas shuffled in, bunker-first. 

“I’m really sorry,” he said, staring at his buffers, “I thought I heard a whistle, but…” 

“That was mine.”

Thomas and the Fat Controller looked at Emily. To Thomas’ surprise, she spoke with sympathy. 

“I was supposed to leave before you,” she explained, “but you didn’t know. Don’t be too hard on yourself about it.” 

That made Thomas feel just a bit better.

Annie and Clarabel remained respectfully silent. 

The passengers reboarded the coaches, and the guard shut the doors. A shunter ran up to immediately couple Thomas to the train. Finally, there was another guard’s whistle. Thomas was about to leave but stopped himself. 

“Is that yours?” he asked sheepishly. Emily chuckled.

“No, Thomas. It’s yours. I’m following you now.” 

Thomas gasped, whistled, and gave a heave. 

It turned out that the train was heavy.

Even so, with all his effort, Thomas pulled it out of the station. Emily watched him leave with a wry smile on her face.

Thomas was very late when he did reach the other side of the island. A yellow tender engine waited there with the connecting train to the mainland. She avoided eye contact, but Thomas didn’t notice her anyway. He was much too exhausted.

The story of “Thomas’ train” became quite the joke for some time afterwards. James in particular thought it was hilarious. 

“Look over there, Gordon!” he said when Thomas was near, “There’s little Thomas who wanted to pull a train — but forgot about the coaches!” Gordon roared with laughter as he departed with the express. James joined in and followed with his own coaches. Thomas grit his teeth, not realizing he was close to the end of the platform.

“Thomas!” said Annie, “Stay focused!”  

“And do remember to uncouple yourself!” chimed in Clarabel. Thomas didn’t reply as he sped back to the yard. 

He halted behind Emily, who was taking on water. He hoped she wouldn’t notice him, but Emily had a keen smokebox.

“You know,” she said casually, “Henry told me to thank you for helping him out.” 

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome. He’s welcome.” A minute passed before Thomas glared at the water column. The pipe was no longer in her tender, but she hadn’t moved. “Can you leave now?” 

“Patience is a virtue, Thomas,” Emily grinned, “This is a good opportunity for you to get some practice. I did warn you, you know.”

Thomas snorted and rolled off to find a different source of water.

Chapter Text

During the day, Tidmouth Sheds were mostly empty. The engines were off at work, while the workers trundled in and out — more often to have a break than to do anything productive. Even they didn’t stay long.

It wasn’t the best place to have lunch. 

There tended to be one berth that remained occupied and thus undisturbed: Henry’s. On good days, Henry was able to go out and pull trains. On so-so days, he’d be able to pull a couple, but he would become stuffed up and have to rest.

On bad days, he couldn’t move at all.

Today was a bad day.

His crew had stayed for as long as they could, but eventually the stoker had to drop what little there was of the fire. 

“He was just at the Works,” his stoker said, “He can’t go back again so soon.”

“Shh.” The driver peered over her shoulder at Henry. He seemed asleep. “Not in front of him.” The stoker nodded and the two headed for the station to report Henry’s absence. Once they were out of sight, Henry sighed. 

In an hour or so, a team of fitters would come and inspect him. They’d ask him questions like “Where do you feel the worst?” and “How do you feel when I do this?” which he never knew how to answer without simply saying, “Everywhere.” and “Bad.” Then, they too would leave. The other engines would return, but that wouldn’t be for a long time. 

He was used to the routine by now, but it didn’t make him any less lonely. 

Henry wanted to force himself to fall back asleep, but lorries’ tooting horns and crunching gravel made that impossible.

Resigned, he began to count the number of bricks in the wall. He had reached ten when he noticed a black speck on one of the bricks. 

Henry dismissed it. Most of the smudges on the shed walls could be attributed to him. It was a headache for the cleaners who came in once a week. Just as he was about to resume his brick counting, the speck moved. 

Henry let out a yelp and almost lurched off the rails.

The speck skittered up the wall with many more legs than a creature was supposed to have. Despite his apprehension, Henry felt guilty.

“I’m sorry.” 

The speck didn’t halt its movement. It reached the far left corner of the shed, and there it stayed. Henry half-expected it to magic itself away, but no matter how many times he looked out of the corner of his eye, the speck was still in the corner. 

Henry didn’t know if it understood him or was still cross, so he tried again.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s nice to have company.”

There was no response, yet Henry was sure all was well again. 

Maybe today wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.

Henry didn’t talk very much to begin with, and the speck proved to be effectively mute, so the shed fell into a comfortable silence for many hours. Henry was finally about to doze off when ***steps crunched the ballast. His driver and stoker entered the shed, each holding a paper bag. The stoker took a large bite out of a turkey and tomato sandwich.  

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Henry,” said the driver, “We had some things to attend to. Nothing you need to worry abo-” She froze. 

And let out a smokebox-piercing scream. She grabbed the stoker’s shovel and swung at the corner. The stoker stood back in awe. 

“That’s a big spider.”

Luckily for the spider, the driver’s height wasn’t sufficient enough to reach it. Henry was still frantic. 

“Stop! Stop! That’s my friend!”

The stoker reached out and tugged at the driver’s sleeve. She looked over her shoulder, noticed Henry's horror, and backed away. She hid behind the stoker, still wielding the shovel. 

“Why did you try to hurt it?” Henry asked, “It wasn’t hurting you!” The driver grimaced and discreetly handed the shovel back to the stoker. The stoker set it back in its place in the cab. 

“W-Well, it’s big!” said the driver, “And it has eight legs! That’s not natural! A-And it’s not supposed to be in here!”

“It can be wherever it likes. Besides, I have eight wheels. A lot more than eight, even. Am I ‘not natural’?” Henry sounded so pained that the driver and stoker didn’t feel comfortable looking at him. 

“That’s different, Henry,” the driver muttered. The stoker cleared his throat. 

“So, uh, you’re the spider’s friend?” 

“Yes,” said Henry shortly, “And we’d like to be left alone.” The stoker patted the driver’s shoulder. She sighed and they turned to leave.

“Sorry, Henry.” 

Henry motioned to the spider. The driver heaved a longer sigh.

“Sorry, spider.”

Henry’s expression softened but only slightly. As the crew walked away, Henry looked back at the speck in the corner.

“I don’t know what a spider is, but if they’re all as polite as you are, I don’t see why anyone should be afraid of you.” 

The spider crawled aside, almost as if to show Henry what it had been doing. Henry had to squint to see it, but a half-completed web now stretched over the shed corner. Henry gasped.

“How did you do that?”

The spider, of course, didn’t answer.

When the other engines did return, Henry paid them no attention. It was always the same anyway. Gordon boasted about a feat he did that day that was far more impressive to him than to anyone else. Emily fired back, and thus an argument would ensue. James sometimes joined in, but sometimes he only watched nervously. Thomas would try to get a word in to complain about his disposition. Edward also watched nervously; he wasn’t good at raising his voice — or his whistle. 

The spider never argued or complained. It simply was. 

Henry watched it go about its work. He wondered if it ever felt sick like he did. The spider certainly had a lot of energy. From one side to the other, It scrambled about until its web was finished. Circles piled on other circles, Henry was now able to see it more clearly.

He smiled. 

“Well done.” 

He realized too late that he’d said that out loud. He slowly looked across to the other engines, who now stared at him.

Thomas grinned broadly. “You see? Henry thinks so. He knows how hard I work.”

“Pah,” said Gordon, unimpressed, “He was talking to me, little Thomas.”

"Yeah, little Thomas,” chimed in James, seizing a moment of bravery, “Only big engines like us deserve ‘well dones’.” 

“Lay off him,” snapped Emily.

Another argument ensued. Henry mentally tuned it out and went back to watching the spider. 

The spider never argued or complained. It simply was.

Next day, Henry’s crew came even earlier. The extra time gave them more chances to light his fire.

Henry wasn’t sure what his stoker did differently, if anything, but he felt a growing warmth in his firebox. 

The driver whooped and blew the whistle chain. All the other engines had long since left, but the victory was savored nonetheless. 

“Atta boy!” grinned the driver, patting the sheepish stoker on the back, “Now we’ll get some work done today! How about it?” 

If it were the day before yesterday, Henry would’ve been delighted at the chance to be out and about. His wheels needed stretching like any other engine. 

But now, he had reservations. “What about the spider?”

“The what?” She suddenly remembered — and willed herself not to look into the corner. “O-Oh, never mind it. The afternoon train’s leaving soon. Emily’s covering for us, but I’m sure she won’t mind if we-”

“I won’t,” said Henry, with much more defiance than was normal for him. The stoker eyed Henry’s fire, which began to shrink. He poked the coal pile with his shovel. One piece fell, reigniting the flame but only temporarily. 

“Come on, stop fooling around, Henry,” the stoker grumbled, “We have to make the arrangements for you.”

“I don’t want them. The spider’s my friend, and friends don’t leave each other.”

The driver and stoker shared a stunned look.

“Henry,” said the driver, cautiously, “is there something you want to talk about?”

A moment of silence.

“No.” Henry was back to staring at the corner for some kind of comfort. He couldn’t really see, but he felt as if the spider was looking back at him. 

The driver shifted from one foot to the other. After a moment of hesitation, she went to pat Henry’s buffer. His glower almost stopped her. 

“We’ll be together if you come out, Henry. Your…” She swallowed. “... friend will still be here when we get back.”

Henry glanced between the driver in front of him and the spider in the corner. It sounded too good to be true. 

What if he never had another fire like this one? It’d be terribly wasteful.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though the crew weren’t quite sure who he was apologizing to. Relieved, they clambered back aboard and set to preparing Henry’s systems for work. Henry soon had enough steam to leave the sheds. 

He couldn’t bear to look as he departed. By his metric, it was a good day. 

It didn’t feel very good.

“I’ll be back!” he called. He hoped that somehow the spider understood him. 

Henry went through the motions that day. He couldn’t concentrate on pulling his trains or stabilizing his fire. All he could think of was the little spider in the corner of the shed, all on its lonesome. 

Edward and Emily were chatting when he arrived back at the big station. Emily immediately noticed the deep frown on Henry’s face. 

“Gordon didn’t say something to him, did he?” she whispered to Edward. Edward frowned in thought. 

“Nothing rude that I recall. I think Henry’s in his good graces at the moment.”

Emily snorted and was about to retort when she heard a small sigh. 

“What’s the matter, Henry?” she asked. 

“I had to leave my friend,” Henry said, so softly that they almost didn't hear him over the cacophony inside the station. 

“What friend?” 

Henry wanted to say, but he’d come to realize that for whatever reason spiders weren’t very well-liked.  “No…you’ll think I’m silly.”

“We wouldn’t,” said Edward. Henry paused.

“The spider. It’s very nice, once you get to know it.” 

“I didn’t know there was a spider living in our shed,” muttered Emily, disturbed by her own ignorance. 

“I didn’t know you could make friends with a spider,” added Edward earnestly. Henry let off a small whoosh of steam. 

“Well, you can! In fact, I’ll show you! How about that?” Henry rolled away with a harrumph. Emily looked to Edward, who was now rather guilty. 

“Oh dear. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.”

“I think he needs space,” Emily said, “We’ll see what he means tonight. Who knows? Maybe spiders do have a lot to say.” 

When Edward and Emily arrived at the sheds, however, Henry wasn’t on the turntable waiting to greet them. Instead, his tender stuck out of his berth. He was completely silent. Emily and Edward shared a look; they didn’t need to say anything to know they had the same bad feeling. 

“Henry?” called Emily. Henry didn’t answer. Emily motioned for Edward to follow her. She crept across the turntable and into the berth adjacent to Henry’s. Henry’s crew had gone. His fire was out.

“Henry, what’s the…” Her eyes followed his. 

The corner of the shed was empty. 

Emily felt she was good at reading faces. Engines and even people weren’t as discreet about their emotions as they thought they were. 

She couldn’t tell what exactly Henry was feeling then.

“Did…something happen, Henry?” 

“It’s gone.”

Edward halted beside Emily, casting a worried glance in her direction. Emily squinted at the corner, hoping that maybe the spider was one of those small ones that was difficult to see. She knew what spiders looked like. They had too many legs and too many eyes. 

There was nothing. There wasn’t even a speck of ash. 

Emily’s eyes widened.

“Oh dear…”

“What is it?” asked Edward in a hushed voice. Emily hesitated before she whispered back. 

“The cleaners came today.”

Edward mouthed an “oh”. Both looked to Henry, whose eyes were now fixed to his lamp irons. 

“Are you okay, Henry?” Emily knew it was a silly question, but it was the thought that counted. Henry’s scowl took her and Edward by surprise.

“I guess spiders leave too.”

Neither knew what to say to that.

Henry’s crew tried to come even earlier the following morning. It was so early that the sun hadn’t even poked out from the horizon. They still weren’t quite sure what had happened the evening before.

Henry was so eager to see the spider that he didn’t stop on the turntable. Like a switch had been flipped, he wouldn’t move again. The crew didn’t pry; they had a hunch. 

“I feel like a real blighter,” the driver said to the stoker. The cafeteria had yet to open, so this time they were without bags. The stoker nodded in understanding.

“Wasn’t your fault. Those fellows show up whenever they please.”

“They’re on a schedule,” replied the driver. The stoker faintly smiled. 

“Well, we hardly bump into each other. Just as well.” 

They stopped before the shed. Henry was just where they’d left him. 

“You wanna go in first?” asked the stoker casually. The driver doubted anything good would come from it, but she’d feel even sillier if she stood out in the dark. She stepped into the shed.

She was just about to greet her engine when her entire body froze. The stoker came up beside her to ask what the matter was when he saw what she did.

A web in the corner of Henry’s cab. Right in the center of it was a spider. A very large spider. 

“Would you look at that!” said the stoker in awe, “What a clever lil’ thing, innit?” The driver fidgeted with her hands, averting her gaze.

Henry had spent much of the previous night brooding in front of the corner. 

“What’s going on?” he mumbled. The stoker laughed so much he nearly cried. 

“That spider does like you, old boy! It’s made a home out of you!”

Henry looked back. “Is it okay?”

“More than okay. I think the new web’s even bigger than the old one!” 

Henry’s face slowly lit up.

“But it can’t stay there,” said the driver, hesitantly, “The heat will…” She caught herself and cleared her throat. “It won’t like it.”

“But it likes me,” retorted Henry, “It would put up with it. I don’t make that much heat, anyway. You would know.” The stoker walked alongside him until he was in front of his buffers. 

“She’s right, Henry. For you, it’s not a lot, but for us, getting too close would hurt. It’d hurt your little friend too.”

“Oh…” Henry didn’t really understand, but he had noticed that when he was in steam, people avoided touching his boiler. “But where will it go?” he asked anxiously. 

The driver came up beside the stoker, trying to steady her breathing. 

“I’ve got an idea. Just give me a minute.” Before Henry or the stoker could ask, she ran out of the shed towards the station. Henry narrowed his eyes.

“I won’t let her hurt it.”

“I don’t think she’s going to hurt it.” The stoker patted Henry’s buffer. “You’re going to have to trust her.” 

“But she doesn’t like the spider,” said Henry, doubtfully. The stoker thought for a moment.

“You remember the first time you saw rain?” 

Henry didn’t like to remember.

“She’s like that now, with spiders.”

Presently, the driver returned with a large disposable cup. She also now wore a pair of black leather gloves. 

“Do you want me to do it?” asked the stoker. The driver shook her head.

“I’ll be fine.” 

Henry watched as she trudged towards his cab. It was as if she was walking through piles of coal. The driver took a deep breath, then turned to face the spider’s web. 

“E-Easy, little guy. Don’t jump.” She inched the cup closer and closer towards it. The spider began to crawl away. It didn’t get very far before being captured by the cup. She pulled away, yanked off her cap and covered the cup. She shoved it into the stoker’s hands and leaned against Henry’s running board. The stoker almost dropped it in surprise. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah,” said the driver, wiping her brow, “Just give me a minute. Or five.” The stoker brought the cup to Henry and removed the cap so he could see. 

Henry could hardly believe his eyes. The spider didn’t try to escape its amateur prison. It just sat inside, almost staring up at him. 

“Hello,” said Henry shyly. The spider, of course, didn’t answer. “Stoker says you have to go now… I’ll miss you.” One of the spider’s legs twitched. The stoker replaced the cap, just in case.

“Don’t worry, Henry. It won’t be far away.” He strode over to the ballast outside the shed. Once the cup met the ground and the opening was free again, the spider skittered out onto the rocks. It disappeared into a crevice. 

The stoker returned with a grin on his face. “That should do it.” 

“It’s gone?” The driver took her cap back and adjusted her ponytail. 

“Gone enough. Still in one piece, too.” He chuckled and turned to Henry. “See? Told you, old boy.” 

Henry managed a small smile.

That day wasn’t a “good day”; Henry’s firebox remained dark. His crew nonetheless stayed with him, talking about everything except spiders. 

When Henry did go out again, he was much more observant of all the other creatures that he saw along the line. Birds soaring overhead, squirrels scrounging for food in the trees, even a stray cat meowing for attention now and again. Even if they weren’t his spider, Henry appreciated them all.

They made him feel much less alone. 

Chapter Text

For Thomas, the yard felt even smaller than it had before — and the company he was forced to keep didn’t help. More often than not, he was surrounded on all sides by trucks. Some were round and carried fluids, others square and carried crates. 

Thomas didn’t like any of them. 

In all fairness, they didn’t like him either. 

“Hehe, better make sure you’re hitched up,” snickered a truck as Thomas prepared to pull her to the other end of the yard. “You don’t wanna leave me behind, do you?”

Thomas grit his teeth. “Stop it!” He bumped the truck, but her sneer remained. 

“Temper, temper.”

Thomas wasn’t listening. He dragged the truck away, huffing and panting as he did so. He didn’t realize the truck’s brakes weren’t completely off.

The truck, of course, neglected to tell him.

As Thomas passed through the hordes of trucks, they all whispered and snickered at him. Thomas tried to ignore them. Edward said it was best to ignore others when they were being rude. 

“Not used to the weight, huh?” grinned the truck he was shunting. Thomas was about to retort when he spotted Edward approaching. 

As always, Edward had a smile on his face, somehow. 

“Hello, Thomas. How are you getting on?” 

Thomas pulled the truck over the points, then tried to shove it into the line he’d assembled. The truck, however, remained fixed to him.

“Uh oh!” she said sweetly. Thomas’ cheeks reddened as a shunter ran to uncouple the two. Edward watched in dismay. 

“Every engine has their learning curve. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I’m not ashamed,” huffed Thomas. He biffed the truck, sending it flying into the others. 

“Oh! Oh!” cried the trucks as their buffers clanged together. Neither engine paid them any mind. 

“I just wish these trucks weren’t so troublesome.” 

“They aren’t so bad,” Edward said carelessly, “They’re rather fun to play with.” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“How do you mean?” 

Edward winked at Thomas and rushed up another set of trucks that were waiting to be collected. The trucks hardly noticed he was there before he bumped them, sending them back a few meters. 

The trucks wailed in alarm, only for them to realize that Edward was laughing at them. Thomas began to giggle along.

“That is funny.” 

“I told you!” said Edward, “You just have to surprise them.” Thomas, wanting to put this to use at once, whistled, startling the trucks. They growled as he and Edward carried on guffawing, but Thomas didn’t mind so much now. 

He’d leveled the playing field.

Trucks were strange little things. Unlike the engines, who each had their own idiosyncrasies, the trucks seemed almost homogenous. If you isolated one and took it to an empty yard, stayed and chatted with them long enough, perhaps their own mannerisms would rise to the surface. 

But trucks were almost never on their own. They came in packs and descended on whoever they deemed vulnerable. Why they did this, no one knew. The engines certainly didn’t.

One thing they did know was that they thought unfamiliar engines were vulnerable. 

Thomas wasn’t a complete stranger, but he was still the newest on the line and picked up on new things by the day, like what a “biscuit” was and why all the people liked eating them. 

Now, Thomas did seem like a stranger. He swaggered about the yard, pushing and pulling trucks wherever he pleased. 

The trucks hated it. 

Presently, Thomas was shunting a tanker toward a siding. He braked, letting the tanker roll off to join his comrades. The tankers cascaded into each other, groaning in tune with the clangs of their buffers. 

Thomas reversed back to the coal hopper, where Edward was having his tender refilled.

“You see? It is much more fun that way.” He expected Thomas to agree with him, but to his surprise, Thomas looked upset. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired of being stuck here,” said Thomas, “I want to go places and do things. I want to-”

“-see the world?” 

Thomas gazed at him in awe.

“How’d you know?”

The truth was that Thomas’ disposition was well-known to anyone who entered the station limits. Edward, however, just smiled. 

“Oh, only a lucky guess. Tell you what. If you really want to go out, I have a goods train to take today. I can shunt here in the yard while you’re gone if you’d like.”

Thomas beamed from buffer to buffer.

“ Your goods train? Today ?”

“It’s due out in fifteen minutes, I believe. That should give you time to get ready.” 

Thomas was so ecstatic that he forgot to say thank you. Instead he scurried away to the water column to have his tanks filled for the long journey ahead. 

Edward chuckled as he watched Thomas leave. He failed to notice Emily pulling up, looking disturbed. 

“You’re not seriously letting him take your trucks, are you?”

Edward blushed. “I don’t see what the harm is. The experience will be good for him.” 

“He’s not ready! He’s only pulled one train since he was built. The one he left behind.” 

There was a beat of awkward silence. 

“He was alright once he came back.” 

“But trucks, Edward!” said Emily, exasperated, “They’re bad enough with us, but Thomas hardly has any weight to him. They’ll knock him off the rails!”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Edward was secretly a little worried, but he didn’t want to feed into Emily’s already evident anxiety. “I think he’ll be alright.” He went off to reacquaint himself with the shunting yard before Emily responded. 

“I don’t believe this,” muttered Emily.

Thomas came fussing back right on the dot. 

“Is it these ones?” He glanced at a coal train that even Edward wouldn’t be able to pull. “Is it those? ” Now he motioned towards a few scattered trucks that were on the “out of use” sidings. Edward whistled from beside the signalbox. Ten trucks were behind him. Those with more sensitive cargo had tarpaulins tied down.

“They’re right here, Thomas!” Edward moved off so Thomas could couple in front. Thomas was surprised to see them all already shunted together. 

“So this is what it’s like to have your train prepared for you!” 

The trucks, meanwhile, were at a loss as to what was happening. 

“Hey, you.” The truck nearest to the brake van glared at Edward. “What’re ya doin’?” Edward reversed alongside them, smirking. 

“You’re going to go with Thomas today. Won’t that be nice!”

The trucks were horrified. Thomas didn’t take care in buffering up and banged right into them. 

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” exclaimed the trucks. 

“Oops! Sorry,” said Thomas, not very apologetic. The trucks wouldn’t have accepted even if he was. 

Their whinging devolved into incoherence. Thomas looked back, just to make sure his coupling was fastened. The shunter who had done the deed nodded in his direction. Thomas whistled five times consecutively. 

Edward laughed, but he clammed up as Emily pulled up. 

“Come to see me off, Emily?’ smirked Thomas. Emily held her tongue on retorting, which Edward appreciated. 

“I think,” Emily said, “you ought to reconsider this joyride of yours.” 

Thomas snorted. “Why? Are you going to stop me? We swapped fair and square. Right, Edward?” 

“Erm, yes, Thomas.” 

“Right.” 

But Emily wasn’t one to back down easily. Her eyes narrowed at Thomas. 

“Do you know why trucks are ‘Troublesome Trucks’?”

Thomas blinked. “Is that what they’re called?” 

Emily took a deep breath. 

“He’s young…” she said in such a low voice that only Edward picked up on it, “He can’t be expected to know…” She cleared her tubes to make sure Thomas was still paying attention. “They can push you off the rails if they find a reason to.” 

“She is right about that, Thomas,” put in Edward, “You should be careful.” To both their dismay, Thomas merely laughed. 

“What are you so worried about? I know how to handle trucks.” At that moment, the guard’s whistle blew from the van. Thomas responded with his own. “What do you know? I’m off! See you later, hehe!” 

Thomas meant for his exit to be majestic, but the trucks were heavier than he imagined they were. His cheeks turned pink as he tried to move them. He didn’t realize that the trucks were intentionally holding him back.

Emily cast a dull glance at Edward. She was about to cross onto his line to intervene when Thomas’ wheels started to move. 

The trucks groaned in disappointment. The train was underway. 

“Bye bye!” Thomas sang as he left the yard, the indignant trucks rattling in tow. 

Thomas puffed through the countryside as fast as his pistons were able to pump. The fields were an open invitation, and he was ready to snatch it. 

“Who cares if you’re troublesome? I’m in charge,” said Thomas, his boiler filled more with ego than steam.

“No you’re not!” fussed the truck behind him, “You’re going too fast!” 

“Too fast! Too fast!” added the others. Their couplings were tight, and they didn’t like tight couplings. 

“Pah.” Thomas didn’t care what they thought. Just to spite them, he went even faster. 

He wouldn’t have to stop like he did with Henry’s coaches. He could go as fast as he wanted. 

“Come along, come along,” he sang as if he were a shepherd leading his flock. The trucks resisted in all the ways they knew how. They yelled about it. They held back, but they were at such a speed that it made little difference. 

“Poor little trucks,” Thomas said with faux sympathy, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” 

Pity was the last straw. 

“He thinks we’re made of feathers!” the truck in the middle of the train growled. Another truck, two down from her, snickered and whispered something. Whatever it was, the other trucks liked it because they began to chatter incessantly.

A bump rippled through the train. 

“No nonsense!” ordered Thomas. The trucks miraculously quieted down. 

Thomas chuckled to himself. 

“All under control.”

Passengers and staff were most surprised to see who was reportedly the station pilot clattering through the stations. From the gossip, they thought he was a foolish sort, as young engines sometimes were. 

But Thomas was confident, infectiously so. 

People cheered him as he passed. Thomas whistled back.

“Thank you!” This was what he’d needed all along. A chance to prove himself. He wasn’t a silly tank engine bringing everyone else their coaches.

The hill loomed ahead; Thomas wasn’t deterred. He knew Gordon had gotten stuck once. When Thomas had heard about the whole affair, he laughed so much he got the hiccups. 

Thomas was now on the verge of laughing again.

“Silly Gordon. That was his fault. I’m trying to get to the top!” 

The trucks didn’t answer. In fact, they’d been silent for most of the journey. Thomas thought he’d intimidated them into obedience. 

“Silly Emily too. I’ve never even given her trucks. What does she know?” 

The trucks neglected to hold back on the climb. This would’ve been suspicious, if only Thomas cared. 

They reached the top without any trouble. Thomas was about to taunt his companions for not being so “troublesome” after all when he felt a shift in weight on his buffers. 

“What’s happening?” 

No answer.

Thomas stared down. The bottom seemed so far away now. 

He gulped.

“We’re stopping! We’re stopping!” 

Now, the trucks found their voices.

“We don’t think so!” they said all at once. They surged forward, sending Thomas down the other side. They rattled and cackled behind him. 

“What’s the matter, Thomas? We thought you liked going fast!” the truck behind him taunted. 

“On! On! On!” the rest chanted. Thomas was at a loss on what to do. Luckily, his driver was there to put on the brakes, but they were at such a speed that it made little difference.  

“Stop pushing!” begged Thomas. The trucks weren’t in the bargaining mood. Thomas shut his eyes. The bottom drew nearer and nearer. He thought they were going to fall right into the earth.

He was relieved when instead they stayed above ground. 

They hurtled over the bend at the bottom of the hill right as Henry was trundling along on the down line.

“Henry!” called out Thomas, “Heeelllp!” Henry gaped as the screaming engine and guffawing trucks flew by. 

Ahead was Maron station. Thomas wasn’t sure if they were meant to stop there — or if anyone else was. 

“What shall I do?” he wailed. 

“Stop crying and enjoy the ride, bud!” said a truck. Thomas tried to ignore him. His wheels skidded along the rails. They were finally slowing down some, but not enough.

The rails suddenly curved beneath Thomas’ wheels. Instead of more open line, in front of him was a set of buffers. The trucks took notice too.

“Guess you have to get off here!”

“Was fun while it lasted!”

Thomas didn’t know if he could stop, at least while still on the rails. He only hoped he could. 

The trucks’ weight felt more oppressive than ever. 

Thomas hit the buffers with a dull thud. They creaked but held firm. 

“Aww…” The trucks had hoped for a more explosive finale. Thomas cautiously opened an eye. 

“I’m in one piece! Oh, thank goodness! That was close.”

“It most certainly was.”

A chill ran through his boiler.

He knew that voice.

But it couldn’t be. He was in his office at the big station. 

“Ooh, you’re in trouble,” whispered a truck.

All talk subsided as the Fat Controller stepped up to Thomas. His cheeks were flushed. Thomas worried that he was furious.

“What are you doing here, Thomas?” 

Thomas’ frames relaxed some. He wasn’t furious, just curious. 

“Oh, well. It’s a long story,” he said, “You’d find it boring, Mr. Hatt. I didn’t mean to come this far, really. I was shunting and they pushed me all the way here.” 

“He’s lying!” blurted out a truck, which ignited a rallying cry from the rest. The Fat Controller cleared his throat. 

The yard grew still again. 

“I see,” said the Fat Controller gravely, “That’s why you came in so fast.” 

Thomas was more emboldened now. “I meant to do that. Was trying to scare them, you know. Trucks are very easy to scare.” 

The Fat Controller seemed lost in thought. Thomas giggled. He shut his mouth at once when the Fat Controller turned back on him. 

“There is a reason, Thomas, that Edward was meant to deliver these trucks and not you.” 

Thomas gasped. 

He’d been caught. 

He winced as the trucks laughed in triumph.

“I’d only wanted to learn, Mr. Hatt.”

“Learning takes time and effort,” replied the Fat Controller, “which you don’t seem to want to put in.” 

“I do!” cried Thomas, “Honest!” 

The Fat Controller paused, his cheeks losing their red tint. He looked at Thomas, then at the trucks (who wisely subsided), then back at Thomas.

“I am glad that you’re safe. You’re lucky you were switched into this siding, or there would’ve been a nasty accident.” 

Thomas considered himself very lucky then.

“Yes, Mr. Hatt. I’m sorry.”

“After you take those trucks to the station,” the Fat Controller went on, “you need to go back to the yard.” Thomas stifled a groan. The Fat Controller must’ve sensed it, because next he said, “If you are serious about learning, then you and Edward will work together for a while. He shunted there before you; there’s no better teacher than him.”

Thomas looked up. He liked Edward enough that the proposition, despite meaning he couldn’t pull trains anymore, wasn’t completely terrible. 

“Okay, Mr. Hatt.” He whistled and began to push the trucks out of the siding. The Fat Controller shook his head and headed for the road. His blue car was obscured by low-hanging branches. 

“Edward has some things he needs to learn too,” he murmured. 

And so it was arranged. By the time Thomas came crawling back, Edward was there waiting. 

“I’m so sorry, Thomas. I should’ve realized.” 

“No, Edward,” mumbled Thomas, “It was my fault. I thought the trucks were behaving, but they weren’t. I’m sorry for getting you into trouble.” 

“At least no one was hurt,” said Edward kindly, “Now, I think Gordon will be shouting for his coaches soon. How about we fetch them together?” 

Thomas managed a smile at that. 

Maybe with Edward around, the yard wouldn’t feel as small. 

Chapter Text

“Emily, may I speak with you for a moment, please?”

Emily looked across the platform. Walking towards her was the Fat Controller. He tried to maintain his stature, but Emily sensed that he was on edge. She smiled to show she was listening. 

“I’m sure you’re well aware,” the Fat Controller said, “that the Anniversary Train is in a week.”

Emily wasn’t ashamed to admit that she hadn’t been. Special trains were frivolous to her, so she usually didn’t receive them. The Anniversary Train was the exception. 

The Fat Controller gripped the clipboard he held tighter. “This year, we may be unable to make the usual arrangements.” He paused, unimpressively. “Unless Thomas is prepared to resume working alone in the yard. Then, perhaps, the usual arrangements could proceed.”

Emily understood at once. “I’ll keep an eye on them, see how they’re getting on.” 

Some of the tension disappeared from the Fat Controller’s face. “Thank you. Don’t make yourself late now!” As quick as he came, he bustled off back to his office. It was certainly unusual for the Fat Controller to be so dubious. Emily suspected that it was as much of a new situation for him as for everyone else. 

The engines getting into trouble was nothing out of the ordinary, of course. Even she’d received a few scoldings over the years.

Edward getting into trouble was. She recalled when she first met him; skittish, shy, always unsure if what he was doing was the right thing. He’d surely slipped up, but unlike some engines she could think of, he actually learned from his mistakes.

She was sure he was going to learn from his most recent one. 

Emily snapped herself out of that train of thought. She didn’t like being vindictive. Not towards Edward. He meant well, really.

She glanced back. All her passengers had left several minutes ago. With a sigh, she departed from the station. 

When she went to drop off her empty coaches in the yard, she quickly spotted Thomas pulling some red coaches through the sidings. He weaved over the points, dutifully whistling at Edward. Edward watched from near the coal hopper, giving words of encouragement.

“Well done, Thomas! You’re doing very well!”

“I know!”

Emily found herself irked by Thomas’ smug attitude. She buried the instinct and chuckled as she puffed alongside. 

“Well, well, well!” She smirked at Edward. “Having lessons, are we?” 

“It is what a teacher is supposed to do,” replied Edward, with a wryness that only Emily could discern. 

“Hey, you’re supposed to be watching me!” Thomas called. He was now dangerously close to the buffers. Emily almost expected him to crash right through them, but Edward didn’t seem worried. 

“I am, Thomas! Show Emily how well you can stop!”

To Emily’s surprise, Thomas gently applied his brakes and drew to a halt just before them. He smiled proudly back. 

“Ta da!” 

Emily knew that when people were impressed they clapped their hands together. Given her distinct lack of them, she settled on words instead. 

“You are getting better! If you keep that up, I’d even trust you with my coaches.” 

“It’s a deal then.” Thomas reversed right back, grinning at her. “If I ever spring out, I’m taking your coaches with me.”

Emily wanted to be agitated by the remark, but she knew he was only teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

Between them, Edward cleared his tubes, all while smiling. Emily and Thomas getting along so well was a rare sight indeed. 

“Maybe I am a little hard on him,” she thought ruefully. 

“Since you’re here,” Edward said, cutting her guilt short, “you should see how he handles trucks.” Before Emily even answered, Thomas was away. Unlike the coaches, the trucks were still scattered around on the sidings. Eager to show off, he crept up behind one that was sleeping and woke it up with a start. 

“Gah! What’s happe-oof!” Thomas pushed the truck back beside Edward and Emily. He eased off, letting it roll into the buffers. “Ow!” cried the truck, but Thomas didn’t seem to care. He was laughing like a schoolboy. 

So was Edward.

Emily stayed silent.

Neither noticed. 

Thomas ran back to a different siding for a different truck. This truck was awake but facing the buffers, so the poor thing had no way to know he was coming. 

Thomas’ sudden whistle almost made him jump off the track. 

“Hello!” He bumped the truck just for good measure.

“Did you teach him to do that?” Emily whispered so Thomas wouldn’t hear and make a fuss about it. Edward barely managed to contain himself enough to speak.

“It wasn’t a lesson, if that’s what you mean, but I suppose I did.”

Emily furrowed her brow. “I think you need to tell him to stop.” 

“Hmm?” Edward had been watching Thomas catching yet another lone truck by surprise. Thomas biffed it into the others. The trucks sulked and pouted at each other. 

“I said, I think you need to tell him to stop,” she repeated, her voice louder than before. Edward looked disconcerted. 

“Why?” 

“Bumping them around so much only makes them cross,” said Emily, concerned that she had to spell this out for an engine that was her peer, “And when trucks are cross, they…” She let the moment linger to hopefully drive the point home. 

Edward, however, failed to understand.

“Pardon me for saying so, Emily, but you don’t spend as much time with them as I do. They get in a huff, but they don’t mean it, really. It’s all a fun game.”

Edward did have a point. Emily took trucks occasionally, but her forte had always been the Local. 

The trucks’ scowls as Thomas backed obliviously down onto them assured her she was still right. 

But she didn’t want to argue with Edward. They never argued. 

So she held her tongue as Thomas began his practice run with the trucks. She had to feign her enthusiasm; she had a bad taste in her boiler. 

Emily didn’t stay long after that. She had to leave with Edward’s goods train, which she’d offered to take at the Fat Controller’s briefing that morning. 

“Thank you for covering for me,” Edward had said gratefully.

“It’s no bother. Anything to help a friend.” 

Now she puffed through the open fields with only trucks for company. In a way, she felt sorry for them. They hadn’t any names, none that she knew at least, and they couldn’t choose where to go - or who to go with. She tried to treat them as peers. 

“If you don’t give me any trouble,” she called, “I won’t give you any. Is that fair?” 

Usually, the trucks would yell out some sort of response.

This time, they didn’t. They only hissed and grumbled to themselves.

“What’s the matter?” 

The trucks ignored this too. Emily rolled her eyes and focused on the track. 

A signal in the distance glowed red. Just beyond the signal was a junction. Henry trundled towards the points, wheezing and huffing as he went. 

“Poor Henry…” murmured Emily, “I’ll ask if I can help.” She suddenly felt a surge against her tender. The trucks were pushing her!

“On! On! On!” they giggled in their silly way. 

“H-Hey! Stop that!” Sparks flew from her one set of driving wheels. It made no difference to the trucks. Emily blasted her whistle. 

“Henry! Look out!” 

Henry looked back and gasped. Emily and the trucks were fast approaching the junction.

Now in a panic, Henry tried to speed up. 

The whistle had alerted the guard to what was happening. She pulled the lever in the brake van. On the other end, Emily’s tender brakes took the bulk of the strain.

The combined effort helped to slow them down, but they still hadn’t stopped.  

Henry was now over the switch. 

His own trucks were not. 

The signal was directly in front of Emily. She had never passed a red signal before - and she wasn’t going to start now. 

She forced herself against the trucks with all her might. Their wheels skidded along the rails. 

Henry’s brake van rattled over the points right as Emily reached the signal. She screeched to a halt underneath the arm. 

Emily had stopped, miraculously. 

She’d used up all her steam to contain the trucks, who now groused about how disappointing their escapade was. Emily hadn’t the energy to rebuke them. 

To her surprise, Henry came back down the line, over the junction and onto the branching track. 

“Emily! Are you alright?” He too was red-in-the-face, but he looked more perturbed than depleted. Emily just managed to speak. 

“I’ve been better. I think my brakes are shot.” 

“I’ll get help at the next station,” promised Henry. 

“You don’t have to do that, Henry,” Emily began, but he was already on his way. Emily sighed and stared at the ballast. She didn’t hear the trucks’ jeers now. 

Her smokebox felt unusually hot. 

Henry was as good as his word. James came along to collect her, rather skittishly. He backed down onto her with a bump. Emily made no comment. James, bewildered, didn’t dare disrupt her contemplation. 

The trucks were uncoupled at Wellsworth. 

Edward’s station.

If the trucks had played their game on the hill, she wouldn’t have been able to stop them at all. She knew that. She figured she should’ve been grateful, but she wasn’t. 

When they reached the Works, the Fat Controller was waiting for them inside. 

“Thank you, James, for being so quick.” He tipped his hat to him. James, unused to such a gesture, grinned giddily. 

“Y-You’re welcome, si- I mean, Mr. Hatt.” He scampered away before he embarrassed himself any further. The Fat Controller turned to the only other remaining engine. 

“How are you feeling, Emily?”

The Fat Controller was a very frank man. If he was cross, he would show it. Now, his countenance didn’t display any anger. Emily was surprised. 

“Not good.” 

The Fat Controller nodded at Emily’s set of driving wheels. They were much larger than the rest, which made for a striking image but it made dealing with the newer, heavier wagons a challenge.

“I’ll see about you getting stronger brakes, on par with the others’. That should avoid another, ahem, ‘incident’ like this in future.” He looked intently at her. “Is something troubling you?” 

Emily’s frown faltered; she’d hoped he wouldn’t notice. 

“Yes, Mr. Hatt. I know I should’ve been more careful, but the trucks were already provoked before I collected them.” 

The Fat Controller raised an eyebrow and listened further as she continued. 

“The truth is Edward is teaching Thomas an antiquated shunting method. They tease trucks for the fun of it and bump them around. That,” she finished fiercely, “is what leads to accidents.” It only occurred to her then that she’d raised her voice at the Fat Controller. The Fat Controller, however, was lost in thought.

“Thank you for making me aware of this, Emily,” he said at last, “I’ll attend to this matter at once. We can’t have any more near-misses — or worse.” 

“No, we can’t,” agreed Emily, with feeling. The heat in her smokebox was flowing out of her already. But the Fat Controller wasn’t so relaxed. He fidgeted with his collar. 

“I expect they won’t learn how to do things properly before next Friday. New arrangements must be made for the Anniversary Train. I trust you’ll manage by yourself, especially with your new brakes.”

Emily stared. He didn’t say what she thought he did. She was too late in asking him to repeat it so the record would be straightened out, would make everything as it should be. 

The Fat Controller had already turned on his heel and was almost to the Works entrance. 

“Have a good evening.” 

And then he was gone.

Emily spent the weekend being mended. She hardly got any sleep. There was too much to think about.

She’d gotten Edward taken off the Anniversary Train. She understood the reasoning. Thomas would be easier to “retrain”, so to speak. He was still new and at least hypothetically able to absorb new ideas. 

Whether he would was another matter.

Old engines could be taught new tricks, but Edward had a lot to unlearn. It only made sense for him to have to focus on that, and teach Thomas to do the same, instead of fussing over a special excursion.

Trying to rationalize it only made her feel worse. Edward hadn’t a scrap of malice in any of his parts. 

Emily didn’t notice when the head engineer told her that she was free to leave.

She received no other details, none that she discerned at least, so she sidled down the main line back to the terminus. It would be a long journey. Without anything to pull, all she could do was think. 

Emily liked thinking, usually. It was fun to ruminate on matters that were perhaps not really her concern. Now she wished she could do anything else. 

As she approached Kellsthorpe Road, another signal forced her to stop. On instinct her brakes came on. She was startled when she jittered to a halt at the platform faster than she was used to. Henry watched from the other side of the station, quite impressed. 

“I’m glad your brakes are working,” he said earnestly, “I am very sorry about yesterday.” 

“Wasn’t your fault,” muttered Emily, as if she were a mile away and not directly next to him. 

“Are you alright?”

That snapped her out of her trance. “Oh, me? Never been better. My brakes are working, as you say.” Emily gave a forced chuckle. This failed to reassure Henry. Before he was able to muster up a response, Emily’s signal clunked down.  

“Anyway, can’t stop to gossip. I must await instructions! Cheerio!” She blasted her whistle and dashed out of sight. 

Henry blinked. 

“Cheerio?” 

Emily was proud of her vocabulary, particularly when other engines didn’t understand what she said and she could explain it. But of all things, she never uttered “Cheerio”. Coming out of her mouth, it was not natural.

Henry didn’t pick up on things as well as she did; it was difficult to try when everything felt clogged. But even he could tell something was wrong. 

When he returned to the yard for a rest, he searched for Edward at once. He would know what to do. It didn’t take long to find him. Edward stood by himself, watching Thomas shunt coal trucks for James. Henry couldn’t make out what expression he wore, but it wasn’t a positive one. 

He hoped he wasn’t interrupting something. 

“Oh, Henry!” exclaimed Edward, reverting to his more typical smile, “I didn’t hear you coming!” 

Henry raised an eyebrow. It was impossible not to hear him, with all the noise he made. 

“Didn’t mean to startle you, Edward. How are you and Thomas getting on?” 

Edward’s donned smile faltered ever so slightly. “We’re going over a bumpy patch of line, as it were.” 

A few tracks over, Thomas bumped the trucks into the back of James. Coal dust scattered all over him from smokebox to cab. Thomas coughed and spluttered.

“Eugh!” 

James involuntarily began to laugh. “O-Oh dear, little Thomas! Trying to look like me? I am flattered!” 

Thomas growled. “A coat of blue would do you wonders!” That offended James, and the two launched a shouting match of which livery would degrade the other the most. 

Edward and Henry shared a look.

“It should flatten out again soon,” said Edward quickly. Henry decided it best not to get involved. 

“I don’t want to trouble you, Edward, but Emily seemed terribly upset too when I met her. I can’t fathom why. She has those new brakes.” For a fleeting moment, Henry sounded almost envious. He swiftly shook it off. “You know her better than anyone. I hoped you might…know why she’s…” The more he explained, the sillier he felt about it. 

“Oh dear,” Edward said quietly, “I didn’t expect her to take it that badly.” At Henry’s nervous grimace, he explained that the Fat Controller had visited him that morning. The interaction ended with him saying that unless there were a miracle, Edward wouldn’t be able to pull the Anniversary Train. 

Henry’s eyes widened. 

“That would explain it… That’s terrible, Edward. I’m sorry.” 

“Never mind, it’s for the good of the railway,” Edward smiled, “Better to learn anew now than later. I’ll talk to Emily when I find the time.” 

“Thank you, Edward. If anyone can cheer her up, it’s you.” Henry departed feeling marginally better than he had before. Edward, meanwhile, bustled over to break up Thomas and James’ mud-slinging. 

Emily was scheduled to pull the Local that evening. She waited anxiously at the platform for her coaches. She’d have preferred to fetch them herself, but that required venturing into the shunting yard. 

She didn’t want to contend with anyone at the moment — especially not Edward. 

Emily jumped as her coaches met her buffers. She looked back in horror as Edward switched tracks. Her eyes snapped to the guard, who was ushering the passengers to their seats. 

“Oh no…” 

Edward crawled alongside with a smile that was tight at the corners. 

“I hear you’ve gotten an upgrade!” 

Emily shut her mouth tight to keep “ItwasmyfaultpleaseforgivemeI’msorry” from escaping. Edward didn’t seem to notice. 

“Just in time for Friday too! You’ll do wonders with the Anniversary Train, I’m sure of it.” He paused, as if expecting Emily to respond. When she didn’t, he added, “I don’t mind you going it alone, really.”

“You would if you knew why.” Emily thought. Her boiler felt like it was going to burst at any moment. 

Steam gushed out of her cylinders when the guard’s whistle blew. When it all finally cleared, the last coach was barely visible on the horizon. 

Edward was astonished. 

“Was it something I said?”

Emily was at a loss on what to do. She’d let the truth loose if she stayed near Edward for more than a minute. 

And if Edward knew that his job being robbed from him was her doing, he’d never speak to her again. Emily was certain of that. 

“I’m such a bampot! Why did I ever say anything? It wasn’t my business.” A damaged Henry flashed through her mind. She grimaced but only for a moment. “Well, it wasn’t my place.” If it was anyone other than Edward, it wouldn’t have mattered so much. 

Edward was different. Even before there was anyone else (anyone else that came over the bridge, at least), it was her and him. 

Emily decelerated as she collected her thoughts. Any faster and they might’ve run over the speed limit. 

“There has to be a way to fix this. There must be!”

Nothing promptly came to mind. This didn’t concern her; good ideas needed time in the firebox. 

“It’ll come when it comes,” she said to herself. It did occur to her, however, that she’d have to remain evasive until it did. 

It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than the alternative. 

The circumstances made it easier at first. Edward was with Thomas at all times, and Emily more often than not roamed to the other side of the island. Occasionally, she did have to return to Tidmouth. She made herself scarce; she even resolved not to take on coal or water there if she could help it. It was inconvenient, but it did make crossing paths with Edward very rare. The nights were more difficult. She tried to be the first engine at the sheds so she would already be asleep by the time the others came back. This worked; Edward wasn’t one to intrude on others’ rest. 

Emily grew more and more tightly wound. She could hardly concentrate on her work, let alone devise a viable solution. This only made it worse. Emily liked a challenge when it was someone else’s issue; when it was her own, it only made it stressful.

Tuesday ticked on to Wednesday. 

Edward seemed to take the hint and didn’t approach her. 

Her idea had worked. 

It only made her feel even worse. 

Wednesday tocked on to Thursday.

Emily returned to the shed late that night. Curiously, Edward had not come back himself yet. The other remaining engines kept their distance — all except Thomas. 

“You’re acting funny,” he said with the tact of a hammer. Henry hissed at him to be quiet. “What? It’s true. She has a whole Antivera-thingy Train to herself and she gives everyone the cold buffer. It’s obvious I should do it; I’d do a much better job.” 

Before Emily retorted, a chuckle came from the turntable. 

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of special jobs someday.” Edward whistled a greeting as he turned on the table. He briefly made eye contact with Emily. 

She maintained her silence. 

“I ought to,” grumbled Thomas, “if anything I’m learning is useful. Why do we have to shunt the Fat Controller’s way? He doesn’t know anything about it.” Emily stared blankly ahead. Henry gazed worriedly in her direction. 

“Oh, he has his reasons,” said Edward, backing into a berth between Emily and Thomas, “Besides, Emily will be splendid tomorrow.” 

Silence fell as no one was quite sure how to continue the conversation. Emily gasped suddenly. 

“Oh my, would you look at the time? I better get to the harbor. The Kipper’s waiting!” She tore out of the shed and into the night. Thomas harrumphed loudly.

“You see? Very funny, and not the good sort of funny.” 

Edward sighed. “Something’s eating at her; I just wish she’d tell me what.” His face slowly fell. “It must be something I did.” 

“Pah. Who cares what she thinks anyway?” huffed Thomas, “She’s just a fuddy-duddy.” To his surprise, Edward sank deeper into the shed. Henry shot him a look. 

“They have been friends for a very long time, Thomas. Best friends, even.” 

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s just silly. Edward’s my best friend.” 

Edward cracked a smile at that, though it didn’t last.

Emily dawdled with the Kipper — so much so that when she did return, sunlight shone through the shed windows. A group of workers stood near the turntable, a couple scratching at their heads. They relaxed when Emily finally pulled up. 

“Where have you been?” one demanded. Emily looked abashed, despite her knowing glance at the empty berths. 

“A little confusion here, a little delay there. You know how it is.” 

“There’ll be both if we don’t hurry,” said another, seizing a bucket filled with soapy water. Emily rolled her eyes.

The moment her fire was dropped and her boiler cooled, the group descended on her paintwork. They scrubbed until every speck of soot was gone and wiped until the emerald sparkled like its namesake. 

This was one of the reasons Emily didn’t fancy special trains. 

She didn’t like being fussed over. She found it condescending. 

The workers were now polishing her tender. They’d be finished soon and Emily would have to collect the coaches. 

She considered not making enough steam to move.

Tidmouth station was in a buzz. People from all over town had come, all dressed in their fanciest clothes. The Fat Controller even wore a different suit for the occasion, even if it was identical to his usual. He gave a speech on a makeshift podium, telling the story of how the railway had come to be and the highlights from the last decade — and, of course, how grateful the railway was for Tidmouth’s involvement in said story.

Henry, Thomas and James idled at the far platforms, waiting for Emily to arrive. Thomas had grown bored a long time ago.

“Is he just going to prattle on like that all day?” he asked Henry. Henry failed to listen on account of his staring at the clock on the wall. James’ face scrunched in annoyance. 

“Stop doing that!” he quavered, “You’re making me nervous!”  

“I can’t help it,” replied Henry, “She should’ve been here by now, surely. What if she doesn’t come?” 

“Who needs her? I’ll go,” said Thomas proudly. He promptly scowled at James’ snickering. 

“Yeah, Thomas, go and leave everyone behind. That’ll make things much better.” 

Henry winced as he glanced between Thomas and James. Just as another argument was about to break out, a familiar whistle echoed off the station’s glass roof. 

Emily trundled in just as the Fat Controller finished his speech. The crowd erupted into cheers — they didn’t seem to notice at all that Edward wasn’t there. Emily maintained an impartial countenance as the passengers flooded aboard. The Fat Controller stepped off his podium and admired his suit in Emily’s paintwork.

“You cut it close, Emily, but I suppose it can’t be helped.” 

Just as he joined the rest of the crowd, Emily spotted Edward puffing in behind Thomas. He tried to hide himself behind Henry, but Emily had a keen eye. 

The guard blew the whistle. 

Emily began to move, but she didn’t get beyond the platform. Her big driving wheels only spun in place. The other engines were stunned, Edward most of all.

She didn’t keep trying for very long. After only ten seconds, she stopped altogether. 

The Fat Controller poked his head out one of the windows. 

“Is, er, everything alright?” he called. Emily’s mouth twitched into a smirk before resting again. 

“Ever so sorry,” she said, steady but loud enough for the whole station to hear, “I can’t move all this weight. More than I’m used to — by myself.”

The Fat Controller stared. 

So did the engines.

“What is she doing?” hissed James. Henry returned a puzzled expression. 

“Edward!”

Edward looked up in astonishment. The Fat Controller now had his head out the opposite window. 

“Yes, Mr. Hatt?”

“Please move in front of Emily. It appears we need the…extra motive power after all.” 

Edward broke out into a grin and scuttled backwards to the points. Henry was left bewildered. 

“She could’ve pulled it on her own. Why did she…?” His eyes widened in realization. “Oh.” He cast a knowing look at Emily, who bashfully looked away. 

“What?” demanded Thomas, rather in the dark. 

Henry deemed it best not to tell him.

Soon, Edward was in position. The two engines were coupled together, and all was ready. The guard reblew the whistle.

“Here we go! Here we go!” chanted Edward. Emily didn’t join in, though Edward didn’t seem to care at that moment. The train moved easily out of the station limits and out to the open line. 

Emily had figured the rest of the day would be extremely awkward. 

She hadn’t yet figured out what she was going to say.

“I understand now!”

Emily almost lurched off the rails. Edward was smiling — which was about the exact opposite reaction she expected. 

It took a lot for Edward to get cross. Now would be an appropriate time for him to be. 

“You got me back on the special, and you didn’t want me to spoil it! You never cease to amaze.” 

Emily didn’t know what to say to that. 

“I…” 

“Thank you, Emily. You’re a good friend.” 

Emily squinted to make sure she heard correctly. 

“Me?” It was the first word she’d spoken to him in a week, and it was a silly one, but there was no turning back now. “I-I got you into that mess, and I avoided you because I couldn’t just say I didn’t and thought you’d be mad at me, and I didn’t even think of a way to get you out of it until today.” 

She cut herself off as she realized that Edward was chuckling. 

“Edward?”

“Oh Emily, you really are a terrible liar!”

Emily’s cheeks burned. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You always did have to tell the truth, even if it got you in trouble!” Edward laughed as he remembered. Emily tried not to. “What I mean is,” he added, controlling himself, “you really needn’t have worried. I’m not cross now, am I?”

“You ought to be,” said Emily plainly. 

“We all make mistakes. What’s important is learning from them.”

Emily got the sense that he was speaking more to himself than to her.

“Hmm. You’re not wrong.” She sighed as if the weight of the sheds was suddenly lifted off her boiler. “Now I just feel silly. I don’t know what I did to get a friend like you, Edward.” 

“And I don’t know what I did to get a friend like you! You can tell me anything; we’re friends through the best and the worst.”

“Is this the worst?”

“Never mind that, it’s over and done with now. We still have the rest of the journey!” 

Emily beamed. Even if it’d only been a week, there was a lot to catch up on. 

Chapter Text

Thomas was feeling pleased with himself. The Fat Controller had stopped by on an impromptu checkup. Thomas hadn't liked it at first; while he shunted a goods train for James, the Fat Controller watched him from beside the line. Studied him.

Having Edward there too helped but only a little. 

Thomas did his best not to bump the trucks, tempting as it was. The trucks, for their part, didn't give him any trouble, though this was more due to the Fat Controller’s presence than any actual respect. By the time Thomas was finished, the Fat Controller had a broad smile on his face.

“Excellent, Thomas! You really have been improving as of late. There’s no more need for any, ahem, ‘tutoring’, wouldn’t you agree?” He turned to Edward, who chuckled knowingly. 

“I’d say so, Mr. Hatt.” 

Thomas perked up at that. He enjoyed Edward’s company, but he did miss having the whole yard to himself.

“Very good. Edward, you may return to your usual jobs.” The Fat Controller tipped his hat as Edward departed. Thomas remained, albeit impatiently. The Fat Controller seemed to notice this.

“Remember, Thomas, don’t let the trucks tease you.” Right as he was about to leave he looked over his shoulder. “And don’t give them a reason,” he added, pointedly. 

Thomas hadn’t let that comment dampen his spirits. He flounced about the sidings, pushing and pulling trucks into place. He’d forgotten entirely about that one goods train. 

Out of the blue, James screeched into the yard light-engine. Thomas winced at the noise as James creaked to a stop close by. James smirked as if he’d just finished a tap-dance routine.

“Here I am!” he said to make sure everyone within hearing distance knew. His showboating wasn’t enough to deter Thomas’.

“You missed the Fat Controller, you know. For shame! You could’ve heard him say how much of a really useful engine I am.”

James’ eyes grew as large as his wheels. 

“Did he really say that?” he asked, almost meekly. 

"I should think so." 

James squirmed. "Mr. Hatt says that about everyone. Especially me," he added hastily. Thomas sniffed the air and made a face.

"Is being on fire 'really useful'?" 

Both looked down at James' driving wheels. Wisps of smoke fluttered out into the open air. James' cheeks flushed bright red.

"I-I'm not on fire! You're on fire!" With a frantic whistle, James scampered off without even asking where his train was. 

Without Edward, Thomas went to the next best source of gossip. 

"Annie? Clarabel? Do you know why James is always on fire?" 

Annie raised her eyebrows at Clarabel. Clarabel suppressed a snort. 

“He’s not always on fire, dear,” she said, “And it’s only his brake blocks, so it’s a small part of him, really.” 

Thomas stared blankly back.

“Brake blocks slow you down,” Annie explained, “You have metal ones, but James’ are…wooden.” Thomas was no less confused than before. He understood he was made from metal. A very resilient, sturdy substance; and not flammable, apparently. 

Thomas’ eyes roved conspicuously about the yard.  

“So, if a truck was left in the sun too long, would it catch fire?”

Annie and Clarabel squirmed as they were largely made from wood themselves. Both mentally agreed not to tell him this fact.

“Erm, no dear,” said Clarabel hastily, “And don’t you even think of trying.” Thomas did his best to look innocent.

“Oh, me? I wasn’t going to try anything. I was only curious is all.” 

“Who’s setting trucks on fire then, eh?” 

Thomas froze as Emily approached. He thought the voice had been hers, but she had too nonchalant an expression. Behind her was an orange coach but longer than Annie and Clarabel. Beyond the coach were two very strange-looking trucks, if they could even be called trucks. They seemed to be flatbeds with cabs bolted on and very long arms bolted onto the cabs. 

Both glared down at him. 

“U-Um…” Thomas looked to Annie and Clarabel for help, but to his horror, they were smirking. 

“‘Cause we all know what happens to arsonists ‘round here, don’t we, Jerome?” said one of the sort-of-trucks. 

“We do, Judy,” said the other, “It’s not pretty.”

Thomas felt light on his chassis. He hadn’t set something ablaze without knowing it, had he? His firebox had its namesake, but that was his stoker, not him. 

The sort-of-trucks’ threatening gazes melted as they burst out laughing along with Annie and Clarabel. Even Emily had a good chuckle. 

“Only pulling your wheels, mate,” grinned the one dubbed Judy, “You should’ve seen the look on your face!”

Thomas blinked, mouth still agape. 

“Come on, Emily,” said Jerome, “We need a good nap.” Thomas yelped at Emily’s sudden whistle as she dragged the two sort-of trucks to a different part of the yard. Annie and Clarabel were still howling after they’d disappeared.

“What was that?” Thomas demanded, “Did you set me up?” Annie barely managed to contain herself. 

“A happy coincidence. The Breakdown Train doesn't usually come by our shed.”

“They’re lovely,” added Clarabel, still giggling, “They help poor helpless coaches when they come off the rails.”

Thomas harrumphed and scampered back to work. 

He’d had enough “learning” for one day.

Thomas didn't like that he hadn't known Judy and Jerome were around. Edward had never told him — no one had. They were in his domain. He had a right to know.

Sometimes he thought about waking them up like Gordon - catch them by surprise. But he was secretly worried about what would happen if he did. 

So he avoided them as best he could. Luckily for him, they slept the days away nestled in a deep corner of the yard.

A few days passed without incident (or unprompted meetings with Judy and Jerome), and Thomas had forgotten whatever was bothering him. He was shunting some coaches that Henry had brought earlier in the morning. Just as he stowed them away to be cleaned, a bell rang in the signalbox. The signaller burst out, leapt down the stairs to his box and ran over to a congregation of staff.

"James is off the line! James is off the line!" He ran from person to person, flailing his arms about. One grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Calm down, lad! What are you going on about?" 

Thomas watched the scene from a few feet away, unsure what else to do.

The signaller took a much-needed breath.

"There's been an accident," he said, in as steady a voice as he could manage, "Near Crosby. The report just came in. It's..." The conversation faded from Thomas' attention. 

An accident? He'd almost been in an accident - and remembered how scary it was. Was James hurt? He didn't much like James, but he didn't want him to be hurt. 

Thomas suddenly realized what he had to do. He whistled, startling the staff as he sped across the yard like a jackrabbit. 

"What's he doing?" cried the signaller. 

Thomas screamed to a stop on Judy and Jerome's siding, coupling up to the coach at once. The cranes were asleep, as per usual. Without a second thought, Thomas whistled loud and long. Judy and Jerome woke up with a start.

"Judy!"

"Jerome!"

They blinked at each other, as if to confirm that one hadn’t woken the other. They peered down at Thomas, whose voice remained steady despite his own anxiety. 

"There's an emergency! You have to come with me!"

Thomas expected resistance, but to his surprise the cranes’ expressions turned as serious as his. 

"Right!" said Judy, "We’re ready!”

“Crew up!” called Jerome. A whole work crew came running and jumped into the coach for battle. It took too long for Thomas, but he waited until the last door shut.

He wasted no further time.

“Don’t worry, James! I’m coming to help!” He whistled valiantly as he set off. The signaller and company nearly caught him on the way out, but they were too late. They were left staring in amazement as the train sped into the distance.

The Breakdown Train was heavy, heavier than anything Thomas had moved before. That didn’t stop him, however. 

He kept a steady beat as he forged his way along the line. 

Thomas was left in suspense for several miles. All the way, he feared what exactly the accident would look like. He had never seen one before. Not a serious one, at least. 

They began to round a bend. Thomas squinted to get a good look. The brake van and the last few trucks were still upright.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Then Thomas edged closer. The cranes gasped from behind him.

“Oh dear,” they murmured in unison. 

The derailed trucks were in a heap. All were open wagons, so their contents were strewn in all directions. Coal piled beneath their wheels. Planks of wood were splintered and snapped like celery. James was in the worst shape. He lay on his side, grime and sod all over him. 

He’d run into a field, taking the fence along with him. The field was already occupied by a herd of cows. They’d run away before but now a few stragglers came trotting back to see what the intruder was. One particularly bold cow licked James’ face.

James’ nose scrunched up.

“Bleh! Leave me alone!” he wailed, but he hadn’t the steam to shoo them away. The trucks, all of them, roared with laughter. Thomas now heard it; they’d been laughing all along.

They’d probably been laughing since James’ helpless wheels found themselves in grass instead of metal.

Thomas’ safety valve nearly popped off.

“That’s enough!”

The trucks were stunned into silence. Even the loitering cows jumped and loped back to their friends. James gazed up at Thomas and the cranes as if they were a mirage. 

“Is that really you?” 

“S’alright, James,” replied Thomas, “I know it wasn’t your fault. It was those trucks .” He glowered at the culprits. One blew a raspberry in defiance; the rest were uncharacteristically quiet. “And your wooden brake blocks,” he added, helpfully. James’ face turned pale.

“H-How’d you know?” 

“They do have a burning smell,” chimed in Judy. James groaned to himself.

The cleanup took a long time. Thomas dragged away the unhurt trucks to the nearest available siding. He was so cross he didn't care about all of Edward’s lessons.

“They deserve to be bumped,” he muttered. And bump them he did. Every time he came back to the site, he made sure to greet the trucks with a clang. They swiftly grew agitated. 

“Stop it! Stop it!” they grumbled, more annoyed than hurt.

“Serves you right,” Thomas snapped back. When he was finished with the unhurt ones, the remaining trucks were back on the rails — somehow. Thomas supposed Judy and Jerome had something to do with it, but he didn’t have much time to think about the logistics. 

Even if he did, he wouldn’t have cared much.

The trucks that were actually in the accident were sorer, although they didn’t exactly act as such. In fact, they seemed very pleased.

“We finally got one!” one snickered to the other, “Can you imagine- oh!” Thomas came right up to them without them seeing and gave them a harsh bump. 

“This will teach you a lesson!” he said. The re-railed trucks promptly clamped up. 

Thomas puffed backwards and forwards all afternoon. He only took two or three at a time, and James’ train had been a longer one. 

James observed all of Thomas’ efforts not knowing what to think. Suddenly, he found himself having chains wrapped around him.

“Hey! What’s happening?”

“First time, mate?” chuckled Jerome, “You’ll be alright.”

“Think of it like flying, but only for a little while,” added Judy. This did little to reassure him.

Thomas returned right at that moment. All the trucks that could’ve been marshaled away had been. Now all that was left was James. Thomas hadn’t seen Judy and Jerome in action before. He watched in awe as with a long-suffering creak, the cranes lifted James into the air. Crumbs of leftover earth that had gotten stuck in his undercarriage plopped to the ground.

James shut his eyes tight. 

Keeping their eyes on him the whole time, Judy and Jerome carefully lowered James back to the safety of the rails.

“Wow!” exclaimed Thomas, “You must be very strong!”

“All part of the job,” said Judy with a smirk. 

James mumbled a soft “thank you”, then tried to move — only to find that his wheels wouldn’t turn. Thomas buffered up to push.

“Oh no you don’t! You’re going straight to the Works! I know the way.” Thomas boasted but only a little by his standards. “It’s where I was painted blue.” James rolled his eyes but managed a small smile.

Just as Thomas was about to leave with James, a thought struck him.

“What about you?” he asked the cranes, who as of now had no engine to move them. Both didn’t seem very bothered by this.

“Oh, there’s always a bit extra to do afterwards,” said Jerome dismissively, “Go on ahead.” 

As if she read his smokebox (Thomas wondered if that was something else they could do), Judy added, “Don’t worry, we’ll tell the Fat Controller everything…even if he probably knows already.”

Thomas wasn’t sure how he could but he sensed that James was getting restless and decided it best to start moving.

“Come along, James. I’ll be your guide!” Thomas called as he puffed away with him; now that everything had calmed down some, a weight had lifted off Thomas’ boiler. 

It was getting dark when they reached the Works and pitch black when Thomas was on his way home. He wanted to stay overnight and see if James was okay, but the engineers said that James needed some time for himself. 

Now as he approached the sheds, he was surprised that members of staff lined each side of the line, all clapping. They were clapping for him. 

“Oh, thank you!” said Thomas, abashed, as he passed by. The remaining engines were all in the berths, whistling to herald his arrival. Even Annie and Clarabel were on the siding beside the shed.  Thomas stopped on the turntable, bewildered. The others had never cheered for him before. He hadn’t even meant to show off. 

Thomas backed into his spot — and out flooded the praise. 

“We saw you from our shed, Thomas!” said Annie, “You only hesitated but for a moment-”

“-and then you ran off to the rescue!” cut in Clarabel, “To think we didn’t even need to tell you!” 

“What you did was terrific!” enthused Henry.

Even Gordon didn’t seem disdainful towards his presence. 

“And, I must admit, very admirable, little Thomas,” he said with what almost sounded like pride. Thomas stared in amazement. Gordon seemed to realize and promptly frowned defensively. “Now don’t let this get to your funnel.” 

“Oh hush, Gordon,” Emily hissed, “Let him have his moment.” She winked at Thomas, who was now even more astonished than before. 

Edward’s reaction was about what he would expect. He was grinning like a parent whose child had just returned from their first day of school.

“Well done, Thomas.” 

"Quite right, Edward!” The shed subsided as the Fat Controller strode up. He turned to Thomas. "I've heard all about it — I needn't retread what's already been said, but just know that I'm very proud of you too."

He paused impressively.

Everyone’s eyes were on him. 

“How would you like to have your very own branch line, Thomas?”

When the Fat Controller uttered that, suddenly it became real. 

Thomas nearly bubbled over.

"Oh, Mr. Hatt! A whole branch line? For me?" 

“If you’re responsible,” said the Fat Controller, “and today’s certainly shown you can be.” 

This was certainly not how Thomas expected the day to end, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Yes, Mr. Hatt, I can! You can rely on me! And trust me!” 

Edward, Emily and Henry laughed, though Gordon grew pensive. 

“Are we all really sure about this? Who will fetch my- our coaches?”

The Fat Controller smirked up at him.

“I don’t know, Gordon. Perhaps you’ll have to fetch your own until another tank engine rolls up on our doorstep.”

Gordon gaped, but no one cared for his objections. 

The Fat Controller eventually had to go home, but the engines and coaches chatted until long after the stars came out. Thomas contributed to most of it; he was a chatterbox at heart. 

For the first time since his arrival, Thomas felt as if the others wanted to listen.

Chapter Text

When someone made a promise, they were supposed to keep it. That’s what Thomas was told, anyhow. And yet, despite the Fat Controller’s promise, he still didn’t have his branch line. He tried to be patient, he really did, but with each passing day, he grew more and more restless. It was as if that wonderful night had never happened.

The lack of any news made it worse. He tried asking Annie and Clarabel, but they didn’t know anything. He tried asking Edward, but he didn’t know anything either. Eventually, Thomas’ sincere questions turned into whinging that only dampened the atmosphere in the yard. Gordon, unable to take his naps with all the noise, was the first to crack.

“The Fat Controller has better things to do, little Thomas, than cater to you and your whims of leaving us for that dratted branch line.” 

Thomas spluttered. 

“It was his idea!” 

“Then perhaps you should speak with him instead of pestering important engines who need their rest.” Gordon was already snoring before Thomas could retort. Thomas moved off, muttering to himself.  

“Silly Gordon. He always gets what he wants.” This wasn’t quite true; Gordon complained even more than Thomas did about his own multitude of grievances, but to the smallest engine in the shed, Gordon’s position still seemed enviable. 

Besides, Gordon was right about one thing: Talking to the Fat Controller would be a good idea.

Thomas left for the station mid-shunting; he could always be extra quick when he came back, and no one would be the wiser. Righteous indignation simmered the closer he got to the Fat Controller’s office. The Fat Controller wouldn't take too kindly to being barraged the same as the other engines, and then Thomas wouldn’t have a branch line at all. 

His wheels were wobbling when he peered in through the office window. Springs and joints relaxed at once; the Fat Controller wasn’t “home”. 

Eager to put this detour behind him, Thomas was about to scuttle off back to work when he noticed that while the Fat Controller wasn’t about, someone else was. Emily stood at the opposite end of the station. That already was strange, because Thomas hadn’t seen her all day. 

Stranger still, Emily possessed only a single coach and some trucks. He hadn’t shunted those for her, so where did they come from? Did Emily have access to some cache of wagons that he didn’t? 

Emily departed without having spotted him. Thomas hesitated to follow; he still had things to do, but now he was too curious. If Emily had a secret, he wanted to know what it was. Nobody would know if he left, just for a little while. 

Doing his best to be inconspicuous, Thomas trundled off after Emily. He followed her and her train at what he felt was a safe distance. He thought he was being very clever. Ahead, Emily exchanged whistles with another engine. Thomas conjured up an excuse for what he was doing, but he needn’t have bothered. Along came Henry on the other line, breathing hoarsely; hardly making enough steam to turn his wheels. When he saw Thomas, it hardly mattered that the station pilot shouldn’t have been there. 

“Oh, you’ve come to help!” Henry wheezed, “Thank y-“

“Shh!” hissed Thomas as he sped on past, “I’m trying to be sneaky!” Whatever Henry’s reaction was, and it surely was grievous, Thomas didn’t have time for it. He just considered it lucky Emily hadn’t heard. 

They were going farther than Thomas had expected, and somehow not very far at all. The next station wasn’t new for him; it had a lot in common with the station he woke up to every day. This station also had multiple platforms to accommodate a lot of traffic. To Thomas, the roof looked like several squashed domes lined up in a row. As he puffed through, not far ahead a brake van rattled over the points and disappeared around a bend away from the main line. 

“Where is she going?” Thomas wondered. Among the many sets of switches beyond the station, one led to the branching track. Thomas had never seen that before — or maybe he had but hadn’t cared at the time. Either way, Thomas’ boiler swelled with pride as he hurried over them. He was a true explorer, venturing off into the unknown — well, unknown to everyone except Emily, but he was still second. 

Already, Thomas was rapt with the scenery around him. For once, he wasn’t surrounded by a labyrinth of sidings and ungrateful big engines. They passed a large shed that looked rather cramped to Thomas. A red bus stuck out, dozing comfortably. Thomas wanted so badly to wake him up, but Emily would certainly hear a whistle, so he spared the bus his torment this once. 

The outer lanes of Knapford town soon gave way to empty, verdant fields on both sides of the line. Cottages dotted the hills; Thomas wondered who lived in them — and how anyone could live in such a small place. A few yards up the line, Emily and her strange train had stopped right before a dirt lane crossed the railway. Thomas was too busy sightseeing to notice, not until he bumped into the brake van. He hadn’t been going fast, but Emily felt the jolt right away. 

Thomas might’ve been able to scamper off then and leave Emily to assume it had been the trucks acting out from boredom, if not for the nosy tractor trundling towards him.

“Hello, hello! Looks like we’ve got company, Emily!” he called, grinning at Thomas. Thomas panicked, but his chance had already passed. Emily looked back, having thought the tractor referenced a brave rabbit or some other critter that had come to watch — not a nosy engine. 

“Wh- Thomas?”

Thomas glowered at the tractor. “Thanks a lot.”

The tractor smiled innocently back.

“Would you care to explain what you’re doing, Thomas?” Emily demanded, though her usual confidence was somewhat dampened, almost as if she were nervous about something. Thomas plucked up courage. 

“What about what you’re doing? Where are we anyway?” 

Emily squirmed, obviously not wanting to tell him — but unlike Thomas, she wasn’t quick to conjure excuses for things. 

“This branch line is in bad shape, so I’m helping to repair it. It needs to be safe for you to run on when the time comes.” 

Thomas’ eyes roved around the crossing where they were halted. 

“You mean,” he said, slowly, “this is my branch line?” 

“…yes-“ Emily admitted, though she didn’t get far.

“And you’re running on it?” Thomas blurted out in horror. The tractor snickered; Emily shot him a look.

”N-No! Thomas, I just explained that it’s not safe. You’ll have it all to yourself one day, just not now.”

“I’m perfectly safe!” pouted Thomas, “I could take that little train you’ve got there myself if you trusted me.” 

“That’s not what…” Emily sighed in exasperation. “I told the Fat Controller this wasn’t going to work. He wanted it to be a surprise for you, but I said you wouldn’t be able to last that long…and I was right.”

“Hmph!” Thomas let off steam, startling the tractor into moving back. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” 

Emily had to ponder for a minute on some way to make Thomas see her side of things in a way he’d understand. 

“Think of it like this. Having a branch line is like having a whole part of the railway to yourself. That’s a lot on your buffers, and you don’t want to rush into it without knowing all the facts.” 

“How would you know?” Thomas asked rudely. He couldn’t see on account of the train between them, but Emily was smirking now. 

“Well, I made a right fool of myself once by doing just that.”

Thomas perked up immediately. “I have time,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure he did, “You may as well tell me.” 

The tractor pulled up alongside Emily with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve heard this one myself.” 

Even the platelayers stopped their work to listen in. 

Now with an audience, Emily hesitated on beginning her tale. Still, if it taught Thomas something, it was worth any embarrassment.

In the old days, what would become the North Western was three separate railways, each with their own engines — and their own baggage. They were easy pickings for assimilation into one comprehensive enterprise. The trouble was that there was much work to be done to connect them all together, and the engines were small and worn out. Far from ideal for construction, they wouldn’t do at all for hauling the future heavy trains for dozens of miles across the entire island. 

Many engines from across the bridge came to help, but only two outright joined the soon-to-be railway. Their names were Edward and Emily. One was bright blue and a shy steamer. The other was emerald green and made it quite clear what her opinions were. Neither were big by mainland standards, not anymore. On Sodor, however, they were giants.

They were shedded at Vicarstown, the main station before the base of operations was moved to the opposite coast. Edward and Emily were often alone as visiting engines made themselves scarce before dark, often whispering about being cursed by the Sudrian moon. 

Emily thought that was silly, so sometimes she basked in the moonlight just to prove them wrong.

Even so, she always woke up bright and early. 

“Today’s the day! Today’s the day!” she sang, her voice echoing around the shed. Edward stirred, though he was hesitant to open his eyes fully.

“What’s the what?” he mumbled. Emily grinned up at her whistle, which she promptly made use of. Edward’s wheels almost left the rails from his fright. 

“Today’s our first day!” Emily said, “Aren’t you excited? We’ll be a real railway with real passengers!” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Edward replied, still frazzled but trying to seem casual, “It’s hardly our first.” 

“Don’t be such a spoilsport,” huffed Emily, though a smile still crept on her face, “It may not be our first first, but it is our first opening. Think of all these country folk who’ve never seen engines like us before. We’re very important.” 

The more she spoke, the more Edward visibly shaken Edward became. Emily had a hunch he was hoping she wouldn’t notice; her grin widened. 

“Oh, so that’s what it is!” she teased, “You’re nervous!”

“It’s a lot of pressure,” he said, not bothering to try to hide it anymore, “If we don’t do well, all our work will have been for nothing, and then what will happen to us?”

“We’ve gone over it so many times! You can’t get cold wheels now!” Her chiding was interrupted by a dark red lorry approaching the sheds. The lorry grit her teeth with every bump as her tires maneuvered over the ballast. She muttered something under her breath; Emily’s glare was already fixed on her.

”If you have something to say, Elizabeth, say it. We’re busy.” 

Elizabeth, never one to be defied, looked her in the eye.

“Busy!” She almost snorted, but that would be uncouth of her. “You lumbering things haven’t moved a wheel. On such a ‘special occasion’ too! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, putting Topham through all this trouble.” 

Edward now looked rather guilty; Emily looked as though she wanted to drag Elizabeth away herself. 

“That’s Mr. Hatt to you,” she said darkly, “If he has something to say, he’ll tell us personally.” Getting on Emily’s bad side was a risk most wouldn’t take; Elizabeth, however, continued to regard her as if she were nothing more than a lamb. 

“Don’t expect it. That fool’s locked himself in his office, pouring over every last little thing of this whole charade. What little hair he has left will fall out when you’re through with him.” Emily’s fury abated as she stared off into the distance, unable to hear the lorry continuing to dig into her. Edward, now concerned enough to overcome his standard procedure of staying quiet when Elizabeth was around, spoke up.

”Are you alright, Emily?” 

Her only response was a cloud of steam. By the time it dispersed, she was already halfway to the station. 

 It was one thing for Edward to be nervous. Perhaps it was his tubes, or perhaps the coal didn’t agree with him. Either way, he always seemed a bit on edge. 

But Mr. Hatt always knew what to do, even in a crisis.

Elizabeth was horrid, but she never lied. Emily had to consider what she said.

That made Emily almost as nervous as the thought of Mr. Hatt being nervous. 

She sped through the sidings adjacent to the station, eyeing each with a fine comb. If she waited long enough, some mainland tank engine would attend to her, but Emily didn’t trust them. Nothing could go wrong today.

If it already hasn’t, she thought mournfully. 

She shook the negativity off and focused on her task — but everywhere she looked, there were only more and more trucks. Plank wagons, flatbeds, conflats, and brake vans galore. No coaches. They hadn’t needed many for the construction; it wasn’t as if platelayers were scratching at the windows to be hired. 

Emily finally halted, feeling out of breath. She couldn’t waste all her coal on a fruitless venture. For all she knew, she was already running late. Out of the corner of her eye, she espied two orange coaches, each with four wheels. Without a second thought, she sprinted over, giving them a bump as she backed down onto them.

The coaches, who had been sound asleep, were roused ever so rudely. 

“Oh!” exclaimed the brake coach, “Is that you, Edward? That was much too rough!”

“Much too rough indeed,” mumbled the other coach, glaring at the emerald tender in front of her, “but this isn’t Edward, dear.” Emily started with an urgent jolt. If the coaches weren’t cross before, they certainly were now.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the first coach. 

“Why are you taking us?” asked the brake coach anxiously. Emily rolled her eyes. 

“The inaugural train waits for no engine or carriage. You’re not really my sort of coaches, but you’ll have to do. Come along and don’t make such a fuss.” 

The coaches spluttered furiously, but Emily didn’t have time for their nonsense and practically dragged them towards the station. 

A growing mass of people waited on the platform as Emily pulled in. Most were average citizens from in town; some were excited for the bold step the North Western was in bringing the disparate villages of the island together. Some were (perhaps fairly) skeptical, given the previous checkered attempts at having a railway on Sudrian soil. Some were as Emily had said to Edward: fascinated by such a magnificent machine being in their midst. 

A few passengers, however, Emily recognized: the board of directors. They didn’t hail from Sodor, instead coming and going as they pleased from the mainland to sniff at whatever they didn’t like. 

Now, they gawked at Annie and Clarabel. 

“What is this?” one snapped, turning to the others, “Hatt said he’d acquired proper coaches for this inaugural train! These are the…”

“…layman’s coaches,” another added, shuddering. Annie and Clarabel grit their teeth. 

“But we suppose ‘we’ll do’,” Annie muttered, just loud enough for Emily to hear. Emily pretended she hadn’t. She cleared her tubes, drawing the attention of the directors.

“My apologies, sirs,” she said with a forced polite smile, ”I‘m sure it’s all a misunderstanding.” The directors stared blankly at her, then at each other, struggling to comprehend that an engine had dared speak to them. 

“Hatt and his ‘bargains’,” one grumbled as if Emily and the coaches weren’t there, “What a shambles this is. Where’s Lord Harwick when you need him?” Lord Harwick was even more distant than the railway board, though Emily had indeed expected him to have arrived for this. 

The fact he hadn’t was concerning. 

Emily wasn’t due to leave for a while yet; she dearly wished she could. A brass band played trumpet music that wasn’t quite appropriate for the occasion. Speeches were made, though no one’s heart seemed to be in them. The directors said nothing at all; they just sulked as they idled near the back of the crowd. Mr. Hatt should have shown himself by now, but he hadn’t. Annie and Clarabel were, of course, miserable. 

Nothing seemed to be going as it should have been. 

Emily wanted to shout and whistle and usher everyone aboard so they could get started already, but the directors had a habit of making engines feel much smaller than they really were.

At long last, the clock struck the hour. For once, there was some enthusiasm as patrons piled into Annie and Clarabel. They soon winced from the extra weight; there were many, many people who did want to ride the inaugural train despite the dignitaries’ disappointment.

Too many, in fact. 

Annie and Clarabel were only small coaches, and it wasn’t long before every seat was occupied; not nearly enough to satiate all the would-be passengers. Groans of disappointment emanated. The railway did look woefully unprepared, Emily realized, and though that wasn’t technically her fault, when they were finally cleared to leave, she had never left a station faster. 

Emily tore down the newly established main line in fine style. Villagers gathered on each side of the tracks to watch her fly past, many cheering in admiration. She should’ve been proud, especially since she’d helped to lay down the very rails she was now running on.

But she couldn’t be. Not when everything was so wrong, even if she didn’t know why. The truth was there were probably many reasons, which did not ease her concerns. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered to keep her pace up and focus on something else. The inaugural train was a straight shot from coast to coast, and a good sprint was just what she needed. Annie and Clarabel wailed in terror behind her; they were hardly used to such high speeds and were sure to let her know it. 

“You hooligan!” Annie yelled at the top of her voice, “Our poor frames can’t handle this!”

“I’m going to buckle!” Clarabel whimpered, “Hold me, Annie!”

“I’m trying, dear!”

Emily tried to ignore them, but the coaches were nothing if not persistent. She even felt a tug at her coupling. 

“They’re trying to slow me down! The nerve!” she hissed to herself. A junction station flew by, though the scenery suddenly seemed to become clearer. Emily blinked to reorient herself. She hadn’t her brakes on, so why would they possibly be stopping? Did someone pull the emergency cable? 

Now alarmed, Emily guided the train to a standstill a mile past the station they’d passed. She had to stop and catch her breath; sudden braking wasn’t something she was used to. 

“What’s wrong? Are all the passengers okay?” she asked anxiously. To her surprise, both coaches harrumphed. 

“They certainly are not!” said Annie, “We were supposed to stop back there!” 

“And not here! In the middle of nowhere!” Clarabel lamented. Any sympathy Emily had flew out her funnel. 

“We’re not supposed to stop anywhere but Tidmouth! Now come on, or we’re going to be late!” She released her brakes and tried to start again, but she found herself held back by the coaches. Emily glared. “What’s the matter with you two? I’ve never known such troublesome coaches since my fire was first lit!” 

“And we’ve never known such a bossy engine since our roofs were bolted on!” retorted Annie. Clarabel’s scowl softened somewhat as engine and coach continued to bark at each other.

“Annie, dear, maybe she’s right…” she whispered. Annie rolled her eyes. 

“She can’t be right all the time. I know our orders, you know our orders. We were supposed to stop at every station!” Emily was about to fire back when she noticed that some of the passengers had figured out how to open Annie and Clarabel’s windows.

“Is there a problem?” one called, sounding sympathetic.

“The curse has struck again,” another added, sounding less so. Annie looked shocked.

“B-But… Mr. Hatt…” She fell silent and, begrudgingly, released her brakes. Emily was still cross but maintained her “passenger” smile as she smoothed over the situation.

“N-Not at all! Just a, um, miscommunication. We’ll be starting again shortly — and make up for lost time too!”

The coaches shared a horrified glance, but neither managed a word before Emily took off again. 

Thankfully, Annie and Clarabel stayed quiet as they continued on their way. They must’ve finally realized they were being silly, and Emily was just doing what she was supposed to. She wanted to be satisfied with that, but it still didn’t make sense to her. Too many things didn’t add up. Her wheels pounded the rails as she brooded.

These were supposed to be her coaches, there were no others around, yet not only did they want nothing to do with her but were given different instructions than her — if they were to be believed. It was almost as if they were meant for another railway entirely. Of course, that didn’t make sense either, because Edward had worked with them day in and day out during the construction. How he managed, she’d now never understand. 

Emily was still ruminating when she spotted something ahead. She squinted to get a better look. 

The level crossing gates were closed.

Something red was blocking the track. 

Emily wanted to throw herself off the rails. 

“I can’t believe this…” She started to slow down, which caught Annie and Clarabel off guard. Not that they were complaining.

”At last! A more reasonable rate!” Clarabel sighed, her frames still rattling. Annie, meanwhile, caught a glimpse of what Emily already had. 

“I say… What is that?”

“What’s what, dear?” Clarabel asked; she faced away from the others and so hadn’t as clear a view. The crossing grew more visible. Emily, now in a panic, slammed on her brakes in full force, but they weren’t very strong, and she’d been going at such a speed that she wouldn’t have time to stop before she hit the obstruction. 

Not on her own, anyway.

“Annie, Clarabel, I know we don’t see eye to eye,” Emily said, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt, “but we have to help each other, or we’ll all be in trouble.”

”For once, I agree with you!” Annie exclaimed, sounding strangely impressed, “On the count of three! One!” Emily ceded the initial command to her; now wasn’t the time to be petty. 

“Two!” 

“Three?” muttered Clarabel, rather clueless to what was going on. The coaches joined in; that made a difference right away. The sleepers began to pass beneath them more slowly. Still, the crossing grew ever closer. Emily could just make out what — or who — was stuck on it. 

“Cinders and ashes! It’s Elizabeth!” She reinforced her effort, shutting her eyes. The coaches held back with all their might. They grew slower and slower until they reached the crossing with a relieving “clink”. Emily opened her eyes; Elizabeth stared back, almost blankly. 

“Oh. It’s you.” 

Emily’s mounting frustration with the day’s events manifested in her next question.

”What happened?” As if she wasn’t astonished enough as it was, Elizabeth evaded her gaze. She was ashamed. Emily hadn’t even considered that Elizabeth could feel such an emotion.  

“As it happens, I…ran out of puff,” Elizabeth said, “Could’ve happened to anyone.” 

A rotund, perspiring head popped out from behind Elizabeth. 

Another, covered in significantly more hair, followed suit.

Emily almost laughed, her own trained self-restraint being her only barrier. Of all places, she did not expect to find Mr. Hatt here — never mind Lord Harwick himself.

“Ah, Emily!” Mr. Hatt attempted a smile as he wiped his brow. “Thank goodness you stopped in time. We’re currently waiting for…ahem, assistance.” 

“I sent for some donkeys,” said Lord Harwick with such a straight face that Emily knew he wasn’t joking, “I’d expected them to have arrived before you were timed through.” A twinkle glistened in his eye as he looked at Emily. “Going a little fast, weren’t we?”

Emily gaped.  

“So were we!” Lord Harwick patted Elizabeth’s hood, a gesture that made her glare venomously at him. “‘Tis why Topham’s lorry puttered out. We were on our way to Tidmouth, you see. To see you, that is.”

Emily noticed that Mr. Hatt, despite doing his best to remain composed, kept glancing at Annie and Clarabel with wide eyes. She was about to comment on it when two consecutive brays filled the air. A pair of donkeys trotted up the dirt lane to the crossing, 

”Ah, there they are!” said Lord Harwick proudly, “You’ll be on your way now, Elizabeth.” Elizabeth made a face but said nothing. 

“Excuse us, sirs,” Clarabel piped up, again before Emily could interject, “but if you need a lift to Tidmouth…” 

“…we’ll be more than happy to provide!” finished Annie. Emily’s eyes popped open. 

“W-What? But there isn’t…” She found herself unable to articulate that the only possible room in the coaches left would be the guard’s compartment.

Annie and Clarabel were in much higher spirits. They had a very special passenger, after all.

“Not her sort of coaches! Not her sort of coaches!” they tittered, now finding it a great joke rather than the searing insult it previously had been. Better still, Emily couldn’t go so fast anymore — she wouldn’t dare push her luck with Lord Harwick himself onboard.

There was no solace in some of her questions being answered. Taking your chairman in a guard’s compartment was not an honor most engines could boast. That would’ve been bad enough. 

They were also running a half hour late. 

Emily almost wished everyone at the terminus had gone home. 

To her surprise, however, she heard the cheers of the exultant crowd before even reaching the station throat. Every square inch of every platform was occupied. It was almost as if they hadn’t expected the inaugural train to show up at all, thus meeting the bare minimum was exciting. 

Still, Emily sincerely smiled as she and the coaches pulled in and ground to a grand halt. Those at the front of the crowd heaped compliments on her like she was a child. Emily found it a little off putting but still couldn’t help but be swept up in all the excitement. Mr. Hatt and Lord Harwick couldn’t even open the door to exit the compartment with how many people there were. 

Another whistle cut the celebrations short. 

A weary, wheezing Edward ground to a fitful halt alongside Emily. He hadn’t the steam to even say hello. Annie and Clarabel eyed the stock he brought with him in awe.

“My goodness! Look at all those coaches!” Clarabel said. 

There were five, to be precise. All were as stuffed as they had been and then some. Annie glanced between them and Emily.

”There’s quite the resemblance,” she mused. Emily hadn’t noticed, for she was more concerned about a set of irate figures assembling on the platform.

She watched as they pushed through the crowd, marching to the northern end of the station where there was a walkway to reach every platform. Tidmouth’s platforms were long, however, and walking such a way was inconvenient. It took several minutes for the directors to come in a single file line towards her and the coaches. Emily looked away, though they didn’t give her so much as a passing glance. 

“Topham Hatt!” they all bellowed at once, like a schoolteacher calling out a troublemaker. The yell muffled all merriment. Mr. Hatt, sweat beading on his brow, leaned out of Clarabel’s compartment. 

“Heh… How can I-“ He promptly lost balance and fell onto the platform. Emily, Edward and the coaches winced. The directors, of course, were far less sympathetic.

“You have done quite enough,” one said, “Why you were made CME is beyond us. You chose the most feeble locomotives you could’ve possibly acquired…” Emily glowered; Edward looked at his buffers. 

“…and embarrassed the lot of us in front of the whole of Great Britain,” another added, “Think of the investors. They’ll all pull out when they hear of this fiasco and no mistake.”

“The only way for us to save face now,” a third finished coldly, ”is to relieve you of your duties.” Mr. Hatt’s face turned ashen, unable to formulate a defense for himself. Annie and Clarabel quietly gasped. 

Emily couldn’t bear to listen anymore.

“Don’t fire Mr. Hatt, sirs.”

If the station was silent before, it was a vacuum now. Even the directors were taken aback.

“Emily? What are you doing?” whispered Edward nervously (a whisper was all he could manage anyway); it took some effort on Emily’s part to ignore him. 

“It was my fault,” she said, “I’m the one who went too fast. I’m the one who made Annie and Clarabel cross. I’m…” She hesitated, her resolve cracking. “…the one who‘s stressing Mr. Hatt.” Her face set like iron. “If you send anyone packing, sirs, it should be me.”

Mr. Hatt turned a shade paler than before. Before anyone said a word, however, Clarabel voiced her opinion.

“You can’t send Emily away! She may be headstrong, and rather rude at times, but she means well, really!” 

“If she’s going, we’re going!” declared Annie; Clarabel murmured in agreement without hesitation. Emily looked back. She was under the assumption they still hated her. Edward meekly cleared his tubes.

Now everyone’s eyes were on him. 

“I wouldn’t want to stay without my friend either,“ he said, carefully. Emily broke out into a wide beam. The directors looked as though they were going to faint. They turned from Emily, to the coaches, to Edward, to Mr. Hatt, to the crowds, then back to Emily again. These machines were supposed to be seen and not heard. In fact, they hadn’t even known coaches had voices to begin with. 

“S-Stop it!” one exclaimed, his voice cracking, “Mr. Hatt, we insist-“

“Ahem.” Lord Harwick leaned out of Clarabel’s compartment, giving a sweeping look across the station. “No one is being sent packing if I have anything to say about it.” Mr. Hatt rushed over to help him onto the platform. “If you fancy the truth, gentlemen,” Lord Harwick said, ”The matter originates with me. It was my idea for this fine engine to have coaches themed after her. Unfortunately for us all, it only occurred to me at a perilously late time before opening. Mr. Hatt did his best to have everything arranged, but alas, the coaches did not arrive until early this morning — after who they were for already left.” 

Emily remained respectfully quiet.

“She hardly could have known,” the man continued; Emily knew he was talking to her in a way despite not directly addressing her. “Mr. Hatt wanted it to be a surprise. I quite agreed. As it happened, our Number Two had to take the new coaches. A strain indeed for him.” 

Edward chuckled awkwardly as Emily raised an eyebrow at him.

“I would say this has been a learning experience for us all,” finished Lord Harwick, “and pointing fingers helps nobody.” He turned to the directors. “If there is any more of it, I’ll see about you being ’relieved of your duties’. Do I make myself clear?” The directors stared slack-jawed. 

“Can…can he do that?” one whispered hoarsely. None of them waited to find out. They scuffled off into the station building, hiding their faces with their hats. 

Thomas stayed in awed silence many minutes after Emily had concluded. Surprisingly, it was Emily that disturbed the quiet.

“You didn’t interrupt me once! I am surprised! Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” she grinned. Thomas snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in and blushed in embarrassment. 

“It was a good story, that’s all. But I don’t see what it has to do with me. I’m not bothering Mr. Hatt,” he said, although there was a tinge of uncertainty that only Emily could notice. Emily pondered for a moment.

“Mr. Hatt does get harried, but I think he’s come to terms with the occasional confusion and delay being part of running a railway. Doesn’t mean you should add to it when you can help it,” she added, in the hopes that she wouldn’t enable him. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“That’s it?” he asked, suspiciously. It didn’t seem right that Emily would tell him this story just for such a banal moral at the end. His boiler felt heavier when Emily smirked at him.

“Not quite.” Her expression became much more sincere. “I just want you to be more conscientious, Thomas. If I hadn’t jumped to so many conclusions and rushed through everything, that day might have gone differently. Keep your wits about you, don’t get impatient, and you’ll do very well when you do get your branch line.” 

Thomas blinked. It wasn’t the first time Emily had complimented him, but he was still so used to her poking around for something amiss to judge. 

“Do you mean that?” 

“If I said it, I meant it.” 

The tractor, who had also remained quiet until now, looked up at the sky. Clouds were rolling and threatened to obscure the sun.  

“It’s getting late. Think your friend here ought to be getting home.” 

Thomas scowled at the tractor but even so began to reverse away back towards the main line.

“Fine, fine.” 

Emily and the tractor shared a look. 

“If you get asked where you were-“ Emily began, calling after him; Thomas did interrupt this time.

“Don’t worry! I’ve got a story!” he called back as he puffed around the bend out of sight. 

Emily shouldn’t have been surprised.

Chapter Text

James was a very ordinary engine. With two wheels in front and six driving wheels behind, he was the sort who could pull just about anything without much trouble. A “mixed-traffic engine”, the Fat Controller had called him.

It wasn’t a special title; many engines possessed it, even Edward. 

“It’s a compliment,” Edward had said, “It means you’re reliable.” He smiled proudly; James didn’t partake. 

For a while, being the “new engine” meant some eyes on him — until Thomas came along, of course. The spotlight was simply not meant for James. That was reserved for engines put on posters.

Like Gordon.

And yet, on an ordinary day like any other, James had an accident. This gave him attention, though not the kind he’d hoped for. He was swiftly whisked away to the Works, out of sight, to be mended.

He was hardly alone there; engineers were always by his side (or on his side). Edward and Emily stuck their funnels in to see how he was getting on. Even Henry used some of his limited energy to come by. James wished he didn’t; he had to watch from the hoist as Henry, green as his paintwork from traveling such a long way, underwent an impromptu washout. 

What James certainly didn’t expect was a visit from the Fat Controller. The Fat Controller’s eyes roved over James, noting the damage that had been fixed. 

“How are you feeling today, James? You look much better.” 

James didn’t feel better and indicated as much with his dull sigh. The Fat Controller chuckled.

“Never mind. You’ll be on your wheels again soon — with new brakes too!” 

James knew his wooden brake blocks were embarrassing and flammable and not very good at all, but they still made him unique in a way. Now he didn’t even have that. The Fat Controller must’ve noticed his frown deepening, for he quickly continued. 

“And once you’re repaired, you’ll be getting a new coat of paint.”

Now that piqued James’ interest. His current coat matched the soot and ash that often caked it. 

“Does it have to be the same paint, Mr. Hatt?” 

The Fat Controller pondered for a moment. 

“Are you asking for a new color?”

James worried he’d crossed some line he hadn’t known about. 

“I don’t need it,” he said hastily, even though he felt he did, “If it’s not worth the trouble, I-” 

“Of course you can have a new color, James,” cut in the Fat Controller, “if that’s what you’d like. Do you have anything particular in mind?” 

Different options swirled about in his boiler, though they were only ones he already opposed. Blue was out of the question. Gordon and Edward and Thomas were all blue, after all. He couldn’t be green either as Henry and Emily had already claimed it. James’ eyes flickered towards his still-scratched bufferbeam. 

“Red,” he blurted out on a whim. The Fat Controller laughed. 

“Red it shall be! I’ll speak with the paint crew.” 

James had never been so excited before. He’d only ever been the one color. Would having another feel any different? Surely it would. 

When the last dent was sorted, the painters set to work. James waited anxiously for them to finish, but it took much longer than he expected. They couldn’t put the red paint on right away; they had to strip him of his current livery first. 

And they did so by literally scraping the black paint off. 

It was very confusing to see specks of what was once part of him unceremoniously on the workshop floor. 

James wanted to speak up and demand them to hurry it along, but he just managed to restrain himself. The painters were doing him a favor; they were transforming him. The wait would be well worth it. 

Paintbrushes began to glide over the exposed metal. James relaxed and closed his eyes. He would’ve stayed in that blissful ignorance if not for a particularly cheeky member of the crew.

“Don’t get too excited!” he called while working on one side of the cab, “This is just an undercoat!” 

James opened one eye. “A what?” 

“You know, a coat under what’ll be your new one. It’s to keep the water out.” 

James found that very silly and grunted to show it. The work proceeded slower than ever now.

“I don’t need two coats of paint,” he thought, “What a waste.”

At long last, the undercoat was applied — then he had to wait for that to dry. 

Finally, after what must’ve been an entire day, the painters brought over the new tins of paint. James looked on with interest as one was opened, revealing the bright red contents. The Fat Controller had been true to his word. The painters were lucky James had no steam or he would’ve showered them right then and there.

James expected something to happen when the red made contact. 

He felt exactly the same. 

The same ordinary engine. 

His face fell, staying that way even when two familiar figures approached him. 

“What’s wrong with you then, eh?” asked James’ stoker, “Aren’t you glad to see us?” James perked up but only a little. The driver gave a low whistle. 

“I wouldn’t have recognized you if I hadn’t ridden your footplate all these years.”

“It rather suits you,” remarked the stoker, “People will see you coming from a mile away.”

James thought they were just trying to make him feel better.

He’d already been tested before the dreadful saga of being repainted, but having a fire again still managed to cheer him up some. The engineers had done their job; James was actually eager to break his new parts in. 

“Alright, James,” the driver said, patting his cab, “We’re heading to Vicarstown now. Emily’s waiting for us there.”

James raised an eyebrow. “What’s Emily got to do with anything?”

“You’re double-heading with her for her return journey,” explained the driver, “We thought you’d like to ease yourself back into the swing of things.”

“Hmph.” James moved forward, suddenly not as enthusiastic as he’d been a minute ago. The engineers and painters waved him goodbye; James whistled for one but not the other. If he ever saw a tin of paint again, it would be too soon.

“I am glad he’s well again. More than glad, honestly, he was utterly depressed all throughout his repairs. I just wish he didn’t have to come back on my train.” Emily sizzled at the edge of the platform with her set of green coaches. The passengers were already aboard; all was set for her to leave, but she had to wait for James. The mainland connection, a yellow engine with four driving wheels, listened politely as Emily explained herself. 

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to my coaches is all I’m-” A familiar whistle cut her off. A very unfamiliar engine followed it; to be sure, it had James’ shape, his number and his face, but for one thing, they were red. 

For another, when they halted just short of the station, no sparks came out — or smoke. Emily and her friend struggled not to stare.  

“Is that you, James?” Emily ventured, astonished. James stared back, even more befuddled. 

“Who else were you expecting?” 

“You just look…different. In a good way!” she added to assure she wasn’t insulting him.

“I do?” 

Emily and her friend shared a glance.

“How about you get coupled up?” Emily suggested, “We’re cutting it awfully close.” James’ scowl promptly returned.

“Super.” He headed off to find the turntable. The moment he was out of earshot, Emily’s friend spoke up. 

“It looks garish.” 

Emily had to stop herself from laughing.

“M-Molly!”

James was still sulky when he came back and wasn’t watching what he was doing. He bumped into Emily, who bumped into her coaches. Molly winced, looking away. Emily, for her part, maintained a level smokebox.

“Your brakes are more powerful than they used to be. You can put them on sooner.”

“Whatever,” muttered James. A guard’s whistle blew, but to his annoyance, it wasn’t for him. Instead, Molly departed, discreetly whispering good luck to Emily as she did so. Now it was just Emily and James, waiting for theirs. James furrowed his brow.

“What’s the holdup?” 

Emily squinted out into the distance. “We have to wait for Henry to arrive to clear the section.” 

“…I should’ve guessed.” 

At that moment, Henry did arrive with his short rake of trucks in tow. Henry looked rather downcast — until he saw the bright red engine in the middle of the station. 

“Oh my! Is that really you, James? You look splendid!” 

James blinked as Henry clanked on by. He hadn’t heard that before. In fact, he didn’t really know what “splendid” meant. Emily chuckled. 

“It means you look brilliant.” 

James wanted to retort that he didn’t need her to explain but said explanation took a moment to internalize. 

“Me? Brilliant?” He was so stunned that he didn’t realize it was time to go until Emily surged into the back of him.

“I’d call that even!” she smirked at James’ startled yelp. 

James couldn’t even be cross.

Despite both’s initial reservations, Emily and James enjoyed the first stretch of their journey. Emily was pleased that James had stopped being so grouchy and kept pace with her own speed. 

James hardly remembered she was still there behind him. He was thinking about Henry. 

He shouldn’t have cared what his opinion was. It was only Henry, after all, and indeed if it was only him, he would’ve shot it right back out his funnel like a slew of ashes. All along the line, however, heads turned wherever he and Emily passed. Some people gathered on bridges to wave at them. James looked up in awe; he’d never been waved to before.

Maybe there was something to it after all.

He began to flash his teeth and wink at those that waved, because he didn‘t know what else to do; it got some of them laughing, so he must’ve been doing something right. Emily initially let him have his moment, but she began to grow concerned.

“James, you’re in front. You have to pay attention.“ 

James was paying attention — the express was coming in the opposite direction. He whistled as loudly as he could; Gordon’s gaze, formerly stony and facing ahead, shifted. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

James was thinking about just what he’d say when something suddenly seemed to be trying to drag him to a halt. The something, of course, was Emily.

”Slow down!” she exclaimed, “We’re supposed to stop here!”

James didn’t register that a station was coming up fast until it was already too late. 

“Uh oh.” He slammed on his own brakes, surging into Emily, who surged into her coaches. It was a valiant effort ultimately in vain as by the time the train stopped, the first two coaches were beyond the platform. The express shot past, Gordon’s gape replaced by an unrestrained bellow of laughter. James’ cheeks turned even redder than his paintwork. 

“Oops.”

They shuffled back into the station, James looking at his buffers.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. Emily looked exasperated.

“It could’ve been worse, I suppose. But I hope this makes you see looking good doesn’t mean anything if you’re careless.” 

Newly humbled, perhaps James would’ve taken the advice — but any chance was smothered when he saw the throng of passengers still on the platform, all admiring his gleaming red coat. 

Admiring him.

One little boy tugged at his mother’s dress and pointed. “Look at that engine, mum! He’s very shiny, isn’t he?”

“Splendid indeed,” agreed the mother, eyeing James’ large brass dome. The clock ticked ever closer to their scheduled departure. The guard had to come and shoo the passengers aboard so they wouldn’t miss their path. By the time they did leave, James had a broader grin than ever. Emily had a bad feeling in her firebox.

To James’ disappointment, and Emily’s relief, the big station wasn’t crowded when they arrived. Any remnants of prior trains had already been taken away to the yard. Their passengers, however, were not quick to disperse after they disembarked. They all came up not only to admire James again but to speak directly to him.

“I never cared much for red on engines,” one said loftily, “You’ve certainly changed my mind on that!“

“Must be the yellow lining,” another chimed in, “It completes the look, I’d say.” 

“Even those metal things on your wheels sparkle,” said a third, “Whoever polished you did a grand job of it!” None said a word about overrunning one of the stations. Emily stewed in her own disbelief — nobody except passengers she knew on a first-name basis ever came up to speak with her. 

James‘ smile threatened to stretch as wide as the station itself. With everyone all still in one place, he leaned into his newfound position. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he said with as much grandiosity as he could, “I picked out this color myself, you know. I have good taste.”

“Ugh,” Emily huffed, now thoroughly disillusioned. James, meanwhile, had built up a lot of steam in all his excitement and had nowhere to put it. Without thinking, he let out a loud and long ”wheesh”. Everyone on the platform jumped five feet back; a few with more nervous dispositions scampered off like children ordered to their rooms. Emily was mortified and about to diffuse the situation, but the steam was already clearing. Amidst those that were left was the Fat Controller. 

If Emily was mortified, James was terrified.

“M-Mr. Hatt!” he squeaked. The station fell silent as everyone, even the passengers, watched to see what the Fat Controller would do. With a blank expression, he reached for his hat and felt it. 

“Mmm.” It was damp. He looked at James; James averted his eyes. “I am happy to see you feeling so much better, but I would prefer if in future you keep yourself more…” The Fat Controller tactfully cleared his throat. “…contained.” James blinked, having expected something far worse. 

“Y-Yes, Mr. Hatt. Will do, Mr. Hatt.” 

A small smile crept on the Fat Controller’s face. He winked at Emily before striding off to his office. The other passengers, as bewildered as the engines, swiftly departed for their errands. 

“Well!” said James, a heavy weight lifted off him, “I got away with that one, didn’t I?” He scampered off before Emily could say anything.

James was last to the sheds that night. He arrived to the others whispering, though it didn’t occur to him what they could be whispering about.

“Withhold your applause, please.” He preened whilst on the turntable. “You aren’t all used to seeing such a splendid engine.” The others shared dubious glances as James backed into his berth. Gordon, as per usual, didn’t bother to be polite.

“Splendid indeed! Is that what you call being an absolute amateur?” He stifled a laugh now that he was among his inferiors. “Why, not even poor Emily could rein you in! Take my advice, little James, and stick to your trucks. Trucks care not for any lack of grace.” 

Emily noticed a flicker of fear cross James’ face. 

“The passengers like me,” said James, weakly. Gordon harrumphed. 

“Only your veneer-“ 

“I can’t believe you soaked the Fat Controller’s hat,” Thomas interjected, fit to burst with his own stance on the matter, “That must’ve been a real lark! Hey, next time do it in a place where I can see, eh?“

“There’s not going to be a next time,” put in Emily, regarding James a bit more gently, “Will there?” 

James hissed like a cornered cat.

“You’re all just jealous!” he blurted out, “You wish you’d thought of it first! Too bad, I say! I’m red, and you’re not, so there!” The shed fell silent after that; even Gordon was surprised. 

Edward, who’d been quietly listening until then, whispered to James. 

“Never mind. The way I heard it, you didn’t upset anyone too much. I’m sure you’ll do better tomorrow.” 

James harrumphed; he didn’t care what Edward, or Emily, or even Gordon thought. His day had been a good one — and he was going to do even better tomorrow. 

James left the next morning before Edward and Gordon (and long before Henry), but after Emily and Thomas. He didn’t see the irony of being right in the middle. Whistling at anyone and anything to announce his presence, James flounced into the big station. 

“Here’s James!” 

The station, however, seemed much emptier than it had the day before. There were a few loitering passengers, but none took notice of him. James couldn’t fathom why; he was there. 

“Ahem.” 

Still, no heads turned. James was beginning to get cross. 

“Ahem!” 

That did get someone’s attention: the stationmaster's. 

“What on earth are you doing there? Thomas is bringing Gordon’s coaches in a minute.” 

James eyed the number above the platform he’d arrived in: platform one. When possible, it was the platform that the express used. James knew this, but he didn’t care then. 

“What about my coaches?” 

The stationmaster was taken aback. “You’re due out right after Gordon. Thomas won’t have time to help, I’m afraid. You’ll have to shunt them yourself.” 

James stared, hoping he hadn’t heard correctly. He waited for the new, proper instructions; the stationmaster didn’t wait. He turned on his heel and hurried away to another, more pressing task. James watched in disbelief. 

“Me? Shunt?” he uttered in a small voice. Before he could think of anything else, he was bumped from behind. 

“Hey!” James exclaimed. 

“Is that you, James?” called Thomas from the other side of the express coaches, “Serves you right for being where you shouldn’t!” James growled; he could take the express, if given the chance. 

“Why do I have to shunt my own coaches and Gordon doesn’t? He’s not even out of the shed yet!” 

“Maybe it’s favoritism,” grinned Thomas, “Ah well. When I finally get my line, you’ll all shunt for yourselves. How about that?”

James wasn’t particularly keen on this notion either. He stormed off to the yard, brooding all the while. 

Already, James’ day was ruined. He didn’t know who to blame, so he blamed everyone.

“Edward jinxed it. Emily held me back. Thomas…he deserved that branch line, but so did I!” James was grumbling so much that he hadn’t realized he was already close to the carriage shed. Its occupants certainly noticed him first. 

“Is that who I think it is?” Clarabel asked. Annie squinted outside; a red tender hurtled towards them. 

“Unfortunately… I was hoping we’d have Henry today.” 

“Oh yes!” Clarabel smiled fondly, “He is a dear.” Neither meant for James to hear, but hear it he did. James rammed into them, his new brakes already being punished. It’d been an accident, but James was too furious to apologize. 

“Don’t talk!” he demanded through gritted teeth, “Come on!” The coaches were most surprised; they were used to James being rough, but this was something else. He started with a jolt, tightening their couplings as he snorted to the station. 

“Henry! Henry!” he hissed, “He lounges around all day pretending to be sick while I do his work and they’d rather have Henry!” Annie and Clarabel shared a weary glance as James shunted them onto the back of a longer train.

By the time James ran around and waited to start, the passengers had arrived. He hadn’t noticed at first, because the edge of the platform was completely vacant. He had to look again to realize that everyone was huddled near the wall of the station building. Word traveled fast on Sodor; everyone knew about James’ “breach” and suddenly remembered the risks of standing too close to an engine. To them, it wasn’t anything personal. 

It was to James.

“I’ll show them,” he muttered, “They think only Gordon and Emily can pull coaches.” He didn’t bother regarding the boarding passengers; he just pouted as he waited for the guard’s whistle. On the other side of the train, Annie and Clarabel were growing anxious. They were perceptive coaches, having been on the railway longer than many of the engines, and now noticed that something was amiss, even if they couldn’t quite put their buffers on it. 

James started so quickly that, for a moment, his wheels only spun in place. When they did get moving, the couplings grew so taut that Annie and Clarabel were sure one would snap. Miraculously, they didn’t, and the train remained intact as they clattered over the points onto the open line.

Despite his foul mood, James appreciated a good run as much as any engine. By the time they were out in the idyllic countryside, he actually began to feel better. He pretended that he was pulling the express and would get a clear shot to the other side of the island without needing to stop.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” he chanted, trying to sound like Gordon. James sped up more and more to properly “play the part”. The coaches, however, were not best suited for such higher speeds — particularly Annie and Clarabel, who by now were swaying from side to side.

“James!” Annie hollered crossly, “Slow down this instant!” 

“We’re going too fast!” Clarabel added. James was having fun now, and he didn’t want the fun to stop because of two cranky old coaches. Just to spite them, he tried to go even faster…only to find that he couldn’t.

“Huh?” James knew he wasn’t at his top speed yet, not even close, which meant that he was being held back. “What’s the matter with you coaches? Can’t I have something for myself?” Out of sheer boiling anger, he bumped the train hard. Annie and Clarabel were more stunned at the audacity than hurt.

The bump was the last straw; the force against James grew and grew until they were finally stopped, surrounded by rolling fields and a set of telephone wires strung up beside the railway. 

“Are you trying to get me in trouble? Let me go!” James cried as if he’d just been handcuffed. Annie and Clarabel shared a look. Now that they’d stopped, they had figured out what the “something amiss” had been. 

“It’s not our fault,” said Clarabel, “Our brake pipe has a leak in it. We couldn’t move even if we wanted to.” 

“I don’t want to,” Annie grumbled, “We’re much too old for these ‘main line antics.’” 

“A nice, quiet branch line does sound lovely right about now,” Clarabel agreed, smiling at the thought of fewer trains and fewer other coaches to travel with. James spluttered. 

“You’re making that up! How would your brakes be leaking?”

“Maybe because someone bumped us enough to make a leak in anything!” Annie snapped. James was taken aback. He subsided into silence as his aggrieved driver went to confirm what the coaches had said. The guard got down from Clarabel and joined him. They checked all along the train until they reached the coupling between Annie and Clarabel. In the pipe, a joint had worked itself loose. The guard frowned. 

“Looks like they were right.”

“You really ought to just believe us when we tell you,” chimed in Clarabel. The driver and guard shared a look. 

“That’s that then,” said the driver, “We’ll have to try to squeeze everyone into the other coaches and leave Annie and Clarabel here until someone else can come along for them.” Annie and Clarabel were naturally not thrilled about this proposition.

“Or we could mend the hole,” Annie suggested. The driver looked up at them, perplexed. 

“And how do you suppose we do that?”

Both coaches pondered the problem. After a moment, they grinned at each other as they shared the same thought. 

“Newspaper…” 

”…and a leather bootlace!”

The guard spluttered, struggling to keep something hidden behind their back. 

“Not my newspaper! I’m not finished with it!” The expectant gazes of Annie, Clarabel and James’ driver instantly wore them down. They reluctantly produced the newspaper and handed it over to the driver. 

“Right,” said the driver, “That’s settled. Now…where’s the bootlace coming from?” 

“Passengers tend to have bootlaces,” mused Annie, “I’m sure one of ours will have one.” 

James was too far away to hear the discussion. He wouldn’t have been much help anyway, for he now stewed in his own embarrassment. To his surprise and subsequent horror, the passengers began to alight right onto the grass beside the line. 

“They’d rather get off miles away from anywhere than be on my train!” he lamented. His stoker, at present his only company, had to chuckle.

“You silly engine, they’re not staying here.” She peered out of the cab. “Though don’t ask me what they are doing.” 

The passengers were cross at having been stopped without knowing why and were crosser still when they were asked to disembark. One particular well-dressed man, who the guard came to learn was Jeremiah Jobling, needed much convincing. By the time the guard was through talking to him, they rather hoped they wouldn’t have to again.

Everyone coalesced near Annie and Clarabel, who it had been decided would be the ones to ask. It was their idea, after all. Neither could choose between them, so they both asked at the same time. 

“Excuse us!” they chorused, startling the disgruntled passengers into listening, “Does anyone here have a leather bootlace?” They were loud enough for James to hear, though he was no less confused.

“What do they need a bootlace for?” he wondered aloud. The passengers weren’t sure either, though it wouldn’t have mattered if they did, for none possessed one. Clarabel, however, noticed one man that had as of yet given no response, negative or otherwise: Jeremiah Jobling. 

“Do you have one, sir?” Clarabel inquired. Mr. Jobling shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide his shoes. 

“No, no. What’s it to you anyway?” As he was distracted with Clarabel, Annie glanced down. 

“You do!” said Annie, relieved, “You must give it to us, sir. It’s an emergency.” Mr. Jobling swung around in a panic towards the other coach now speaking to him. 

“Balderdash! What kind of emergency requires coaches to vandalize my nice shoes?”  

The guard walked up, swallowing their own growing disdain for this man. 

“We’re patching a leak in the brake pipe. Your bootlace would be much appreciated, sir.” 

Mr. Jobling glared, taking a defensive stance. 

“Keep away! And you wretched coaches stop staring at me!”

By now, the other passengers had gathered around to see what was happening. They’d heard enough. First, they were cross about the “defect” in the coaches. Annie and Clarabel naturally took great offense to this and defended themselves with vigor.

“This has never happened to us before!” Annie insisted, “Most engines are more careful than the one at the head today!”

“Quite right, dear!” agreed Clarabel, “If you want to see someone about it, James is always happy to be the center of attention!” James, meanwhile, had managed to overhear bits and pieces of the saga with Jeremiah Jobling — and only then realized what he’d done. He couldn’t feel sorry for long as the mob of passengers marched along the train right towards him. 

“You are a very bad engine!” 

“How ever did you make a hole in your pipe-thing?” 

“I'll be filing a formal complaint about this, make no mistake!” 

James was too ashamed to even attempt to explain himself. He just looked at his buffers as the passengers catapulted barb after barb at him. One passenger, however, who always was a contrarian, yelled louder than the rest. 

“What’s this engine going to do about it now, eh? Does he have the bootlace?” 

Everyone stopped to look at her, even James, Annie and Clarabel. 

“How about we all stop pointing fingers and solve the problem?” The passenger then pointed at Jeremiah Jobling, who’d woven himself into the middle of the crowd in the hopes that he wouldn’t be noticed. This turned out to be a grave error on his part. 

It took less than half a minute of similar chastising of his character for the man to relent. 

“Alright, alright! Have your rotten bootlace!” He stomped over to the guard’s compartment and thrust it into their hand. Now that the matter had been resolved, the passengers were allowed back into their seats. James watched in horror as he finally saw what the bootlace was actually for. The driver tied a pad of newspaper around the hole using the lace. 

Annie and Clarabel noticed the difference right away. 

“I feel so much lighter!” said Clarabel. 

“Yes! Almost as if I’m floating!” added Annie. The driver and guard, of course, thanked them profusely for their successful scheme. At long last, the train could get moving again.

James didn’t thank the coaches, or say much of anything. In fact, he was rather quiet for the rest of the day — but he didn’t bump the coaches once, something Annie and Clarabel were only too pleased about.

Chapter Text

“I am disappointed in you, James. Annie and Clarabel had to be inspected to be sure it wasn’t just a brake pipe you damaged. Safety for everyone, including coaches might I add, comes first on a railway, regardless of any bad temper.”

James remained silent as he stared at the sleepers beneath his wheels. The other engines in the shed looked on, mostly in pity. Whenever the Fat Controller came personally to scold someone, that meant it was serious.

Presently, he shook his head before turning to leave.

”I’d hoped your repaint would do you good, but…” He sighed wearily. “You’re on thin ice, James.” 

It was Edward who broke the ensuing silence. 

“It’s not so bad,” he said, somehow sounding as though he meant it, “Being versatile means you have a lot of options. If passengers aren’t your sort of work, you could always take more of the goods trains.” 

James froze, the cacophony of cackling trucks echoing in his smokebox, the sheer force from a dozen of them pushing against his tender, the fire from former brake blocks almost heating his wheels once more. 

He forced the thoughts back where they came from.

“N-No,” he rebuffed, meeker than he’d meant to sound. Edward and Emily shared a worried glance. Gordon grunted, declaring it his time to speak.

“You may not have a choice in the matter, little James. The Fat Controller cannot abide you making holes in everything. People are laughing at our railway, and we must maintain our image.” 

“How can you hear anything? You’re asleep all the time!” put in Thomas. Emily was unable to stifle her snort. James, however, now looked even guiltier than before. He hardly heard Gordon when the bigger engine blustered at being challenged. 

“What cheek! Mind your smokebox, little Thomas, or you may end up like him.” 

James backed further into his berth to avoid the others. He didn’t want to keep thinking about anything anymore, so he went to sleep instead. 

When James awoke next morning, however, he thought about it all over again. He thought about it so much that, while the others’ fires were burning nicely, his own wouldn’t start no matter what the stoker did. 

“He’s as cold as an icebox,” remarked the stoker as she poked a pile of coal in the hope that it’d spark something. Only an ember flew out. 

James didn’t even notice anything was wrong until the other engines very helpfully pointed it out. 

“You’ve got nothing coming out your funnel,” remarked Thomas, “Are you sick, James? Like Henry?” 

James glared venomously. 

“I’m not like Henry.” Indeed he wasn’t, for a steady trickle of smoke emitted from Henry’s funnel. Henry was having a “good day” today, even as he was being talked about as if he weren’t there.  

“You have cold wheels,” Gordon interrupted, unsympathetically, “The most undignified condition an engine can have.” Emily raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Gordon. Having a burst safety valve with a full express sounds worse to me.” 

Gordon’s face went redder than ever as the others laughed — all except James, who remained sullen. 

Edward looked over to him and said in a low voice, “Do cheer up, James. You look awfully blue.“ He meant this in jest, but James looked frantically back at himself, just to see if he’d been repainted during the night without him noticing.

“I do?” Any smolders left in his firebox sizzled out right then and there. Groans of frustration emanated from James’ cab. Edward, abashed, shuffled onto the turntable to leave. Thomas (casting James a perturbed look) and Gordon (still stewing in his own chagrin) followed after him. 

Emily waited a moment longer than she needed to for a chance to speak to James. 

“You can’t learn from your mistakes if you never try again, you know,” she said knowingly. With a dutiful whistle, she headed off after her colleagues. James hadn’t heard a word of it; he just kept sulking. 

Minutes dragged by, accumulating into half an hour. Then, a whole one. 

A great whoosh of steam was let off, though not by James. 

Henry emerged from his berth, smiling as the sun hit his face for the first time that day. 

“Hurrah! I’ve done it!” he cheered, his wheels continuing to turn as he departed for his first job. James watched him go, blankly. 

Something about seeing Henry leave must’ve struck a nerve with James’ crew, because they both marched out of the cab after the bigger engine had gone. 

“That does it. You can sit here and pout all you like, James,” snapped the stoker, who was rather weary of poking and prodding coal, “We’re leaving.”

And they did.

Now James was all alone.

There he stayed for the whole morning and much of the afternoon, watching other, more capable engines go about their duties. Maybe Gordon burst his safety valve (though James had never seen him do so, perhaps it was before his time), but he hadn’t gotten everyone to laugh at the whole railway. 

James sighed, just as Thomas sidled alongside the shed, pushing some trucks. 

“Still hanging about here?” Thomas asked, trying to be casual but unable to hide his concern. A grunt was James’ only response. “Why don’t you come out and shunt with me? You may as well get the practice, since I’ll be going away.” 

James made such a face that Thomas thought it best if he left as swiftly as he came. The moment he was out of earshot, James began to lament. 

“Nobody will ever see me and my red coat ever again, because I’ve been so silly.“ He almost expected someone, even Thomas, to answer him, to assure him this wasn’t the case even if he didn’t really believe it. Now, the yard was empty once more. 

It was a few more minutes in that stifling silence before footsteps crunched gravel. James instinctively looked up.

He wished he hadn’t. 

The Fat Controller now stood before him, though he didn’t exactly look cross. 

“I’ve been, ahem, informed that you haven’t been able to leave the shed.” 

James didn’t have the heart to answer, so he mumbled out a “Yes, Mr. Hatt.” under his breath. The Fat Controller studied him for a moment. 

“There’s a goods train bound for Crovan’s Gate within the hour. It’s filled with supplies for the narrow gauge engines there.” 

James made no visible reaction. He hadn’t exactly taken much notice of them; it was hard to, given how small they were. He also wasn’t exactly sure where the Fat Controller was going with this. 

“Henry was supposed to take it, but I’m afraid he has some backlog he needs to catch up on. No other engine is available.” 

James stared for another moment before the realization smacked him in the dome. The Fat Controller wanted him to take it. 

Gordon’s words flashed through his smokebox.

So did the cackles of the trucks. 

“M-Me?” James stammered, looking around frantically, “B-But… But…” He hesitated before he protested any further; if he made a fuss, as he really, really wanted to, he’d be repainted blue for sure. What would be worse: taking a bunch of trucks or being repainted? 

James’ crew were dumbfounded but nonetheless readied James for the journey ahead as quickly as they could. When he had a good head of steam, James left the sheds, squinting as the sun now hit him directly in the eye. 

He shuffled over to the big station; he hadn’t been told he’d have to shunt the train himself, so at least there was that mercy. James idled at the platform, waiting for the train he was actively trying not to think about. A cheeky whistle startled him as Thomas came reversing past, pulling four trucks. 

“No need to be scared! It’s only me!”

James only got a glimpse of Thomas’ blue paint. He shuddered and now actively tried not to think about the color blue either. Instead, he thought about red things like himself, and fire engines, and roses, and-

His struggle to come up with something else was rudely interrupted with a bump to the tender. 

The trucks giggled in their silly way; James winced, but his expression hardened when Thomas came puffing up to him again. 

“You know, you can tell me if something’s up, or down, or whichever way. I’m no gossip like Edward. The whole railway needn’t know.”

For a brief moment, James considered actually telling him. It would be nice to have it off his boiler.

That moment swiftly passed. 

“Pah. Nothing’s the matter with me,” he blustered, “I just had a slow start. We all do sometimes.” Thomas looked as though he didn’t believe him one bit; he may have been cleverer than James gave him credit for. 

“Suit yourself,” Thomas said before scurrying away. James let out a sigh of relief. However, Thomas soon came back with four more trucks. James was sure that was the end of it, but Thomas passed him again — and again. Each time, James got more and more nervous as the trucks’ giggling snowballed into full-blown laughter. 

“It’s getting a little long, isn’t it?” James asked as Thomas once more rolled on by.

“Would’ve brought it all at once, but this lot is rotten. If you ask me, it’s ‘cause they haven’t had a good bump, but apparently we’re not supposed to do that anymore.” Thomas chuckled carelessly. “You’ll need a whole lot of bootlaces to keep these under your buffers.”

A great whoosh of steam punctuated the guard’s whistle. Startling Thomas into silence, James scowled as he started with a will, but the trucks had just gotten settled in their new place and didn’t want to move again so soon.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” they creaked and groaned with each rattle over a set of points, weaving their way out from the big station onto the open line. 

The trucks dragged their wheels as much as they could. James, still furious over Thomas’ cheeky comment, wanted to bump them, but the memory of what happened the last time he’d bumped his train restrained him. 

Perhaps the trucks were hoping to provoke such a reaction, or they saw the lack of one itself as weakness. Either way, this was a chance to dig their teeth in.  

“We want a proper engine!” several of them shrieked, none particularly harmonious, “Not a red monster!” The truth was many of them didn’t even recognize that it was James. Trucks did not get repaints as often as engines and coaches did, and they certainly didn’t get repainted into different colors. As far as they were concerned, this “red monster” was an intruder. 

And as engines knew too well, trucks had protocols for intruders.

James, however, wasn’t thinking straight. 

“So what if I’m red? That’s what I am and that’s how I’ll stay!” Right after he said this, they were beginning to slow down again — too fast for him to check them. They ground to a halt close enough to a signalbox for the signaller to wave from her balcony. 

James groaned, perhaps a bit overdramatically. 

“I’ve broken another pipe, haven’t I?” 

“Ease up, James,” said the driver, “One of the trucks ran a hot box. We’ll have to wait until it’s cooled.” The culprit giggled triumphantly. The one in front of her joined in. Then the one behind her. Then the ones in front and behind both of them.

Soon, the whole lot were laughing like hyenas. 

The smell of smoke wafted through the air. 

James could almost feel his wheels turning at an unnatural rate, even as they remained still. 

He had to remind himself that his wheels were still on the rails and not lodged in dirt.

When James did start again, his anger was all gone, and his resolve wasn’t far behind. His wheels slid in place when he tried to move; the trucks had taken advantage of their numbers and were holding him back. 

“You can’t pull us! You can’t, you can’t!” they chorused. Already panting for breath, James stopped trying just for a moment. He considered the thought of not even bothering; he couldn’t crash if he didn’t move and besides, they were right. 

They were right.

James wrinkled his nose. Trucks couldn’t be right. The other engines couldn’t be right either. They weren’t. 

With a long blast from his whistle, James caught the trucks (and his crew) by surprise by jolting ahead.

“I can and I will,” James said through clenched teeth, chanting along to his steady puffing, “I can and I will.” 

James was stubborn, but so were the trucks. It became a war of attrition between them. They’d hardly gone a mile from their last stop before a squeal came from another truck’s brakes. 

“Oops!” he said, smiling innocently, “That was an accident!”

“Accidentally on purpose,” James muttered. They went another mile, and another truck‘s wheel had miraculously worked its way off its rail. 

The trucks threw every trick under their frames at him. James would inevitably have to stop while crew and guard, hissing under their own breaths, worked out the problem. They grew later and later. There was no hope of making up all the lost time now, but still James started again, and again, and again.

Signalbox by signalbox, station by station, James gained ground. 

Presently, they were passing a field. They’d passed all sorts of fields already, but this one had cows smattered about, grazing on their pasture as if a train hadn’t surprised them not so long ago. The fence between them and the outside world remained, though a certain section of it was a darker brown than the rest. Less textured from a lack of battles with the elements. 

One cow mooed apathetically as James and the trucks snorted on by. 

James had his gaze fixed forward. No looking to the sides, only to their destination. However far away it was.

By the time James neared Wellsworth, he began to feel thirsty — to his own annoyance. They hadn’t gone that far, and he knew it.

“Do we have to?” He tried to bargain with his crew, but they wouldn’t hear of it.

“Not unless you want to be stranded again,” retorted the stoker, nervously eyeing James’ water gauge. It was dropping lower and lower. All the stopping and starting, not to mention the exertion, had whittled it away.

The trucks, seeing a chance, heckled James again.

“Don’t listen to her!” squeaked a truck, “You should definitely keep going!” James wasn’t about to take advice from his adversaries, so that was the end of any griping on his part.

Still, he hoped no one would see.

The cool water flowing into his tender did make him feel much better at any rate. He almost began to relax…until he noticed Edward in his yard, marshaling trucks in an orderly fashion. 

James grimaced as Edward’s blue coat of paint gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Edward, who surely realized he was being watched, reversed back from his shunting. 

“Oh! James!” he said sheepishly, ”How goes your run? You do seem a bit tired.” Edward looked as though he could kick himself in the smokebox if it were possible, but James was too busy imagining himself in Edward’s colors to notice.

“I’m managing,” James said flatly. Edward awkwardly cleared his tubes.

“Good, good! That’s good.” He glanced at the long train behind James; the trucks were whispering to each other. Edward frowned. “Would you like my help on the hill?“ 

James was about to retort, but then he realized something. 

He’d forgotten about the hill.

If a big, strong engine like Gordon couldn’t get over it, what chance did James have?

But this was his train, even if it was “supposed” to be Henry’s. 

James made a decision.

“No thank you,” he said, surprisingly politely, “I’ll do it all by myself.” Edward was taken aback as James, once more, got moving again. 

“A-Alright, if that’s what you want!” called Edward as the last trucks cleared the platform, “But do be careful!” When the train was gone, he grimaced. “I hope he knows what he’s doing…”

James was sure that he knew what he was doing. The plan was simple: reach the top of the hill before the trucks knew what was going on. His wheels pounded the rails as they began the tumultuous climb. James hardly had the spare breath to chuckle to himself. He thought he was very clever.

The trucks were indeed taken by surprise…initially. 

“Oh no you don’t!” the one directly behind James shouted, “Hold back, lads! Hold back!”

“Hold back! Hold back!” The trucks shifted their weight, nagging at James’ coupling until it was stretched taut. James grit his teeth, his wheels dug into the rails, the top seemingly so tantalizingly close. 

“I have to do it, I have to do it,” he wheezed. If he stuck like Gordon, nobody would ever let him forget it. They might even start calling it “James’ Hill”. 

With a sudden jerk, it all became easier. He shot off like a bullet, about to crest the hill when he heard the trucks’ laughter. James looked back, his face paling.

Half the train was running back down the hill. A squealing came from the brake van as the guard refought for control.

James screeched to a stop himself. 

“H-How did that happen?” he exclaimed. Before either of his crew could explain to him in a gentler manner, a booming whistle overpowered the trucks’ guffaws. Gordon came puffing up the other side. It all looked so easy for him.

When he saw James, the half he still had, and the other half rolling around the bend at the bottom of the hill, he burst out laughing. 

“Coupling snapped then, eh, little James? You just can’t go a day without causing trouble, can you?” Gordon was already halfway down before James even heard. James‘ former pallor now flushed a deep red. 

Luckily, the guard managed to slow the trucks down before they reached the station. Unluckily, Emily had already been cleared to leave before she could be warned about the obstruction. 

She got quite the surprise then when she noticed several whooping wagons heading straight for her. 

“Cinders and ashes!” Emily braced for impact. The brake van bumped into her, halting the runaway trucks’ momentum altogether. Emily sighed with relief in unison with the guard. 

“Now where did these come from?” wondered Emily aloud. She didn’t have to wait long to find out. A now-familiar red engine limped down the hill with his remaining trucks. Emily didn’t have to see his face to pick on the sheer shame radiating off of him. 

“James? What happened?” she called. James didn’t respond to her, instead mumbling to himself. 

“There might’ve been an accident… I’m going to be blue for sure now…” He backed gently onto the breakaway half of his train. “Just like…” James stopped as his thoughts hitched on someone in particular. 

Emily watched, a little perturbed. 

“Are you alright, James?” 

As the coupling was refastened, James’ frown slowly deepened into a scowl. The trucks’ giggling subsided at once when both guard and engine whistled almost at the same time. 

Without another word, James charged away, still whistling as if he were heading into battle. Emily whistled in kind, now understanding. 

“Don’t let them beat you!” 

James hadn’t heard. The trucks were onto him now and, soured by their latest scheme failing, fought with all their might. 

“Give up! Give up!“ they chanted; James didn’t hear them either. Clouds of smoke and steam poured from his funnel. His crew were anxious but encouraging. 

“You’re doing well!” said the driver, “Just one more push, James, and we’ll be home free!” 

Still, James didn’t hear. The only thing on his mind was proving Gordon wrong. Proving everyone wrong. They thought he couldn’t do it. They thought he couldn’t do anything.

He’d show them.

The trucks tugged and pulled, but James dragged them up whether they liked it or not. The top of the hill grew nearer and nearer until, at long last, James glimpsed the sea in the distance. As he began the descent, he roared with triumphant laughter.

“I’ve done it! I’ve done it! I’ve-“ He felt a surge against his buffers. The trucks were laughing now too. For the briefest of moments, James was back to that fateful day, careening out of control before ending up in a cow field.

The moment passed.

His brakes came on with a will, his whistle alerting the guard (whose van hadn’t yet cleared the top of the hill) that something was wrong. 

Engine and guard applied their respective brakes with a will. No matter how much the trucks pushed and whined, their speed was checked, and by the time James was at the bottom, they were back under control. 

James was too exhausted to thank the guard himself, so the crew, indulging in some celebration, took turns pulling on the whistle chain. 

The trucks, for the first time since they departed all those hours ago, were speechless. 

They tried nothing else for the rest of the journey.

When James finally arrived at Crovan’s Gate, the sky bathed in deep red. Light rapidly receded; he needed his lamp on now to remain safe. Neither of the smaller engines were waiting for him; in fact, aside from those waiting to unload his delivery, the station was vacant. It was rather disappointing, after everything James had gone through. 

His driver patted the side of his cab.

“Come on, James. You deserve a good, long rest.” 

James managed a smile despite it all. A shunter uncoupling him from his trucks, it felt like a weight had fallen off. He made himself comfortable in a siding to gather enough strength to return home. Emily pulled into the station with her coaches, grinning proudly at him, though James failed to notice. He also didn’t. He also didn’t notice one of her passengers walking over the rails towards him. 

“James!”

James jumped, almost bumping into the buffers behind him. 

“M-Mr. Hatt?” To his surprise, the Fat Controller was smiling. 

“No need to be so down in the dumps, James. You’ve done a fine job today. I’m very proud of you.”

James stared down at the much smaller man, bewildered. He did want to be proud, and he had been a minute ago, but objectively, he hadn’t been successful. 

“But I’m late, and the trucks broke away, and I probably made Emily late too.“

”The tardiness and breakaway could hardly have been helped. Certainly not your fault,” said the Fat Controller, patting his buffer, “You’ve proven today there’s nothing like determination. And bravery, too!” He winked, though James wasn’t quite sure what the Fat Controller was talking about. Still, a grin spread across James’ face.

”Does this mean I won’t be painted blue?” 

The Fat Controller laughed. “Wherever did you get such an idea? I would never dream of painting over the color you chose, James, especially not after a performance like that.” 

James’ bearings relaxed for the first time in several days.

Chapter Text

In the railway court, Gordon was the engine on the throne, the monarch. No one with a properly bolted smokebox would dispute that. Henry was a peasant who had wandered in and, somehow, hadn’t been booted out. 

Between the two rungs were the ripe positions. 

And, in James’ humble opinion, he was fast rising up the ranks. 

James didn’t really know much of royal affairs, but he was in the Fat Controller’s good graces for once, and more importantly, he felt on top of the world — therefore, he was. 

He was very pleased when the sheds were mostly empty one night. Only Henry, who hardly counted at all, and Gordon were present. Gordon snored, though when he was awake he would always insist he didn’t.

James couldn’t help himself. He let out a sharp blast of his whistle.

Gordon and Henry jolted awake, the latter spewing leftover ashes from his funnel. Some happened to land on Gordon, making his glower more intense than it already was. 

“James! What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. James preened as he basked in the spotlight that was the turntable.

“Lovely night, is it not? Makes you ashamed to sleep it away. Think of everything we could get done.” 

Henry, who often found it difficult to get things done even during the day, was more than a bit curious.

“What would you do?” 

Gordon harrumphed loudly, interrupting James’ response (he was secretly relieved, for he didn’t have one). 

“What does little James do as it is? He pulled some grubby old trucks and now thinks he owns the shed. Disgraceful.” 

The berth next to Gordon was the spot James had picked to spend his night. He was already regretting that decision.

“Th-That was hard work, you know! I went the whole way! Nothing stopped me!”

“Must be nice,” muttered Henry.

“I finish my journey each and every time,” said Gordon, sounding bored, “and you never see me being so proud of myself about it. Let us not forget the time you didn’t go ‘the whole way’ anyhow,” he finished, pointed like a spear. James spluttered for a rebuttal. 

“Henry never completes his jobs!”

It didn’t matter that Henry did complete them, sometimes, or that he hadn’t said anything to provoke anyone; Henry still didn’t defend himself. 

Gordon certainly wasn’t going to defend him either.

“You talk too much, little James. Now, a fine, strong engine like me has something to talk about. I’m the only one of us who-”

“You got stuck on a hill!” James interrupted as if he’d just remembered. He glanced between Gordon and Henry, who both stared at his audacity. “And something about a safety valve.”

Gordon’s cheeks flushed a dangerous red. “Who told-” He promptly cleared his tubes. “I’m the only one of us who can pull our express. When I’m not there, there’s a crisis. Think of that!”

“Actually, Gordon,” put in Henry, carefully, “Emily was doing just-” 

“Quiet, Henry.”

And that was the end of any thinking.

“I’ve pulled expresses for years and never once lost my way. I seem to know the right line by instinct.” Engines, of course, did not set their own paths, but Gordon was so proud he had forgotten. James, who didn’t really know much of any sort of affairs, believed him. 

Henry knew better, but he also knew better than to try his luck again.

The dead air lingered long enough for Gordon to be satisfied.

“Now, with no more interruptions, I am going to sleep.” His snores soon bounced off the shed walls once more, keeping a disheartened James awake.

No matter what he thought of himself, he was just a jester to Gordon.

“Wake up, little James! It’s time for the express!”

James looked around in a bleary daze. Daylight streamed in through the row of windows; most of his colleagues had already left. Only Gordon and Henry remained. 

Gordon’s innocent smile should’ve been the first clue something wasn’t right. 

Instead, James perked up. 

“Really now? Well, since you’re so generous as to offer, I’ll be happy to take it off your buffers.” Suspecting nothing, he moved a wheelturn into the sun — that was as far as he got before Gordon called out.

“That’s a good engine! Don’t be late with my coaches now!” 

James froze, then looked back. Even Henry was trying not to snicker. 

“I’m not shunting your coaches! That’s Thomas’ job!”

“Thomas will not be with us for much longer,” said Gordon, so forlorn that one would be forgiven for thinking Thomas was being sent much farther away than a nearby branch line. Gordon’s frown flipped so suddenly that one would also be forgiven for thinking he wasn’t all that torn up about it. “We shall need a new station pilot and you, little James… Well, we all have to begin somewhere, don’t we?”

“Get Henry to do it!” James snapped, trying and failing to mask his humiliation.

“If Henry was in charge of shunting coaches, they’d never reach the station.”

The anger dissipated at the sheer rationality of it. Gordon certainly wasn’t wrong. With a curt, conciliatory whistle, James set off. 

Only when he’d already left did he realize that Gordon tricked him.

“It’s not fair,” James grumbled as he ambled through the yard, “He can get anyone and anything to do whatever he wants.” Luckily for him, Gordon’s coaches were hard to miss. 

Outside the carriage shed, surrounded by discarded paint pots, were the most splendid set of coaches James had ever seen. Unlike those used for slower services, such as Annie and Clarabel, the express coaches were longer, shinier, and traveled as smooth as silk on the rails thanks to their bogies. James approached as if they were dandelions that would blow away at the slightest breeze. His buffers didn’t even meet the coaches before they were coupled together.

“I wish I was going with them,” James said wistfully to himself, “I was built to fly along the line with these sorts of coaches.” The coaches came along with not so much as a clatter over the sleepers, so obviously they agreed.

By the time they reached the station, James was thoroughly enjoying himself. So much so that he was disappointed he had to leave. While he was waiting to be uncoupled, he dawdled and daydreamed, imagining himself at the helm of the train in front of him. 

With much noise and blowing of steam, Gordon backed onto the coaches, smiling when he saw James still at the end of the platform near the buffers. 

“You did all right, little James! Perhaps we ought to make this permanent!” 

Torn from his fantasy, and in a slight panic, James tried to make his exit, but he’d taken the coaches too far — and now they blocked the points. James could do nothing but stew in his own embarrassment as everything was readied for the departure. Luggage was stowed away, doors were shut, Gordon ensured the whole town heard him with his whistle. 

“Look at me now! Look at me now!” 

Gordon’s wheels set into motion, the coaches gliding effortlessly after him. 

“Goodbye, little James! See you tomorrow!” 

James wanted to look away, if only out of defiance, but he couldn’t. He had to watch. Gordon demanded attention by his sheer size and grandeur, whether James admitted it or not.

James had his own train due shortly after Gordon’s; he’d been eager, if not a little nervous, about it, but now the fire in his firebox was nearly out. 

Topping up on coal and water didn’t make much of a difference. What else could compare to the express? 

Out of sheer spite, he glared at a set of points near the coal hopper, trying to force them to change the way Gordon somehow did. 

The lever stayed in its place. 

Thomas sidled up alongside with James’ coaches, right over the points James had been “working on”. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the shed, eh?” Thomas remarked in his cheeky way, “Whatever did that switch do to you?” 

For a moment, James was afraid the points would change beneath Thomas’ wheels. Thomas carried on his way, quite unconcerned with whatever trifles James was dealing with. 

“Close one,” muttered James. He promptly went right back to trying to will the lever to move. It hadn’t been long before another interruption presented itself. 

A mournful noise echoed around the station yard. James had to look up — then he stared.

Gordon was slithering through the sidings hoping not to be noticed. He wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Oh! Hello, Gordon!” James involuntarily grinned. “Is it tomorrow?” 

Gordon didn’t answer. He just kept rolling ahead. Forgetting all about his previous venture, James followed him to the station and quickly caught up. 

“Did you lose your way, Gordon?”

Gordon’s eye twitched. 

“It was lost for me. I was switched off my line into the… the goods yard,” he shuddered with a feeble whoosh of steam. James chuckled nervously.

“Really? Really. Perhaps it was instinct! Heh…” 

Gordon raised an eyebrow but hadn’t the time to address it, as a clamor came from just behind them. 

Some passengers wanted to travel from one side of the island to the other; in more unfortunate cases, it was an absolute necessity. As a rule, passengers did not like ending up somewhere they weren’t promised, but the express was the highest priority. 

The Fat Controller did not join the growing mass on the platform, instead approaching Gordon and James. His arrival sent a flash of panic right through James.

“I didn’t mean to, Mr. Hatt!” he blurted out, “Honest! Gordon should’ve been faster!”

“What?” Gordon sputtered, “What did you do?” The Fat Controller held up a hand for silence.

“I should hope you had nothing to do with the ‘detour’, James,” he said wryly, “considering you never left the station limits.” With some reluctance, James explained (in as terse terms as he could) about the points. To both his and Gordon’s surprise, the Fat Controller laughed. 

“It would be most impressive if you did! Where did you get such an idea?”

Gordon’s face suddenly turned ashen. 

He needn’t have said anything; the Fat Controller had a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“Unfortunately for us, human error causes more confusion and delay than you engines ever could.” With a wink and a chuckle, he disappeared back into the throng of people. Gordon and James stared wide-eyed at each other, neither daring to utter a word. 

A guard’s whistle enveloped the station. The crowd stopped to look; on a trolley stood the Fat Controller holding a snatched guard’s whistle. 

“This situation is most unfortunate,” he said, “I personally apologize. If we’re lucky, we may make up some of our lost time as Gordon is still fit to take us.”

Although he was now uncoupled, Gordon had yet moved to be turned around. The Fat Controller sharply cleared his throat. 

Still, Gordon stayed. 

James watched with interest. 

Disgruntled whispers returned to outright rancor; the Fat Controller clambered off the trolley before something could be thrown at him. 

“I’m not going,” Gordon declared, “I’m not fit to be seen.” He shut his eyes for emphasis. The Fat Controller stared at him, mouth agape. He looked around in a daze, about to call for an emergency huddle with any available staff, when James was finally noticed. 

“Very well,” the Fat Controller said slowly, “Will you pull it for us, James?”

“Me, Mr. Hatt?” James beamed. 

“Him?” Gordon almost shouted in disbelief, but he’d already forfeited his say in the matter.

“Oh, I’ll give it a good try, Mr. Hatt! You can count on me!” James disappeared in a cloud of steam, his safety valve nearly taking off like a kite in a gale. When it dissipated, he was already on Gordon’s line, leaving just enough room for him to be let out; he’d signed up for the express, not being Gordon’s chauffeur.

Thomas puffed into an unoccupied platform with a rake of smaller red coaches. He screeched to a halt, bewildered by the sight before him.

“Oy! What am I supposed to do with these?” 

“Yes!” put in Gordon, a little too brightly, “Yes, little Thomas, precisely. James has business of his own to attend to. He can’t possibly…”

At that moment, Henry trundled in, light-engine. He stopped just before the station canopy.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” 

A humiliated Gordon shuffled off to a siding; a nervous Henry bumped into what should’ve been James coaches; an elated James backed down onto the express.

His express.

The passengers returned to their seats in much higher spirits. Many had never seen James before and were keen to see how he’d compare to Gordon. 

Most just wanted to leave before sunset.

“Do your best, James,” said a dawdling Fat Controller, “No one will blame you if we’re late. Some things are out of our control.” James blushed at the emphasis, but he hadn’t time to be embarrassed for long.  

It was lucky the Fat Controller ran to get in, or else he may have been left behind from how fast James started. 

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” He wanted to get up to speed right away, but even in his excitement he didn’t want to bump the coaches either. Henry looked away with thinly veiled envy as James puffed on past.

Gordon didn’t have the heart to. 

Being a smaller engine, James couldn’t go quite as fast as Gordon. — but that didn’t matter then. James was having the time of his life.

Going fast didn’t have to be scary at all. Not when you were in control.

Stations and bridges that James had seen day in and day out now flashed by in a blur. He didn’t even register the siding he flew past, though the two coaches on it got the brunt of the noise. 

“I say!” cried Annie, ”Was that James?” Clarabel, who for once had the proper view of things, squinted as James and his train disappeared on the horizon.

“It was! He’s pulling the express!…Quite well, too!” 

“Really!” Annie huffed, “Why couldn’t he pull us like that?” 

Every switch and signal along James‘ path was as it should’ve been; he still didn’t even think of taking a different one, just in case.

The express did have one stop before the other end of the line: Crovan’s Gate, where the big railway met the little engines. Skarloey was waiting for the express with his own little coaches. 

His look of shock when it arrived was immensely satisfying to James. 

“Didn’t expect to see me, did you?” James grinned, only a little puffed out. 

“Can’t say I did,” mused Skarloey, “Is Gordon on holiday?“ It would be very funny to tell the whole story (leaving out the parts that dragged him down with Gordon), but James was so busy chuckling about it that he only managed a quarter of the way before the guard’s whistle blew again. 

Unsurprisingly, he left Skarloey far more confused than he found him.

The connection from the mainland seemed equally startled but didn’t voice any opinion if she had any. Not that James noticed; he was content with a job well done. 

That would’ve been the end of it, if not for the passengers being so pleased that their own arrangements were pit on hold so they could thank him. 

“What a splendid engine you are!”

“Only five minutes down!”

“Maybe we should make this permanent!” 

Now used to receiving compliments, James basked in the sunshine until only one passenger remained: the Fat Controller. 

“Well done. You did a grand job getting us out of an awkward… situation.” He paused, as if considering the full ramifications of what he was about to say. James waited with bated breath. 

“I can’t promise anything right away, but I think after today, and a good word from me, you’ll be able to take the express sometimes. Would you like that?”

The Fat Controller had to cover his ears from James’ ensuing whistle.

As it turned out, James was given the chance the very next day. He practically floated on his wheels as he bustled into the big station to wait for his coaches; he almost didn’t see Gordon in the yard. 

Maybe the poor engine had gotten lost again, but that couldn’t be it. He was pushing trucks.

Now thoroughly curious, James watched Gordon bitterly (and clumsily) go about his shunting. Thomas darted out between rows of trucks, whistling incessantly. 

“Come on, Gordon, keep those eyes open! That’s the way! This yard will be in your buffers one of these days!” He and James made eye contact; Thomas winked. 

Eventually, Thomas grew bored of bossing Gordon around and went to marshal another train. Gordon eyed James for a moment before approaching. 

“You did well with those coaches, I hear.” 

“Sure,” said James, carelessly. Gordon didn’t seem to make note of it. 

“I suppose I don’t mind you pitching in from time to time. You need to pull your weight.”

James failed to see what he was getting at, but he was swiftly changing his mind about changing his mind. 

“Better than trucks any day.”

“Yes, quite. We’ll show them, won’t we? Me and you, we maintain this railway’s image, little…” He smoothly corrected himself. “…James.” 

James stared in amazement as Gordon trundled back to his punishment. 

How it had happened, James wasn’t sure; either way, even if he wasn’t on the throne, he was at least right beside it. 

The view was even more magnificent than he imagined.

Chapter Text

Thomas the Tank Engine was the proud owner of a branch line. No more shunting others’ trains; now he pulled his own. 

It was a bit more anticlimactic than Thomas had expected. He thought there was going to be a parade with balloons and banners and people wanting to shake his hand, and he’d say, “I don’t have a hand to shake!” 

He also expected to be told about it beforehand. 

The Fat Controller had come to see him after everyone else had already gone. 

“Can you give me a ride to Knapford, please? I missed the express this morning.”

Thomas thought it was funny that the Fat Controller, so ardent about his times and his tables, had missed the train, but he didn’t so much as snicker. He was proud of himself for that. 

“Of course, Mr. Hatt. Hop aboard.” 

So off they went, Thomas feeling very pleased to have someone so important in his cab. 

To his surprise, when they reached Knapford station, there were Annie and Clarabel standing at the platform all by themselves. Edward and Emily each occupied their own, neither with any train at all. 

“What is going on?” Thomas asked. It was a reasonable question, in his opinion, but everyone only laughed, even the Fat Controller. 

Only when the Fat Controller began making one of his long-winded speeches did it dawn on Thomas that that day was the day. 

Ignoring how he found out, because there should have been at least one banner, everything afterwards was perfect. There were all sorts of things he’d never seen before: A moss-covered watermill that seemed as old as the earth itself, a windmill that only spun on the gustiest days, his very own shed at the top station — Thomas liked that most of all.

He still saw the other engines when they met at the junction to exchange passengers and the news. He even came back to Tidmouth Sheds when he was in the mood. It wasn’t that he was lonely, necessarily. He couldn’t be, because the truth was everything wasn’t quite perfect. 

It wasn’t really his branch line. He had to share. 

“I think there was a bump in the track back there. Did you feel it, or was it just me?”

”I felt it too. We’ll have to tell Judy and Jerome when we next see them. That could cause an accident!” 

“Ugh.” Thomas hadn’t asked for Annie and Clarabel to join him, yet here they were, almost always behind him and ready to comment about something. He could understand why they didn’t like the main line, but it seemed they didn’t like anything. 

“Thomas, we’re going too fast!” Clarabel exclaimed, “My axles are rattling!”

”Yes, there’s no need to rush!” agreed Annie, “We’re right on time! Early, even!” Thomas failed to see how that was supposed to be a bad thing. His focus squarely ahead, they rounded a bend, much too fast for Annie and Clarabel’s liking. Annie gasped as she recognized where they were.

“Thomas, you need to whistle! This crossing has no gates!” 

“You could slow down too! That would be lovely!” Clarabel chimed in, a bit desperately. Thomas didn’t slow down, and he didn’t whistle. 

“I know what I’m doing!” 

Little did Thomas know that a certain crawler tractor was trundling up the lane and towards the crossing. Some pebbles on the packed dirt began to tremble. The tractor looked pensive. 

“Mmm. What’s he doing here already?” He halted just in time, for Thomas stormed through and away without so much as noticing the tractor was there at all. Clarabel, of course, could see the shrinking speck of orange. 

“We almost hit that tractor!” 

“What tractor?” Thomas asked, genuinely confused. The coaches exchanged despairing looks. 

It was a relief when they reached the top station without almost hitting anything else. Thomas eyed the clock on the brick wall; it was ten minutes before their scheduled arrival.

“Ha! Would you look at that? I’m early!” 

“That’s what we were trying to tell you!” Annie said crossly, “There was no need for you to carry on, like…like…”

“Like James!” put in Clarabel with a shudder, “We’re not on the main line, you know!” Thomas, as he already had gotten used to doing, tuned them out completely.

”Nobody thought I could do it,” he said to no one in particular, “They all laughed, but here I am. The Fat Controller doesn’t trust them to run the most important part of the railway, does he? I’m very dependent.” 

Annie didn’t bother correcting; he wouldn’t listen anyway, but Clarabel felt too sorry for him. 

“Dependable, dear.”

”Hmph!” Thomas flounced away to take on water, leaving the coaches to wait at the platform. They noticed their passengers were rather slow in disembarking; some held their heads as if they’d roll right off their necks without the support. 

“Our poor passengers,” said Clarabel, “I don’t suppose they’re used to being rushed from place to place.”

“Poor us!” Annie harrumphed, “We left that dratted main line to escape those breakneck speeds! We’re lucky the limit is lower here, or Thomas would’ve flown us off the rails by now!” She sighed, her anger melting into a kind of grief. “He's always been stubborn, but he wasn’t quite like this in the yard.” 

“I think he’s trying to make a show of things for the Fat Controller. It’ll pass…in time,” Clarabel added, her own doubt putting a damper on her message. As Annie watched Thomas’ overfilled tanks spill out down his sides, she shared the sentiment. 

Unfortunately for Thomas, some things were out of his control. The main line engines sometimes arrived at the junction late, which would make Thomas late, which would make him cross.

He’d done everything right. He’d topped up on coal and water, told his crew exactly which joints needed oil (they were indifferent to his advice but Thomas still felt quite helpful), dragged Annie and Clarabel from their shed regardless of their grumbling about how early it was, and all the rest.

And despite all that, he was running late.

Thomas shot daggers at the other side of his platform; he shot some more, and some more, but still the other line remained vacant. 

“Pouting isn’t going to make anyone come faster, Thomas,” Annie said dully. Thomas gave no reply. The silence would have remained intact if not for his insistence on grunting and snorting and whistling to prove to the world how impatient he was.

“It’s not fair. How can I keep my line running properly if everyone’s always late? What will the Fat Controller think? I’ll tell you what! He’ll think I can’t manage!” 

Annie and Clarabel shared a glance and nothing more. Talking to Thomas was like talking to a bird; you could say all you like, it’ll keep chirping as if you weren’t there. 

“That does it!” Thomas snapped, “Why should I spend my whole day here? I have places to be!” He rolled forward to depart, but his taut coupling held him fast. Thomas glared back at Annie and Clarabel; each had their brakes on. 

“Hey!”

“We’re not leaving without our passengers!” said Annie severely, “That would make the Fat Controller cross!”

“It’s better to be late getting home than not being able to go at all,” added Clarabel. Thomas was still thinking of some way to rebuke this when a hoarse, pained puffing filled the station. 

“At last!” cried Thomas, “Where have you been…” His voice died away when he and the coaches saw who was arriving. It was hard to tell the approaching engine was supposed to be green with all the smoke and ash that covered him from smokebox to tender. Red-in-the-face and coughing, Henry pulled into the adjacent platform, barely managing to make eye contact with Thomas.

“Sorry I’m…” He got no further before sneezing out an ember. Annie and Clarabel were quick to console.

“Think nothing of it, dear!” said Clarabel, “You tried your best.” 

“Quite so,” agreed Annie, “Why don’t you get yourself cleaned out?“ Henry sighed, though it sounded more like a rattle.

“No use. My system is out of order,” he rasped, “No one understands my case.” Thomas stayed unusually quiet. With a guilty expression, he cast yet another glance at the clock. They were still several minutes from being able to leave, at least. 

Agitated passengers streamed out of Henry’s coaches; many carried suitcases that were put on the luggage trolley. The two porters tipped their caps; the passengers brushed past them to reach their seats. 

Thomas watched anxiously as each box of luggage was stowed away into Clarabel. His eyes flickered over to Henry, who was still lamenting.

“I don’t mean to be late. I can’t help it, but everyone says I’m lazy,” he said, sounding fit to burst, “I wouldn‘t choose to feel so dreadful all the time.” Annie and Clarabel hummed in sympathetic agreement. Steam trickled into Thomas’ cylinders, ready to be put to use at a moment’s notice. His wheels edged ever so slightly forward. 

He’d never felt so relieved to hear a guard’s whistle. 

“Hope you feel better, Henry,” he said, already puffing away, “Would love to stay and talk, but I really must go. You know how it is. Okay, goodbye!” 

He started so quickly that no one had any time to react, not even Annie and Clarabel. Clarabel hardly even processed that they were moving when she spotted someone running along the platform, frantically waving a red flag. 

“Thomas! Stop Stop!” Clarabel shouted, but Thomas didn’t hear. He sped over the points onto the branch line and hurried out of sight. The guard, more concerned about his own marooning, didn’t notice the umbrella lying on the platform until he’d already tripped over it. Henry and station staff alike winced as the guard laid on his stomach, rather frazzled.

Thomas, meanwhile, bucketed up the line as if he were being chased. 

“Come along, we’re rather late,” he sang nervously, “Come along, we’re rather late.” Annie refused to sing back out of principle, but Clarabel was worse for wear.

“What are we going to do, Annie?” she wailed. Annie’s face set into a frown. 

“I’ve had enough of this nonsense. If he won’t listen to reason, we’ll slow him down ourselves!” She tried to put on her brakes, only to find that she couldn’t. Annie’s rancor gave way to panic. “W-Why aren’t we-“

“Don’t you see?” Clarabel almost shrieked. “We haven’t a guard! We’ve left him behind! Oh, what’s he going to do without us? He has no purpose!” 

Thomas looked back, bewildered by the tumult behind him. 

“What are you going on about now?”

“It’s dangerous to be without a guard!” Annie said, “We have to go back to Knapford to fetch him!” Thomas did listen, in the sense that he’d heard, but he wasn’t exactly keen to return to the junction, so the words slid right down his tanks.

“Rubbish! I don’t leave things behind anymore!”

“But I saw him!” Clarabel said, “In fact, I think I still see him!” It was too far to tell for sure, but something was chasing them, even if the something grew smaller and smaller amongst the verdure. Thomas, thoroughly fed up, began to go even faster.

“I can make up the time if I just hurry,” he panted, “Have to hurry, have to hurry…” It was becoming obvious to the coaches that Thomas was going to be less than helpful no matter what they said. With nothing else for it, they would have to ride it out until the next station. 

At least, that’s what Clarabel thought they would have to do, but Annie spoke first.

“What do trucks do?” she asked eagerly. Clarabel was so bewildered by the non-sequitur that she stopped being frightened. 

“Er…carry things around and be general nuisances of themselves?”

“Yes, yes,” said Annie impatiently, “but what else? When they want to make an engine stop?”

Put on their brakes, of course, but they both knew they couldn’t do that, so why… 

Clarabel gasped and grinned back at Annie.

Without warning, both coaches forced all their weight, the passengers’ weight and the luggage’s weight against Thomas. The coupling tightened and Thomas began to slow down, even if he couldn’t figure out how. 

“Come on, come on!” No matter how much steam tried to force its way into his pistons, they couldn’t pump any faster. “What’s happening?”

“You would know…” began Clarabel, though she couldn’t quite finish the thought with all her exertion. Annie was gracious enough to finish it.

“…if you paid attention to us for a change!” 

Thomas was speechless. His resistance slackened, allowing Annie and Clarabel to drag the train to a standstill. The coaches heaved a sigh of relief as their wheels finally stopped turning. 

Passengers poked their heads out of windows, wondering what the matter was. Thomas’ crew too, baffled at the train’s stagnation, clambered down to speak with the guard. 

Of course, neither passengers nor crew could get answers from someone who wasn’t there.

The coaches, very satisfied with themselves, kept a good lookout, per Clarabel’s prior observation. It didn’t take long to pay off. Clarabel again caught a glimpse of something on the horizon. A figure chasing after them, running like mad over the sleepers. 

Clarabel’s face lit up. “It’s him! It’s him! It’s the guard!” 

Everyone looked, even Thomas; many gaped in utter astonishment. The figure was indeed the guard, for he had the guard’s uniform, the guard’s flags in one hand, the guard’s whistle in the other and, most importantly, he had the guard’s trimmed mustache. 

The red-faced man was met with jubilation from people and coaches alike. The moment he could, he collapsed against Clarabel’s buffer. 

“I told you he couldn’t be without us!” said Clarabel proudly. Thomas’ crew helped the guard back to his feet. 

“Blimey, mate, you look like you’ve run a marathon,” remarked the driver. The guard held up a hand.

“Just…need a minute,” he wheezed, “I’m not as…spry as I used to be.” 

The stoker laughed. “Could’ve fooled us!” He handed the guard a canteen filled with water. “Here. You need this more than me.” The guard insisted otherwise at first but had to acquiesce when even Annie and Clarabel ordered him to hydrate.

“Everyone needs a top-up now and then,” said Annie, “Our wheels need oiling, for instance.”

“And Thomas always gets thirsty halfway up the line!” added Clarabel brightly. Thomas squirmed at his mention; a heavy weight had mounted itself onto his boiler.

“I am very sorry, Mr. Guard,” he blurted out. Thomas couldn’t see, but the guard’s smile reached his eyes. He did feel better after a drink, even if he wasn’t about to say so.

“S’alright, Thomas. We all make mistakes. Besides, I’ve been thinking about exercising again. Just didn’t expect to start so soon! Now…” He put his whistle to his mouth, but before he blew it he added, “Give me a moment to get in, won’t you?”

Abashed, Thomas looked at his buffers.

He did indeed wait a moment, and another just to be safe, after he heard the guard’s whistle. 

They were later than ever now, but Thomas didn’t try to go faster. In fact, he seemed almost sluggish. Annie and Clarabel, already pleased about how well their idea worked out, were happier still that their wheels weren’t about to come off their axles. 

But still, they were quite late, and they could make up the time. 

The coaches shared a knowing look.

“You can go a little faster, Thomas,” said Clarabel, diplomatically. 

“We don’t mind…if you keep it reasonable,” Annie clarified. Thomas was hesitant, but old habits die hard, so his pistons began to pump faster again. He kept an attentive ear, until-

“Right there! That’s perfect!” put in Annie, as if she wasn’t quite sure if Thomas would heed the advice. Miraculously enough, Thomas maintained his current speed, not daring to push his luck. The coaches, for the first time in a long while, truly relaxed. Again they neared the crossing with no gates; Thomas whistled, letting the tractor know to stop before he reached it. 

He couldn’t always be so well-behaved; it was too much work, but Thomas vowed then and there not to let his guard down around the coaches again. Besides, maybe having company wouldn’t be so bad.

Chapter Text

Edward was an engine with much on his footplate. Goods had always come through Wellsworth; the village itself was no more ravenous than its neighbors, but it rested in an optimal position between many large towns and ports. Nowadays, there never seemed to be enough room for all the trucks. Few sidings were available to work with, and with Edward kept busy pulling his own trains, trying his best to keep the yard in a usable state left hardly any spare time for anything else.

The weight of it all left a deep impression, but Edward said nothing to anyone, not even Emily.

To add insult to injury, the turntable in the yard was showing its age. Its gears croaked and shuddered as the table threatened to stop altogether. The workers grumbled about what a nuisance it was; Edward, however, was quite fond of it. 

“You can do it! Almost there!” he’d sometimes say, always blushing when someone (usually his driver or stoker) quirked an eyebrow in his direction. 

One day, the turntable couldn’t do it. It stuck and wouldn’t move no matter what the operator did. Fortunately for Edward, he hadn’t been on the table; it was just about his size, and he often used it to get himself reoriented after a good deal of shunting. 

Perhaps his weight had something to do with it locking up. Edward would’ve felt quite guilty if it weren’t for another pressing matter: The turntable jammed askew from the rails, so the siding it occupied was no longer an option. 

“I suppose there’s nothing for it,” he murmured, “I should be all right, so long as I take care and…”

A whistle not belonging to any of the main line engines derailed his train of thought. Sometimes, engines from farther down the peninsula brought up trucks from the harbor and others back. Steam leaked from every widening fissure, and they weren’t so powerful even compared to him; Edward suspected that was why they turned down all his offers to meet his friends at the big station. 

A small engine with six wheels left the station with nothing behind their bunker. They’d left trucks for him. 

Edward sighed, only a little strained.

One siding was left. It would be all right.

Still, Edward dawdled more than he ought to have in going to move the trucks off the main line. He liked to have at least one free siding in case of an emergency, and the thought of filling it didn’t fill him with enthusiasm.

He’d just reached the platform when he noticed black puffs of smoke ahead. They all merged with his distance, appearing as a storm cloud. Edward winced; he knew who that was. 

“Oh dear…”

All things considered, Henry didn’t look as bad as he sometimes did. His green paint was mostly visible, and he wasn’t wheezing so much it made Edward feel full in the smokebox himself. 

The trucks remained between them as Henry drew reluctantly to a halt. 

“Edward? Why are you on my line?” 

“I’m sorry, Henry. I’m a bit overstuffed at the moment.”

Henry eyed the pallor wisps of steam coming from Edward’s funnel. 

“Are you?” he ventured, doubtfully. 

“In the sidings,” Edward corrected, flustered, “I’ll be out of your way in a few puffs.” He was good as his word. Shunting the trucks back over the points into the yard took no time. Neither did occupying the free siding. Now if any more trucks came in…

A despairing groan from Henry brought Edward back to the station. Henry still idled even though he had a clear path. Edward knew exactly why, but he figured it would make Henry feel better if he asked first.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I was going so nicely and now all my spirit is gone. I won’t make it up the hill. Oh dear, oh dear…” Henry was complaining, but not to Edward; he didn’t blame him, but nonetheless Edward felt responsible. Without a second thought, he reversed to the back of Henry’s train.

“Don’t worry!” he called as he buffered up, “I’ll help you over!”

“W-Will you?” Henry looked back, startled. “I thought you were, er, ‘overstuffed’. I don’t want to give you any trouble.” 

“Nonsense,” said Edward with a surprising amount of conviction, “What are friends for? Let me know when you’re ready.” He was reassured when Henry whistled in response a few moments later. 

Whistling in unison, the two engines set off together. Edward glanced back at the yard — and promptly refocused. 

A raging flame in his firebox and bubbling water in his boiler, Edward pushed as hard as he ever had. Henry heaved as much as he could too, but he hadn’t the steam for it to be an equal effort. Even so, his wheels turned with such ease that he forgot to feel sorry for himself. 

“Oh, this is lovely, Edward!” 

Edward, who was only a little out of breath, chuckled. 

“Thank me when we’re at the top!”

Indeed, they had only reached halfway when James came into view at the crest of the hill. He gawked at Henry, who not only moved beyond a snail’s pace but looked cheerful. 

“Hello, James!” Henry said as if nothing was out of the ordinary. James passed the train on his way down, roving over each and every truck until his gaze landed on Edward, who gave nothing else his attention other than the task at his buffers. James’ stunned silence ensured Edward hadn’t noticed he was ever there.

Henry reached the top soon enough, and he and Edward parted ways with another round of resounding whistles.

“Thank you, Edward! You’re wonderful!” Henry’s voice trailed off as he sailed into the distance, now with more momentum than he knew what to do with. Edward watched from his perch atop the hill, smiling to himself. 

No doubt Henry would be early and, more importantly, thrilled by that fact. That made the impromptu detour well worth it indeed.

Much as he’d have liked to bask in the satisfaction at a job well done, there were only so many hours on the clock, so Edward gently reversed away.  

His good mood wavered as he set about preparing the next train bound for the harbor. It was more cumbersome than he was used to, as now he was stuck shunting tender-first, which he found awkward. How he missed his turntable.

A sneaking glance proved that nobody was attending to it yet. 

“Never mind. I’m sure it’ll be mended when they find the time.” 

It would’ve been ideal to leave the assembled train in one of the sidings, but he wasn’t adept enough, or patient enough for that matter, to shunt each truck at a time. So off they went to the platform to be collected. Only when he’d finished did he remember that he had his own train along the main line to the big station due out soon. He was about to fill up on coal and water when he heard a sort of hoarse puffing. Not like Henry, not quite. 

Into the station came James on the down line, followed by a shining set of coaches that matched his red paint. Oddly enough, James didn’t seem to be enjoying himself at all.  

“You don’t look well, James,” Edward remarked, concerned. He swore he glimpsed a smile on James’ face, but he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Must’ve been seeing things. 

“I’m not,” said James, sounding as though he had the weight of the whole island on his buffers, “Not well, I mean. I have so many passengers they’re slowing me down. Why wouldn’t everyone want a ride with me?” He sighed, mournfully. “Even a splendid engine like me gets tired. I don’t think I’ll make it, not over the hill.” 

Edward eyed James’ train and was surprised to see that it was indeed longer than usual. It would be difficult getting to the top, especially with how out-of-puff James was. 

“Are you asking for my help, James?” Edward asked, just to be sure. He didn’t want to cause any offense by reading things wrong. 

“If you would. It’d be a big help.” James grinned broadly, a bit forced on the edges. Edward glanced back at the yard with its several deliveries’ worth of trucks and its nearly-filled sidings and its out-of-order turntable.

“I’m needed here, I’m afraid…” Saying no to James’ pleading face turned out to not be an option. “…but I’ll see what I can do.”

Secretly, he had less hope than he expressed.

James’ train was heavier than Henry’s, and James didn’t try very much either. All the weight fell on Edward, making the task more arduous than it needed to be. Edward hadn’t minded the hill; on a clear day, the sliver of the sea in the far distance was beautiful. Now though, as he snorted and slipped and tried very hard not to think of what else he had to do, he had an inkling of a wish that the railway had just tunneled through the hill instead of trying to conquer it.

It never caused trouble for him or his colleagues until Gordon had stuck — he didn’t even truly stick, he could’ve gotten over if he wanted to. Edward suspected the hill was insulted by that display and now was taking its revenge. 

Before he even reached the top, James was already on his way down the other side, whistling triumphantly with no sign of a “thank you”. Edward stopped where he was, panting for breath. The last coach disappeared beneath the crest of the hill, and all was silent. Edward wanted to go to the top to get a good glimpse of the sea, but suddenly he remembered. 

“Cinders and ashes! I’m running late!” He flew back down, swerving into the yard right in front of the tank engine collecting their trucks. The tank engine watched blankly as Edward scrambled to scrounge up some coaches.

By the time Edward collected his passengers, they shuffled to their seats in a sulk. He set off in a hurry, hoping to make up for lost time, but he couldn't go fast for long as he used up most of his steam helping James. Worse still, he only remembered his coal and water when they reached the next station; he was almost out of water, and his tender was hardly full either, so more time was spent refilling both. 

Edward was very late when they finished their return journey. The passengers marched to the stationmaster’s office while a shamefaced Edward went to lick his wounds in the yard. More trucks had come, of course, and the engine who left them didn’t so much as push them fully into their siding before heading off for better things. Now the yard was completely full. 

Edward sighed, more than a little strained. 

Before he dwelled on his dilemma any further, James’ whistle permeated the air. 

“Edward!” he called, “Give me a push, won’t you? There’s a good engine.” 

Not daring to be reluctant, Edward went to see to James, in spite of how knackered he felt.

As the days passed, the weight on Edward grew heavier and heavier. Now one of his many duties involved pushing the other engines up the hill. Henry didn’t ask all the time; he couldn’t assert himself in such a way, but James was very demanding. He didn’t have to explain himself, and he didn’t bother trying after the third time; Edward’s assistance became expected, regardless of anything else.

“Just a moment, James! I-”

“Come on !” James whistled impatiently, “I can’t be late because you dawdled!” Edward’s axles ached and he was often short of steam, but nonetheless he obliged. What else could he do? On the first couple days, it was only Henry and James, but that was soon to change. Edward was most surprised when Gordon stopped at Wellsworth with some trucks — trucks that no doubt were meant to be Henry’s. Edward didn’t even get the chance to greet him before Gordon clumsily said his piece.

“It’s not that I need your help, little Edward, don’t misunderstand. I can certainly get over this blasted mountain myself.” He paused for dramatic effect. “But I suppose since you’re here, it wouldn’t do either of us any harm.” Edward had neither the strength nor the sense to do anything but bend with the wind.

Thus, Gordon joined the roster of engines he had to aid. 

But all the time spent helping bled into his other jobs. He was always late with his trains, so much so that he had no time to tend to the trucks. Engines who usually counted on him to have trains ready now had to sort through sidings to find what trucks were theirs, all without the turntable’s help. Edward received glowers from passengers and engines alike. 

At first, it rattled him to his frames, but he became so tired that he hardly registered them. One evening he was so tired he couldn’t drag himself to Tidmouth Sheds. He remained idle at the station, already snoring when a rotund man in a top hat swung open the waiting room door.

“Edward!”

Edward jolted awake, instinctively glancing around to see if there was yet another visitor he needed to help. Instead, the Fat Controller stood before him with his hands on his hips.

“Edward, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing all day. I don’t believe it’s ever received so many calls in such a short period of time.”

Edward never thought he’d understand a telephone so well.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hatt,” he said, his weariness evident, “It’s been a little…hectic here.” It wasn’t a lie, not a bad one anyhow. Edward didn’t want to get the other engines in trouble; they weren’t doing anything wrong. They needed his help. It was his own fault for not keeping on top of everything. 

The Fat Controller studied him for a minute. Then his expression softened. 

“This isn’t like you, Edward. Is anything the matter?” 

Edward had to make a bad lie now.

“No, Mr. Hatt. Everything’s fine.” 

The Fat Controller’s stare lingered before he wordlessly headed for the stationmaster’s office. Edward didn’t want to hear what they were discussing, so he rolled away to find a siding (not at the station, of course) to rest in for the night.  

Steam trickled into Edward’s cylinders much too soon. His eyes merely cracked open as he moved off his siding and back towards his yard. What he was supposed to do now, he hadn’t the slightest clue. His smokebox felt terribly fuzzy inside.

Yawning, he approached Wellsworth once more; he just made out an emerald shape in his streak of vision. 

“Edward?” Emily stood at the platform with her coaches, mouth agape. Edward forced a smile that took more energy than he thought was possible.

“Good…” He yawned again. “…good tidings, Emily.” His words pressed into one another and would’ve been indiscernible to anyone but Emily — though even she wasn’t quite sure if she understood.

“Are you ill?” Emily asked gently. 

“No, no…no…” A sigh accidentally escaped. “I’ll run around.” He was already rolling towards the points to switch onto Emily’s line before she could reply. Of course, with the turntable still out of commission, he had to push tender-first, but forwards and backwards seemed like a terrible illusion. Befuddled, Emily stared as he passed by.

“I don’t need a back engine, Edward. I don’t stick like Gordon.” She chuckled, but Edward stopped and puffed back towards her. 

“Are you sure? You can’t be too careful…these…” His eyelids drooped and he threatened to fall asleep. A blast from Emily’s whistle startled him back awake. “G-Goodness! Thank you, Emily. I needed that.” 

Emily frowned. “You need rest. What on earth have you been doing?”

“Pushing, pulling, more pushing… A lot of pushing,” Edward said distantly. He wanted to leave it there, but it was difficult keeping secrets when Emily was around. “I’ve been helping the others up the hill. It started with Henry, but then James and even Gordon needed me too.” 

“Gordon? Edward, you know very well Gordon doesn’t need your help.” She smiled sheepishly. “…no offense. I don’t think James really does either. You’re being taken advantage of.” Truth be told, Edward hadn’t been listening. Many other things had to be tended to. 

Emily’s guard signaled her departure. She began to leave but not without glancing back at Edward, who still idled on the middle line. 

“If he’s not going to help himself, I will,” she muttered.

When Edward next blinked, he found himself back in his abode, the station yard. Tankers, vans, plank wagons, even brake vans were scattered in lines with no rhyme or reason. Edward vaguely wondered if he had done that or if some other disgruntled engine had left the mess for him to clean up.

The turntable still wasn’t working either.

Edward expected Gordon’s whistle. Almost mechanically, he trundled off to his duty. The much bigger engine waited at the station with a goods train that stretched well beyond the platform. 

“I shouldn’t be degraded like this. If someone pulled his weight, I’d have the express.” 

It was fairly obvious who Gordon referred to, but as Edward took his place behind the brake van, he again assumed a responsibility, albeit a slightly more indignant one. 

“What do I have to do with the express?” he mumbled. Gordon whistled to show he was ready; with no whistle of his own, Edward surged into the train, using up his last spark. Gordon was too cross about his own position to notice. The train dragged its wheels as they puffed toward the hill. Neither were putting in as much effort as they ought to have.

Gordon wasn’t trying on purpose, of course; why bother when there was a moderately capable engine at the back? Edward hadn’t the strength to try much of anything. The fuzziness increased, the edges of his vision blurring.

“Must keep…going… I must… I must…” 

It was difficult enough on level ground; Gordon was effectively cold steel, and the extra weight from all the trucks only made it worse. 

“Put more steam into it, little Edward!” he called in a regal sort of way, though his alarm grew as they began to slow down. “No, no, I can’t stick, not again! What use are you if you can’t even push a common goods train?” he barked. His words fell on unlistening ears. 

With a final clunk, Edward let go. They were about a quarter of the way up.

Emily had been right; Gordon could pull heavy trains up hills, but on that day, on that hill, with those trucks at that speed, it wasn’t to be. Right after Edward had given up, Gordon’s wheels began to slip.

“…oh no.”

They slid back to the bottom, the trucks cackling in delight. A runaway and they didn’t even have to do anything! Their train slowed as it passed under the road bridge, but not enough. Edward couldn’t even put his brakes on.

It was all up to Gordon.

With much squealing and groaning, they came to a stop just before they reached the footbridge. Gordon glared back at Edward, about to reprimand him for the whole affair when Edward suddenly disappeared in a cloud of steam. 

The inspector rose from Edward’s wheels, waving away the excess steam. The Fat Controller waited anxiously close to Emily, who looked torn between joining him and throwing mental artillery at Gordon. 

“It’s better than it looks from the outside,” said the inspector, “No damage that I can see. All he needs is a good sleep.” A soft snore from Edward accentuated her point. The Fat Controller promptly relaxed. 

“A blessing indeed. That leaves only one question.” Taking careful steps so as to not trip on the ballast, he strode along the train towards Gordon. “What exactly was Edward doing at the back of your train, Gordon, instead of working at his station?”

Gordon grunted. “It is a grand thing, Mr. Hatt. I wouldn’t say I detest a good stretch of the wheels…” It took much self-restraint not to respond to Emily’s distant snort. “…but you must admit there’s only so much one engine can do.”

The Fat Controller glanced at the asleep Edward. 

“Yes, I must,” he said, gravely. Gordon, pleased that for once his side of things was being listened to, plodded onward. 

“This hill is troublesome, Mr. Hatt, so Edward volunteered himself to be our, er…” 

“Banker,” put in Emily, “and somehow I doubt he ‘volunteered’.” Gordon scowled, but any quarrel was halted by the Fat Controller’s interjection.

“I understand you are spread quite thin at the moment. Your trains are getting heavier; a banker would indeed be useful at this station. However,” he added sternly, “you should have said something instead of guilting Edward into it. Edward is not your servant. His time is as valuable as yours. You agree, Gordon, that there’s only so much one engine can do.” 

Gordon was stupefied into silence. 

More would’ve been said if James hadn’t come puffing in from the other direction. He slowed to a crawl as he approached the surprising sight of a blockage on the main line.

“What’s happened here then, eh? Broken down, Gordon?” Too late, James saw the Fat Controller and Emily now looking towards him. “Oh. I see,” he said weakly, “I’ll just-”

Before he could sneak away, the Fat Controller halted him, making sure to reiterate the same point as with Gordon. 

“I will see about revising the timetable so Edward’s work can be divided equitably,” he finished, “but in the meantime, you shall be the banker, James.” 

James was aghast. “Me? A banker? B-But that’s just like shunting!” 

“See it that way if you like.” The Fat Controller silenced Gordon’s muffled chuckle with a withering look. “The only reason you aren’t joining him is your horsepower is needed on the main line.” 

That cowed both big engines sufficiently. 

Only Emily noticed the smile on Edward’s presumably still-sleeping face. 

Edward rested for the remainder of the day. The Fat Controller didn’t come to see him, not yet anyway. As a man juggling a railway, a marriage, two children and several other obligations himself, he quite understood the inevitability of something being dropped.

Edward had a hunch on what he would say; he wasn’t sure if he would be able to follow through.

At that moment, Henry backed into the sheds beside him, looking rather upset. 

“I’m sorry for all this, Edward. I would’ve gone up on my own if I knew it’d turn into a full-time job for you.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” smiled Edward; he felt much more acute in the smokebox already, “I don’t mind lending a wheel, really. Everyone needs help sometimes.” 

“So do you,” said Henry. Edward pretended not to hear. 

“How is James getting on? I hope that turntable isn’t giving him any bother.” 

Henry stared in awe at him for a moment. “How did you… You were…” 

Edward somehow maintained a straight face; he was quite enjoying this little game he’d improvised. “Yes?” 

“N-Never mind. When I passed through, I saw some people with boxes by your turntable, so I suppose they’re fixing it.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear! And James?” 

“Well…Emily was giving him a lot of, uh, grief while he was helping her.” 

 “That’s expected.” While Edward said no more, he made a resolution to thank Emily when she came home. 

Chapter Text

Halfway along Thomas’ branch line, the railway crossed a river. The river was ordinary as far as rivers went. It wasn’t very wide nor its current very strong, but then Thomas hadn’t seen many rivers before. Annie and Clarabel could tell when they got close because Thomas involuntarily began to speed up.

“Don’t forget the station, Thomas!” Clarabel called anxiously, “We have passengers!” Thomas slowed back down but sulked as he did so.

“What about the river? What if everyone’s gone when we arrive?” 

“People stay there all day,” said Annie, “Goodness knows why, though…” 

“You wouldn’t know,” sniffed Thomas with the air of a wine-taster. 

Along each side of the river were narrow pathways where locals were meant to take peaceful walks; instead most knelt on each bank and sat for hours at a time with their fishing lines. Thomas hadn’t understood what they were doing. Neither had Annie and Clarabel, so the driver had to explain.

“If they wait long enough and get real lucky, they’ll catch a fish.”

“But what is a fish?” Thomas asked. The driver, who hadn’t bargained for a part of his job to be educating an engine about such things, thought for a moment.  

“Well, see, fish are animals that live in water. Some are big, some are small. That’s part of the luck.”

“They’re smashing with chips,” grinned the stoker. The driver shot him a look, but Thomas’ innocence remained intact. 

Even now he didn’t quite understand, but he still loved rumbling over the bridge and peering down. A few villagers sat on the bank below. One waved at the passing train; the rest paid it no mind. The placid water suddenly rippled. A man in a waistcoat shot up, tugging on his line. The others looked in his direction, startled, as the man, careful not to lose his grasp on his prey, attempted to reel in his catch. 

On the bridge, Thomas watched this unfold with stars in his eyes. 

“Wow…” He slowed to get a better look, but his fun wasn’t to last. 

“Thomas?” 

That was Annie. 

He’d been caught.

“Yes, Annie?” 

“You’re not trying to stop and watch those people fish, are you?” 

“…maybe.” 

The coaches tut-tutted in disapproval. 

“Thomas, you know you can’t,” said Clarabel, “What would the Fat Controller say if we were late?” They were right, of course, but Thomas still stared out longingly at the river. The man in the waistcoat jerked a writhing carp out of the water. Thomas’ grin broadened from buffer to buffer.

“I wish we could stay,” he sighed, trying to guilt Annie and Clarabel into relenting, “Maybe we could get some ourselves!” The coaches didn’t share his enthusiasm in the least.

“What do you see in it, Thomas?” asked Annie, “It all seems awfully boring.”

“I agree, dear. Fish don’t make very good passengers,” Clarabel shivered. They had crossed the bridge by now, so Thomas sped up again, rather abashed. 

“Stick-in-the-muds,” he grumbled. 

Thomas couldn’t remain discouraged for long. The idea of waiting with a little hook, getting lucky and catching an unsuspecting fish swam around in his boiler. It wasn’t anything like pulling a train, but Thomas was a fast learner. While lost in reverie, he often thought about what it would be like. 

Annie and Clarabel were not thrilled that he’d stopped paying attention.

“Thomas, open your eyes!” cried Clarabel, ironically shutting her own, “Oh, what could he possibly be thinking about?” 

Annie rolled hers. “We both know, dear.” 

At the helm of the train, Thomas giggled to himself. 

“I’ve got one!”

Whenever he met another engine at the junction, the subject of his newfound interest always came up, sooner or later.

Usually sooner.

“It’s a shame you can’t come and see. Don’t you think it’d be fun? I think it’d be fun.” 

Annie and Clarabel gave Edward apologetic looks. Edward, who waited at the adjacent platform to leave with his own train, smiled, albeit hesitantly. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Thomas. Engines don’t tend to go fishing.” 

Thomas looked pained. “Why not?” 

“Well,” said Edward thoughtfully, “It’s not easy for an engine to hold onto the rod they use to catch them. And what would you do with the fish?” 

“I’d put them all in my shed so everyone can see,” said Thomas proudly. Annie and Clarabel each gasped in utter horror. 

“Thomas! The smell!” Annie exclaimed. 

“The smell!” echoed Clarabel, nearly shrieking. Edward appeared a little green himself. 

“I’m sure your river is lovely, Thomas, but do keep your wheels out of it, please.” With a blast of his whistle, he scuttled off into the distance with his coaches. Thomas harrumphed. 

“He just doesn’t understand…” 

“You haven’t tried it yourself, dear,” remarked Annie. 

“Shh You’ll encourage him!” Clarabel frantically whispered, but Thomas was already indignant. 

“Then I will! I’ll be the first engine to ever go fishing! And display them all in my shed! That sounds like as fun a thing as any engine can do!” As they headed off on their next journey, Annie muttered to herself.

“What about what a coach can do?”  

Thomas had big water tanks for his size, but they weren’t big enough to make it from one end of the line to the other. Usually, he refilled at Elsbridge, the station by the river. 

There was no tower filled with water like in the shunting yard. A metal pole of sorts was bolted to the far end of the platform, the arm on top swinging over to Thomas so the pipe could be put into his tanks. Thomas thought it was funny-looking, in a good sort of way. 

Today, however, he just grumbled about old blue engines whose idea of fun was listening to the voices that came out of that strange boxy thing. His thirst being quenched may have brightened his spirits, if only any water came.

Annie and Clarabel watched in dismay as the driver kept on turning the tap, and the stoker kept on shoving the pipe from the water crane into Thomas’ tank as if that were the problem. 

“We ought to say something,” whispered Clarabel. Annie murmured in agreement. 

“But Thomas is in one of those moods. We’ll have to be tactful lest he get cross and not even listen.” 

A beat of silence.

“…can you do it?” 

“Oh no, dear, I insist it be you,” replied Clarabel hastily. By now, the driver looked over his shoulder as he still fiddled with the valve.

“What are you two going on about?” 

Another beat of silence.

“The water crane seems to be out of order,” said Annie. Both crew members looked at each other, then at the coaches, then up at the water crane. 

“That would explain a few things,” said the driver slowly. Thomas, who had run out of things to complain about Edward, peered up at the stoker sitting on his tank. 

“Where’s the water? I’m thirsty!”

“We just said so!” cried Clarabel, “The crane’s not working!” Thomas was alarmed. 

“But I need a drink! I can’t make it to the last station without it!” He smiled sheepishly, suddenly regretting everything rude he’d ever said to the coaches. “I don’t suppose you have any…tricks?” 

“Not this time,” they chorused in defeat. The stoker reset the crane and clambered down, wiping his brow.

“That’s that. I guess we’ll need to call in the bus-” He spun around at a tap on his shoulder. The driver stood tall on the platform, smiling triumphantly, holding a rusty bucket in one hand and a coil of rope in the other. 

Annie and Clarabel shared a horrified glance.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Annie muttered with distaste. Thomas and the coaches had rolled onto the bridge across the river, Thomas grinning like a truant student, the driver working quickly to tie the rope to the bucket, and the stoker watching in concern.

“You sure this is the best one you could find?” 

“It was the only one I could find,” retorted the driver, “Besides, it’s not in such bad shape, given where it was.” The stoker decided it best not to ask.

Most of the same villagers Thomas had seen earlier remained by the river. A few even rose to get a better look; it was not every day that a train stopped on the bridge to drop a bucket into their domain.

“Can you believe it?” jabbered Thomas, fit to burst, “We’re fishing right now!” 

“W-We’re not fishing, Thomas!” Clarabel tried to correct, “We’re fetching water for you!” As far as Thomas was concerned, there was no difference. 

When the driver pulled the bucket back out, Annie noticed it more resembled a watering can with how much leaked from it. 

“Your bucket has a rust hole!” 

The driver, whose arms already felt like wet noodles, managed a rueful chuckle. 

“More like five.” 

“Five?” Annie and Clarabel gawked as the driver hurried past with the bucket; from the glimpse they got, it was apparent it had lost most of its contents on the journey up. 

“We can’t use that!” said Clarabel, “It’ll take us all day to refill his tanks!” 

Thomas perked up. 

“All day!”

“No, Thomas, this isn’t something to celebrate!”

“What a nice day we’ll have,” Thomas continued as if she hadn’t said anything, “A relaxing one too. I’d have thought you liked that sort of thing.” 

“We’re not spending all day here,” cut in the driver sharply, “We’re leaving the very moment we have enough water to get to Ffarquhar.” Thomas pouted but quieted down…for a minute, at least.

They did spend longer than crew or coaches wanted; the process wasn’t nearly as efficient as the water crane, what with the five rust holes in the bucket and the use of human labor instead of pipes. Driver and stoker took turns in pulling the bucket up, but they still grew exhausted much too quickly.

The guard came up from Clarabel’s compartment and wasn’t particularly helpful either. 

“There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza…” he crooned from off to the side. 

“Sing that dratted tune again and I’ll pour this over your head,” snapped the stoker. 

“Don’t! It’d be such a waste of water!” said Clarabel. 

“It’s a rather nice song too,” added Annie. 

They were there so long that some of their audience went into the village for lunch. Thomas didn’t care; he was much too excited.

“Did you catch anything?” he asked for the umpteenth time. The driver made a show of peering into the bucket but only briefly stuck his head in. 

“Nope. Oh well.” He handed it off to the stoker and shuffled alongside Thomas. “Feeling refreshed now, Thomas? The passengers do still need to get home.” Thomas had rather forgotten the passengers, but he still wasn’t keen to leave. 

“Oh, um…” He wheezed in a farcical sort of way. “No, no! I’m still so thirsty! I need more water!” 

“He’s not going to tell you the truth!” Annie said huffily, “He just wants to stay on ‘vacation’.” 

Thomas gasped as his crew, conceding that the coaches were right, tossed the last bucketful of water into his tank and headed back for the cab.

“That’s not true! I…” The regulator was opened; Thomas could’ve been cheeky and stuck his brakes on, but his boiler felt rather full, fuller than he was used to. “…well, s’pose that’s good.” He whistled and slowly started again, Annie and Clarabel practically pushing him to the other side of the bridge.

“If I ever see a bucket again, it’ll be too soon,” muttered Annie. 

Thomas puffed through the valley almost lethargically. Annie and Clarabel didn’t notice at first; they thought it a lovely run — and suspected that Thomas was trying to appease them after their riverside stop. 

“It’s working if he is,” said Clarabel, humming as her wheels rolled over the sleepers without so much as a bump. Thomas was strangely quiet until they reached the tunnel. Whilst they trundled through the darkness, a dull ache crept into his boiler. 

“I don’t feel well,” he groaned. To his chagrin, Annie and Clarabel tittered to each other.

“Must be all that time in the sun!” grinned Annie. A whoosh of steam suddenly flew out from Thomas’ safety valve. More steam billowed from his funnel and wafted from his cylinders. The coaches were surrounded in most directions. 

“Stop blowing off at us, Thomas!” chided Clarabel, “It’s uncouth!” Thomas only continued to wordlessly hiss.

“He’s not doing it on purpose,” said the driver grimly. The stoker tried to open the feed pipe to let more water into the boiler. None came. A pang, much more acute than the ache, went through Thomas as if something sharp had poked him.

“Ouch! Stop, stop! I’m going to burst!” 

The coaches gaped; neither knew much of “bursting” other than it was quite violent. 

“We’re almost there, Thomas, you can do it,” the driver encouraged; Thomas didn’t hear. He decelerated still further, the clouds of steam flying out faster and bolder. The crew tried to dampen the fire, but it didn’t help. Ffarquhar came into view. It may as well have been miles off, for Thomas forced them all to stop outside the station throat, his face pepper-colored. 

Annie and Clarabel could only look on helplessly as the driver ran out to uncouple Thomas from them. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Annie asked.

“Is he going to be okay?” Clarabel fretted. The driver was stone-faced when he turned to face them.

“Clog in the feed pipe most likely, though we won’t know for sure until we get him inspected. He’ll be all right. …probably,” he added under his breath. 

“He can’t go to the Works like this!” objected Annie. The driver rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“You’re right. We’ll have to get an inspector here then.” 

The coaches watched as Thomas inched his way towards a siding. 

“I’ve got such a pain! I’ve got such a pain!” he carried on, voice nasally like Henry’s when he couldn’t breathe properly (which was most of the time). It was a mercy when Thomas finally did stop and wasn’t expected to move again. 

The sharp pains returned to the ache, which wasn’t much of an improvement all things considered, but he’d take it. He could do without the spectators, though. 

Passengers, ushered out by Annie and Clarabel and lined up in single file like a school fire drill, lingered near the points. 

“Not a very good Coffee Pot, is he?” someone joked. Thomas didn’t understand what they meant nor did he care. He whooshed furiously; the crowd jumped and scampered to the station. Still, the driver eyed some boards leaning on a pile of crates nearby; “DANGER, KEEP AWAY” was printed on them in bright red lettering. 

“That should keep people from getting too close. Goodness knows if Thomas might actually burst.”

“I can hear you, you know!” Thomas burst out. 

Everyone worked fast. The guard (feeling a little guilty) phoned the inspector. The stoker put out Thomas’ fire. The driver set to propping the boards around Thomas, leaving him surrounded on all sides. 

Annie and Clarabel remained out of the way; they had no one to move them, but they didn’t want to move anyway. 

“Poor Thomas. Do you think he’ll ever pull us again, Annie?”

“I hope so. We were just getting into the rhythm of things. I did quite like that last run…other than the detour.”

“And the pains,” agreed Clarabel. A red bus swerved into the yard, hooting their horn incessantly. The bus parked close to Thomas’ siding, staring at the tank engine as if he were a volcano about to erupt.

Any remark was averted when out marched the inspector, followed by the Fat Controller. 

The driver, who was surveying his handiwork, was startled to see that the inspector wasn’t alone.

“Mr. Hatt?” 

“I had to see for myself. How is he?” 

The driver gestured to Thomas; he looked rather sorry for himself but still in one piece. The flush from his cheeks had also faded. 

“Hi, Mr. Hatt,” he mumbled. 

“Don’t worry, Thomas. We’ll soon put you right.” 

The inspector stepped forward to Thomas’ cab. “You just have to tell us where it hurts, all right?” 

Thomas didn’t want to describe it, but he did want to get rid of it. 

“My boiler’s yelling at me,” he said, in such a way that Annie and Clarabel weren’t quite sure if he was joking. The inspector and the Fat Controller shared a look. 

“I’ll look in the tanks,” said the inspector. She climbed Thomas’ steps and worked her way along the running board and got up onto Thomas’ splasher. She lifted the lid to Thomas’ tank and peered in. 

Her blank face was not reassuring to those on the ground. 

“Hmm.” She shuffled back the way she came and somehow maintained her decorum when she returned to the group. 

“Mr. Hatt, if you can, look in the tank and tell me what you see.” 

The Fat Controller glanced around as if the inspector had called on him by mistake. 

“Er, certainly, inspector.” Though not quite as lithe as the inspector, the Fat Controller managed the climb and peered into Thomas’ tank. He almost fell off in surprise.

 “Gracious goodness me. Is that…fish?” 

Thomas’ face suddenly reddened again. 

“F-Fish?!” 

“Fish?” echoed Annie and Clarabel, unable to stifle their smiles; the situation seemed much less dramatic now. Thomas glared at them but shrunk when the inspector spoke.

“Thomas, do you know how the fish got there?” Somehow, Thomas wagered that she already knew and was making a point of trying to teach him something. Perhaps the inspector and Emily were in cahoots. 

“Uh… I ran out of water, ma’am, but I couldn’t get any, so we went to the river instead. Driver used a bucket.” He paused as if trying to recollect something. “With five holes,” he added helpfully. 

The inspector and the Fat Controller turned to the driver, who sheepishly scratched his head.

The Fat Controller promptly burst out laughing. 

“Well, Thomas! So you’ve all been fishing, eh?”

“We were merely spectators!” Clarabel called, though she was ignored. 

“But fish don’t suit you,” went on the Fat Controller, “We must get them out at once.” Thomas gulped. 

“How?”

Thomas looked dully up at his boiler; the Fat Controller, the inspector, and his crew sat straddled across it. Each took turns with a fishing pole and net…except the Fat Controller. 

“Ah, it’s been a good while since I’ve fished! Father used to take me down to the lake every weekend when I was a boy. It should be much easier this time, since the fish aren’t moving!” He chuckled heartily; no one else did. 

“Would you like a rod too, Mr. Hatt?” asked the driver. 

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, thank you. I’m better suited in passing on my expertise. Now, let me tell you about the Hatt Fishing Technique. It’s foolproof.” 

The inspector and crew looked just as bored as Thomas as the Fat Controller droned on. Annie and Clarabel’s guffaws echoed around the station yard. 

It took a long time to catch all the fish, and Thomas had fallen asleep. When he next opened his eyes, he gagged as a horrible smell attacked his nose.

“Ugh! What is that?” 

Cooked trout and pike were already served on paper plates on a makeshift table (an empty crate) beside the line. The stoker remained in his cab, tossing potatoes in a frying pan over a newly made fire in his firebox. 

“Told you fish are good with chips,” the stoker grinned, “You make a good chef, you know! Maybe you should cook all our meals!” Thomas promptly shut his eyes again and didn’t reopen them until he was sure the meal was over. 

The Fat Controller patted his mouth with a handkerchief. 

“That was good. But I’d rather us not make this a habit, Thomas.” 

Thomas agreed wholeheartedly. 

After a proper washout, Thomas felt better, though not for too long. Everything had turned out all right in the end, so Annie and Clarabel thought the escapade very amusing indeed. They often giggled and chattered about it when they rolled over the bridge. 

“We see why you like fishing so much, Thomas!” said Annie, “It is most interesting! You never know what you’ll find!” 

“Or where!” chimed in Clarabel, “All part of the luck, isn’t it?” Thomas didn’t feel very lucky nor did he much like being fished out of. 

“Pah. Engines don’t go fishing. It’s too uncomfortable.” 

Chapter Text

Whenever Gordon wanted rest from his ever-so-trying routine, James was more than happy to fill in. He’d coast down the main line in fine style, whistling whenever he deemed it necessary that attention should be drawn to him — so, constantly.

“Can’t dither about like you, Emily! Some of us have to cross the island twice in one day!” James blew off a good head of steam as he seemed to effortlessly pass Emily, leaving her far behind. Emily’s face stormed, but she held her tongue; getting cross would only give them what they wanted. That’s what she told herself, at least.

The next station came into view. For a moment, it felt like an anchor weighing her down. Emily shook it off, ashamed of considering a basic duty such a burden. She stopped as she always did to let her passengers off, but not without looking to the horizon where James had gone. 

Emily sighed wistfully. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Edward rolled in from the opposite direction, raising a curious eyebrow at her. Emily thought it a bit embarrassing, but if anyone would understand, it’d be Edward. 

“I should be happy for James, I suppose, but I’m not. Is that wrong?” 

“He’s happy enough for the rest of us put together.” Edward paused. “Do you wish you were in his place?”

Emily looked back out to the horizon, uneasy with meeting his eyes.

“I shouldn’t, but I do, sometimes. The way he and Gordon talk, nobody else is as capable as they are. It’s like everyone’s forgotten.” Emily smiled ruefully. “Besides, locals only have such a permitted speed.”

“And you wouldn’t break the limit,” Edward smiled back.

“Heavens, no!” 

The two friends laughed, but it wasn’t to last. Emily’s guard blew the whistle. She steeled herself and trudged out of the station, glaring down at her own slow-moving wheels. Edward watched her depart with a frown.

There were useful feelings to have. Even anger proved there was a problem to sort out and solving problems was Emily’s coal and water. Envy wasn’t useful. It crept in through the pipes and stayed there, eating away at the metal before it all came bursting out at once — usually blowing all over the target and burning away the bridge between them. 

Emily knew this but she couldn’t help it. She was envious. Despite their abject arrogance, and their many mishaps, Gordon and James had the tractive effort and the stamina to withstand the job. Emily didn’t deny that. But if they could have their fun, it didn’t seem fair that she couldn’t. 

Not that long ago, the express line was her domain and hers alone. She flew past Edward and Henry, always sure to exchange friendly whistles despite the hurry. She never had a swelled boiler…after the first couple years. Now, they and the engines who’d come and gone were the only ones who remembered. Nobody else would believe her now even if he she told them. For them, Gordon had pulled the express since time immemorial. 

Emily paused her rumination, just for a moment, to feel the smoke billowing from her funnel and the weight of her beloved coaches and her wheels rolling easily on smooth rails. She didn’t need the express, not really. Still, she shut her eyes and pretended that the air blowing past her face was a bit bolder than it was, and that she was going a bit faster than she was.

Emily the Express Engine.

She chuckled. It did have a nice ring to it. 

The next day, Gordon the Big Engine lounged on his favorite siding. It was near the coal hopper, so everyone could see him and he could see everyone. 

Right now he didn’t want to see much of anything. He’d been slow to start that morning. His crew had taken him out of the shed to get his fire started. It hadn’t worked. He maintained his lethargy, yawning and grumbling as the stoker added more pieces to the firebox and poked the pile that had built up. The stoker tried all sorts of tricks, but Gordon’s fire wouldn’t burn beyond a candlelight. 

At last, the stoker lost patience.

“It’s nearly time to go, Gordon,” he hissed, “Smarten up.”

Gordon hummed as if an ant were crawling on his bufferbeam.

“Not now… Later…” 

The stoker poked the pile of coal once more; the last flicker went out. 

“I don’t believe it! He didn’t move a wheel yesterday, and he has the gall to ‘rest’ again today!” He turned to the driver. “Should we fetch the Fat Controller? Scare him a little?”

To his surprise, the driver shook their head. “Don’t bother. Clearly, Gordon has better things to do.” 

“But what about-” A jubilant whistle filled the yard, a whistle that only could belong to James. The red engine swaggered in, eyeing Gordon with interest. 

“What seems to be the trouble then?” James asked, though it sounded like he already knew. 

Gordon grunted; he wanted to bother with James no more than necessary.

“Tired… Take my-” 

“Me? Oh, I am honored, Gordon. And, may I add, surprised.” James moved off again, approaching the siding with a widening grin. “Me, taking ‘your’ express! You know, if you’re not careful, Gordon, everyone might start to-”

What happened next remained a vehement “shed debate” for several nights on end. James insisted the points should’ve been set for him. Gordon maintained they were as they should’ve been — set for himself in case he did decide the next train was worth the effort — and James had just been careless. 

Either way, James jumped the rails and straddled the sleepers. He stopped with a sudden whoosh of steam and sorrowful blast of his whistle.

When the smoke cleared, it became apparent that James nor Gordon would be any help.

James winced under Gordon’s glare. 

At the big station, passengers trickled onto the platform, some disconcerted about the lack of coaches — or engine. None noticed Emily pull in with her own train. 

“Strange,” Emily muttered, “The express should be ready to leave by now.” As she stopped at her own platform, she glimpsed the Fat Controller being ushered out of his office by the stationmaster. The stationmaster whispered something Emily couldn’t discern.

“Gordon and James?” the Fat Controller repeated with wide eyes.

“Afraid so,” said the stationmaster, “We’ll have to pull a rabbit out of that hat of yours if we’re going to get these people out on time.”

The Fat Controller self-consciously felt his top hat. 

“Dear, oh dear… Henry’s already at Cronk, and Edward… Bless his smokebox, but we can’t make Edward do it.” 

Emily expected for herself to be mentioned, or at least to be noticed, and so remained patiently quiet. Instead, a young porter pushing a trolley of luggage popped in. 

“The mainland can spare someone, can’t they?”she asked. The Fat Controller and stationmaster exchanged uneasy glances.

“‘Can’ doesn’t mean they will,” grumbled the stationmaster. 

“I suppose,” said the Fat Controller, anxiously, “the Breakdown Train will have to sort out that derailment. Goodness knows how long that’ll take.”

No one had thought of her. Not even the Fat Controller. Emily’s steam pressure steadily rose; she nonetheless forced a courteous smile.

“Excuse me, everyone. I’ll be glad to help.”

The group seemed surprised that she was even there, let alone volunteered. The Fat Controller broke out into a wide beam. 

“Of course! Why didn’t we think of it before?”

Emily didn’t know what to think about that. 

Emily found the express coaches in their usual place in the carriage shed. She stopped outside, bristling at the thought of being coupled to them. They weren’t her coaches. Her own green ones used to be rostered for the express. Nobody minded then. Passengers complimented the fact the seats had cushions at all and how the lights were electric instead of fire. Sudrians were a bit behind in that way; Emily knew even at the time those supposed luxuries were expected anywhere else but the most rural, impoverished corners in the country. 

She still took pride in the compliments.

Now the supposed luxuries were expected even on the Island of Sodor.

Wooden carriages were phased out for stronger, safer steel. With some distance behind her, Emily understood the change was necessary. 

She still grimaced as the coupling was fastened. 

With a heave, she tried to move forward — and didn’t. Emily almost laughed.

“They don’t want to come with me either,” she thought. Any engine sometimes underestimated the weight of their load. 

Emily tried again, this time with more steam. The coaches moved…a few feet. Emily found herself a little out of breath.

“These can’t be that heavy!” The coupling tightened, her pistoned strained, and still the coaches refused her. 

Only then did Emily notice Gordon and James a few sidings over, watching. Snickering.

“Stop! Stop!” A worker ran out from between two trucks, waving her arms wildly. Emily stopped more out of necessity than courtesy. The worker ran to the back of the train and came panting back a few moments later.

“The brakes in the rear coach were still on! Sorry about that.”

Emily’s cheeks reddened as the laughter carried itself right down her funnel.

Now the coaches rolled contentedly behind, albeit still not as easily as Emily would’ve wanted. She shot venom at Gordon and James as she passed the two’s predicament. They didn’t care.

“Out of puff already, Emily! Oh dear. That’s not the make of an express engine, you know!” called James, rather boldly for an engine still crooked on a set of paints he had run into.

“Might as well have let poor old Henry try!” guffawed Gordon, rather boldly for an engine who had shirked his responsibility in the first place. 

Despite the Fat Controller’s hopes, the express was running late by the time it was ready to depart. Emily sat just outside the station canopy, doing her best to keep her composure.

The Fat Controller shut the last door and tipped his hat to the waving passengers inside. He strode across the platform to Emily, who immediately began to assuage her own kettle of emotions.

“I promise I’ll make up the time, Mr. Hatt. I won’t let you down.”

The Fat Controller looked a little nervous.

“The passengers are happy there’s a train at all. Just do your best, Emily.”

Her heart sank. The Fat Controller tried to hide it, but Emily knew what he meant. For the first time, a trickle of doubt seeped into her cylinders. What if her “best” wasn’t enough? If even the Fat Controller had his doubts…

Emily stared out to the horizon, beyond the signal gantries and the treeline and the squat, brick structures on either side of the station that made up Tidmouth’s downtown. 

“I will, Mr. Hatt,” she said in a low voice. With a valiant whistle, she forced herself forward. Even now, the coaches were heavy, heavier still with all the people and luggage, but that didn’t stop her. Slowly but surely, she picked up speed and maintained a solid trot when she approached the station throat.

Emily’s best was going to be as good as Gordon’s.

Better than Gordon’s.

The rails shook as Emily throttled over them, faster than she had gone in many years. Steam poured out her funnel. Her face remained set in a determined grit. 

“Hi, Thomas! Bye, Thomas!”

From their platform, Anine and Clarabel stared wide-eyed initially over at the main line, which now only possessed the mist of the express, then at each other.

“Was that…was that Emily , dear?” whispered Clarabel.

“I believe so,” said Annie, “Did you see, Thomas/”

Thomas’ jaw had dropped to his footplate. 

By the time she reached Wellsworth, she wasn’t worried at all. Her pistons maintained a good rhythm. She galloped right through the station and past the yard where Edward was shunting his trucks. 

“Hi, Edward! Bye, Edward!”

Edward blinked, rather at a loss for words.

The hill proved to be Emily’s first proper challenge, but she didn’t waver. She charged the hill with every ounce of steam she had.

“I will do it, I will do it,” she chanted in sync with her own puffs. The coaches dragged their wheels and her large driving wheels slipped. The train threatened to stall outright. Thinking quickly, she dropped sand on the rails to give her wheels a better grip. 

That did the trick. Laughing triumphantly, Emily crested the hill and sped down the other side.

“I’ve still got it! How do you like that?” she bellowed to all those that had doubted her. Only a wandering sheepdog heard and barked in response.

It was easier leading up to the first stop. She hadn’t even realized she’d passed Henry, who toiled away at his own short goods train. Still, Emily felt thirstier than she’d expected to. The water tower was a pleasant sight indeed when, with a sigh of relief, she halted at the platform. 

“Emily! What a nice surprise!”

Emily smiled breathlessly. On the other side of the white picket fence separating the two railways stood a small red narrow gauge engine. Unlike Skarloey, he lacked a gold ring at the top of his funnel and his cab was more angular. 

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Emily forced out, much as it pained her to admit it. Rheneas chuckled; his own voice sounded hoarse. Emily knew the two little engines were having a time of it themselves and deemed it more polite not to mention it.

“Oh yes,” said Rheneas, “You’d always rush in before Skarloey and I could even fetch our coaches. Back before we had to tighten our valve gear. I suppose your railway isn’t faring the best either.”

“It’s not an ideal situation,” said Emily, trying not to think of how her very current job was yet another compromise, “but we’re getting through it.”  

Rheneas smiled at this, in less of a masked sort of way than he usually did when the two conversed. The wear and tear and dwindle of passengers was getting to Rheneas, and Emily saw. Again she didn’t comment; bringing it up wouldn’t change it.

“Good. That’s what we must do, however else we feel: Keep the trains running.” Rheneas whistled and headed off for the lake in the mountains with his little train. 

Emily ruminated on this whilst eyeing the water tower. Gordon never topped up with water at this station. He always charged ahead to the last to refill. 

The clock struck the hour. Emily hadn’t regained any of the time lost. If she was going to have a chance at being better than Gordon, let alone as good, she’d have to wait to fill up on water too.

“That’s fine,” she said to herself, ignoring how parched she felt, “It’s not that far. It’ll be worth it.” So she didn’t move ahead to the water tower and stayed with her heavy, steel coaches. 

Too soon for her to gain her breath back, the guard blew the whistle and waved the flag.

Emily took a deep breath, an inkling of regret already forming in the water level in her boiler. 

Every wise engine knew that hurrying used a lot of water. Emily was a wiser engine than most, but Gordon and James’ shadows leered from either side of her, daring her to slow down, to sputter out, to quit.

Emily the Express Engine. That’s what she was. She’d gone this route and done this routine a thousand times. Nothing had changed. Nothing at-

The water gauge in Emily’s cab dropped to dangerously low levels. Emily did slow down, her own puffs turning into desperate wheezes.

“I must go on, I must go on,” she chanted slowly, but it was no use. They hadn’t even reached halfway to the next station before Emily slowed down, sputtered out and stopped.

Emily stood in the middle of the serene countryside, staring off at the horizon which now was unreachable. The ache in her joints that she’d been ignoring for several minutes suddenly caught up to her. 

“Flatten my funnel…” Emily could already hear the fussing of the passengers inside their steel coaches with cushioned seats and electric wiring. 

The shadows had stopped too, though they didn’t resemble Gordon or James or any of the other engines anymore. 

They now looked like her. 

Usually, the Sudrian express connected with the mainland at Vicarstown, the last station on the main line before the rails crossed the border to the much larger island. Sodor was a backwater with somehow too many fanciful ideas and too few standards. Being saddled with the guaranteed connection was embarrassing. 

That is, it would be for anyone but Molly, for Molly already was embarrassed about everything.

Presently, she felt embarrassed about staying in the station too long. The Sudrian train had not yet arrived, and no one had bothered to tell her why, which left her to imagine the worst possible scenario herself.

“O-Oh dear… I-I hope G-Gordon didn’t h-have an accident… L-Like if he…” Her own mental vision of Gordon’s boiler exploding didn’t lessen her anxiety. Neither did the stationmaster approaching her.

“Molly, leave your coaches. Emily’s run out of water a few miles off and you need to bring her here.” 

She’d been hit with so many compounding, confusing things that she couldn’t utter anything other than her usual meek, “O-Okay.” 

Molly scuttled away, still trying to process the fact she was about to trespass on Sudrian metals and Emily was in trouble and it was up to her to save everyone. 

The reunion proved to be rather awkward for both engines.

“M-Molly?” Emily stammered as a familiar yellow tender came backing towards her. Molly smiled nervously, being extra careful not to bump Emily or the coaches.

“Hi, Emily.” 

“Oh, I am glad to see you! If only it were under better circumstances,” Emily added mournfully. Molly glanced back at the train her friend had presumably pulled before breaking down.

“A-Aren’t those Gordon’s coaches, E-Emily?” 

The silence that ensued proved to be even worse. 

“...and J-James’?” Molly guessed, somehow hoping that’d fix her faux pas. Emily sighed. 

“Yes. I took the express today. For the last time.”

Molly didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing at all as she got the train moving again. Luckily for her, she wouldn’t have to. Emily had a lot more weighing on her boiler than water inside it.

“I just wanted to do a good job. As good as- Better than Gordon,” Emily corrected herself; the least she could do was admit her envy, “I don’t think I ever told you, Molly, but I used to be Sodor’s express engine.”

“Y-You were?” Molly’s surprise mortified them both.

“It’s not that surprising, is it?” Emily looked down at her buffers. “Who am I kidding? It’ll be a surprise if I pull trains at all at the rate we’re going.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Molly quietly. Emily huffed, crosser with herself for shifting the weight onto Molly’s boiler than anything else.

“I’m from a different era. When engines were built to look nice. Now they’re built ro be powerful. Not to say our lot…” Emily didn’t finish that thought. It felt rude to voice it aloud, even if it was an objective fact. “I guess I feel a bit out of place.” 

They rattled along in silence, the sleepers clickety-clacking under their wheels. Molly, shockingly, spoke first. 

“I-I think y-you’re being t-too h-hard on yourself. Y-You brought th-the train th-this far, d-didn’t you?”

Emily was about to point out that she ran dry because her silly boiler was too small, but it was a rare thing for Molly to maintain a positive attitude about something, and she didn’t want to be the one to rain on her parade. 

“F-From what I’ve h-heard, and seen, S-Sodor needs a-an engine with a s-steady smokebox,” Molly continued, “I-I guess you’re not G-Gordon, but…” She dropped her voice to a whisper as if she expected him to come up and catch them gossiping. “...between you and me, I don’t think you need another Gordon.” 

Emily had a lot to think about — but that could wait. She had to laugh first. 

When they reached the station, Molly left the coaches at the platform and took Emily to the closest water column. 

“I didn’t s-speak o-out of t-turn, did I?” Molly asked, just to make sure. Emily was now in much higher spirits. 

“Not at all. Thank you, Molly. You’re right.” 

“O-Oh.” Molly wasn’t exactly used to being told this; she didn’t know what to make of it. Emily, meanwhile, backed down onto the express coaches for her return journey. Her smile wavered as a thought struck her.

“I trust you not to, but…don’t tell anyone about the, uh, ‘incident’, okay? I don’t need that being held over my funnel.” 

Molly, who’d expended her daily words earlier, only winked. That was good enough for Emily. 

The guard’s whistle blew, and Emily set off. She grew instinctively annoyed at her driving wheels slipping again, but she had a solution: more sand. Her start wasn’t as fast as Gordon’s, but Emily didn’t care anymore. 

For the rest of the day, Emily managed the express her way. Some problems were unavoidable. The coaches still dragged, and even with her diligently topping up on water and coal whenever she could, she still felt a little worn out when she reached either end of the line. 

She tried not to think about how she hadn’t kept her promise to the Fat Controller, which proved to be rather difficult when she found him standing on the platform. 

Yet when she stopped, she was surprised to discover him smiling. 

“Well done, Emily, well done. I’m very grateful, as I’m sure we all are, for you lending a wheel today.”

“All in a day’s work, Mr. Hatt,” said Emily, cautiously. The Fat Controller still looked nervous, though it had to be for a different reason. No doubt there was a catch.

“I confess I was a little… worried about how you’d fare, though I have a feeling you already knew that.” He cleared his throat to compose himself. “I shouldn’t have been. It’s to be expected our senior express engine would pull through. We shall say no more about your ‘hydration’.” The Fat Controller laughed at Emily’s stunned expression. “We can’t keep any secrets from each other! How would you like a new coat of paint?” 

“Oh, Mr. Hatt.” Emily thought about the proposition for a moment. “Can it wait until tomorrow? I have another run in me.” 

“Of course, of course. Carry on.” 

The Fat Controller hadn’t disappeared into his office for even a minute before Emily noticed a sort of grieving wheeshing sound. She looked over; Gordon and James, newly freed from their latest scrape, had sidled alongside — and had heard everything. 

“S-Senior express engine?” stuttered James. Gordon was as pale as a ghost. Before he could find any words, Emily began to leave for the turntable. She took the time to smirk at them as she passed.

“I can’t dither about like you two all day. Some of us have places to be.” Her chortles rang through the station, leaving Gordon and James to gawk at each other. 

Chapter Text

Much of Thomas’ branch line was surrounded by farmland. Depending on the season, he could see the farmers toiling away in their fields, planting seeds, watering crops, or pulling weeds. Thomas wasn’t really sure what they were doing, but he liked to watch them and always whistled whenever he passed. 

The farmers didn’t do all the work themselves. A small orange thing chugged up and down one particular field close to the tunnel, tearing up the yellow stubble and baring the earth underneath. Straight lines remained wherever the thing had been. Thomas had never seen anything like it before; he didn’t much like it. 

Annie and Clarabel found it worse how he never made so much as a peep at the orange thing. 

“We really should say hello, Thomas,” said Clarabel, “He might be lonely!”

“Indeed. How would you like it if nobody paid you any mind?” prodded Annie. Thomas remained unmoved by this appeal.

“He doesn’t say hello to us,” he huffed, rather hoping that the orange thing would never try, “Why should we say hello to him?” 

“It pays to be kind, Thomas,” said Annie, “Who knows? You two might end up good friends.” 

Thomas thought he might as well have been asked to befriend a tree. He continued to give the cold buffer, leaving it to Annie and Clarabel to say something. Whenever they passed the field, they’d shout “Good morning!” if it was morning, “Good afternoon!” if it was afternoon, and the orange thing must’ve gone back to wherever its home was afterwards, because they never saw it in the evening. 

“I do hope he has a shed,” Annie said to Clarabel, “It would be dreadful if he had to sleep outside.”

“Yes, yes. Everyone must have a shed,” agreed Clarabel. Thomas rolled his eyes. 

A signal stood proud and tall by the field where the orange thing made its markings. Usually, it glowed an ambivalent green and allowed Thomas to pass through unimpeded. Thomas hardly noticed it was there at all. One day, perhaps tired of being ignored, the signal glowered an ominous red.

“Cinders and ashes!” Thomas screwed on his brakes hard. He was lucky that Annie had seen it too, and she passed the message onto Clarabel. With the coaches’ aid, they just managed to stop in time. Thomas regained his breath and glared up at the signal. 

“What’s the matter? We’re going to be late!” He stopped and suddenly looked frantic. “We have everyone onboard, don’t we?” 

Annie and Clarabel tittered.

“We wouldn’t have let you leave if we didn’t,” grinned Clarabel. Before Thomas could retort, he spotted the orange thing sitting on the other side of the field. Thomas grimaced, sure that he was being watched. 

“Hello there!” 

The orange thing trundled closer and closer towards them. Thomas wanted nothing more than to run away, but the red signal kept him restrained. 

The coaches, however, were delighted at their new companion.

“It’s so nice to properly meet you! I’m Annie.” 

“I’m Clarabel. And this is Thomas!”

Thomas stubbornly remained quiet. Annie and Clarabel exchanged a glance. 

“Thomas,” whispered Annie hoarsely, “It’s rude not to introduce yourself.” 

“We’ve met,” snapped Thomas; he now recognized the orange thing and his smug, annoying smile.

“So we have!” The orange thing’s eyes flickered with interest. “We haven’t been introduced, though. My name’s Terence.”

“What are you?”

Terence didn’t even have the chance to answer before the coaches interjected. 

“You don’t just ask something like that!” exclaimed Annie, “It’s undignified!”

“And rude!” put in Clarabel. Thomas muttered something unintelligible — and probably undignified. Terence still had his Cheshire grin, as if he’d been waiting for something akin to the present moment all his life.

“I’m a tractor ,” he said, basking in the overcast sky, “I pull things like trailers and ploughs. I travel around, but I like ploughing Finney’s field here.” Terence motioned towards the patch of bumpy dirt behind him. “You must’ve seen.”

”Oh yes, we have,” said Clarabel before Thomas said anything else offensive, “You make such straight lines.” 

“I pull things too,” muttered Thomas, thinking no one would hear, “and I don’t need ugly wheels to do it.” Annie and Clarabel gaped in abject horror.

But Terence only laughed. 

“They’re not ugly, they’re caterpillars! Everything’s easy when you have caterpillars. They’re what let me grip any sort of terrain. I can go anywhere and do anything. I don’t need rails like you.” 

Now that Thomas knew what a tractor was and that his name was Terence and what his voice sounded like, he liked the orange thing even less. The signal finally dropped, allowing Thomas to make his escape. 

“I don’t want to go anywhere. I like my rails.” He stormed off without another word, though the coaches made sure to say their farewells. 

“Have a nice day, Terence!” called Annie. 

“Don’t mind Thomas!” added Clarabel, “He’s just feeling grumpy today!” 

Terence was left standing near the fence, quite unconcerned with his visitors or any of their dispositions. He dutifully returned to work, whistling a tune to himself.

As the leaves fell off the trees and the air grew colder, Terence was out much more often. No matter what mood he was in before, Thomas scowled and sped up to pass the field faster. 

“Thinks he’s better than me,” he grumbled, “‘I can go anywhere!’ I don’t see him going from station to station.” 

“So that’s it,” mused Annie, “You’re envious of Terence.” 

“I am not!” huffed Thomas, a little worried that he was because he didn’t know what “envious” meant, “I-” Before he finished, he found himself sliding almost to a standstill. 

“T-Thomas?” Clarabel peered back to get a better view. “What’s the matter?” Thomas couldn’t answer; he was trying to keep the train moving. His wheels slipped violently on leaves that had fallen onto the tracks. He frantically tried to regain his grip before he dug grooves into the rails. After a few painful seconds, Thomas managed to move again — only barely, as he was rather out of puff.

“Oh dear. Are you all right, Thomas?” asked Annie.

Thomas didn’t answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore Terence was smiling at him from within his field.

Thankfully, the leaves didn’t stay forever. They slowly returned to the soil that grew them, leaving the ground barren, much like Terence’s field. It wouldn’t be long before it was covered up altogether.

One morning, when the driver and stoker opened the shed doors, Thomas squinted out into the cold. A gentle layer of white peppered itself on everything from roofs to oil barrels to exposed trees. Thomas had been drowsy, but he certainly wasn’t anymore. 

“Snow! Snow! Oh look, Annie! Look, Clarabel! It snowed !” His ecstatic whistle caused the snow on top of the carriage shed to shift — and fall directly in front of Annie. 

“Goodness me!” Annie exclaimed. Clarabel yawned, having been spared the surprise. 

“What’s that?” she croaked; she understood well enough after a few more shouts from Thomas. “At least he’s happy.” 

Annie watched Thomas charge out of his shed and head for the points to back down onto them. 

“Yes,” she said, “A bit too happy, perhaps.” 

“Don’t be like that, dear,” murmured Clarabel, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, “It’s better than- Oh!” 

Thomas had been so excited (and inattentive) that he’d bumped into the coaches. 

“Come on, come on! I have to see the whole line!” 

The coaches yelped as they were dragged out of their relatively comfortable shed and into the biting world outside. Annie gazed skyward, a little disconcerted.  

“Are those snow clouds? Over there, Clarabel, can you see them?” 

Clarabel had a more difficult perspective, but even she could see a dark sort of mass peeking out over the tops of the hills. 

“Oh my. So they are! I wonder if they’re heading this way.” 

Thomas, of course, hadn’t been listening at all. 

When they arrived at the station, the waiting passengers were bundled up and anxious to board. Many had scarves of various colors and patterns wrapped around their necks. Still more wore thick coats and boots to keep themselves warm from the approaching snowfall. 

Thomas’ firebox emitted so much heat that his crew had to take off their own coats. Water bubbled and eventually evaporated, flowing down through Thomas’ pipes to his cylinders. He didn’t worry about the cold.

His own excitement helped keep him warm too. 

All along their line, Thomas couldn’t focus on any one thing for long. There was always something new to see. Small icicles jutted out underneath eaves overlooking the platforms. Station staff set about laying down rock salt to avoid passengers slipping. Even the track was different; the rails only stuck out as two dark lines. The sleepers didn’t seem like they were there at all. 

Thomas grinned a bit too much when they passed the empty expanse that used to be Terence’s field. Terence nor the farmer were anywhere to be found. 

In their many years, the novelty of a winter wonderland had lost some of its luster for Annie and Clarabel. They were more worried about the snow clouds eating away at the blue.

“I was hoping they’d go the other way,” said Clarabel, “I feel a bit silly now.” 

“Clouds are very indecisive,” said Annie, “Perhaps they’ll be blown back over the sea.” 

When Thomas reached the junction, he didn’t even care that Emily had gotten to it first.

“You’re in a good mood, Thomas,” she remarked, not mentioning that Annie and Clarabel appeared pensive. 

“The first snow of the year should make anyone feel nice,” said Thomas smugly. He only then noticed Emily’s bufferbeam — or at least where it used to be. A steel blade in Emily’s emerald color now took its place. 

“What’s that?”

Emily grinned. “Heavy snow’s on the way. We’re all mandated to wear snowploughs. It’s a safety measure.” 

“Oh, that’s a relief,” said Annie, “if the clouds insist on bothering us.” 

Thomas wasn’t thinking about clouds. He was still staring at Emily’s snowplough.

“It looks silly. What’s it for?”

Annie and Clarabel shared a bemused glance. Emily, for her part, maintained her composure.

“To plough snow,” she explained patiently. Thomas recoiled from the snowplough and shuddered. 

“I’m not a tractor! What do I need to plough things for? The Fat Controller would know that. He’ll let me not wear one, I bet.”

Thomas’ audacity still surprised Annie and Clarabel sometimes. It didn’t surprise Emily. If anything, it now amused her.

“You think you’re exempt?” 

Thomas hesitated, because “exempt” was still another word he didn’t know. Everyone seemed to use words he didn’t know. 

“Sure,” he said, hoping he said the right thing, “I don’t need to plough snow. I happen to like it. Goodbye.” Thomas whistled and flounced away. 

His good mood didn’t last; it couldn’t when he found Terence waiting near his shed. Thomas screeched to a stop a few feet short. 

“But- You- Field- Here-” he stammered, only to be interrupted by Annie.

“Oh, Terence, you brought it! How kind of you!” 

A smaller, bluer blade than Emily’s laid on a squat trailer behind Terence, who smiled unassumingly. 

“Think nothing of it! Word gets around the country, and I thought it’d be a nice gesture. You have to be sensible if you want to stay safe, you know!”

“Quite so!” agreed the coaches in unison; they were growing quite fond of Terence.

Thomas liked him even less, if that was possible. 

“I thought you’d-” 

“He means to say,” interjected Annie, “that we didn’t see you on your farm today. We hope you’re not languishing in your shed.”

“You do have a shed, don’t you?” quizzed Clarabel, hopefully.

“I do, but I don’t stay there unless it’s dark, or I need to be mended,” said Terence, “I keep myself very busy. I like to clear the roads around here; looks like I’ll need to soon, with how the weather’s looking.” 

His proud explanation proved to be a valuable distraction. While he jabbered on, Thomas’ crew snuck over to the snowplough. They silently signalled to nearby staff that they would need help in moving it. The snowplough was naturally very heavy, but its weight became surmountable with several hands aiding. As carefully and quietly as they could, they lifted and carried it back towards Thomas. The hope was that Thomas wouldn’t notice them attaching it until it was too late. 

They’d only managed a third of the way before Thomas, increasingly bored and agitated, spotted them.

“Hey! I said I don’t need that!” 

“But you do, Thomas!” said Clarabel, “Emily said everyone had to have one!”

“Pah. She can’t know everything . I think she said so to make herself feel less silly about being the only engine forced to wear that silly thing.” 

“ You’re being silly,” said Annie, “You've never worn a snowplough before. How would you know what it’s like?” Thomas scoffed.

“It’s all right for you. You don’t have to wear it.” 

The new argument had given Thomas’ crew and their fellow conspirators another chance to do their work in peace. Terence watched with his signature grin as they hastily shuffled over and began to attach the snowplough to Thomas’ bufferbeam. 

“Snow’s silly soft stuff anyway. I could wheesh and be rid of-” Thmoas suddenly grimaced. “Ugh, my buffers are hurting at just the thought of it. Please, don’t put…it…”

He looked down.

The snowplough was already on. 

Exactly as he’d expected, the snowplough weighed down his front and made his buffers sore. His hard-earned steam was supposed to pull trains, not push a parasite around that everyone insisted was good for him. Indeed, Annie and Clarabel were now much cheerier. 

“You have to be sensible if you want to stay safe!” giggled Clarabel.

“And we’re a sensible lot!” added Annie pointedly. Thomas just grunted and made no other comment. As they rode along, they passed over a bump in the rails. The snowplough shook so lightly that no one noticed but Thomas. It gave him a cheeky idea.

The snowplough was a nuisance of a nemesis, but it was only metal. Metal could be dented. 

Of course, he had to keep the secret. He bumped it when the train crossed more bad patches of track. He banged it when he stopped to take on coal. Annie and Clarabel, perceptive as they were, would have caught on to the scheme if not for being distracted themselves. 

When they reached the junction again, Thomas’  stop was smooth for the coaches and passengers, but not for the snowplough; he bashed it the way a player kicked a football. 

“Hi, Emily,” he said blithely to Emily. Emily frowned, glancing between him and the plough. 

“Hello, Thomas.” She paused just long enough to make everyone uneasy. “Yoo know, a snowplough’s supposed to take care of you. You should take care of it too.” Thomas’ eyes widened, but luckily for him he didn’t need to defend himself. 

“Oh, he is!” said Annie, “He hasn’t complained once the whole journey down!”

“A miracle if there ever was one!” said Clarabel, “See, we told you that it wouldn’t be so bad, Thomas.” 

Thomas smiled with a bit too much vigor.

“Yes. Me and my snowplough are best friends, Emily.”

Emily stared for a moment before sighing in resignation. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She puffed away and carried Thomas’ secret with her. 

The many trips up and down the branch line provided ample opportunity for Thomas to bash his snowplough, and by the end of the day, the cries of shock from his crew were enough to make him grin. 

“It came off the shop floor last week,” cried the driver, “Smooth as a diamond too! Now it looks like it tumbled down Culdee Fell!”

“I did say it was no good,” remarked Thomas with an air of smugness that made it immediately obvious he was the cause. Annie and Clarabel gasped.

“Thomas! Did you really damage your snowplough on…on purpose ?” 

“Was that why you were so quiet?” Clarabel seemed especially pained. “Oh, it was, isn’t it! You’re smiling!”

“So he is!” 

How could he not? All the fuss was rather silly to Thomas. Half the snow had already melted since the morning. The plough was only good for scrap. 

Thomas’ crew hastened to take the snowplough off. They had a time of it too; the metal had become so distorted that it clung awkwardly to the buffers. Thomas sighed happily as his bufferbeam was finally freed of its great weight.

“Now that’s better!” 

The shed door was promptly shut on him. 

Long before either had to, Thomas’ driver and stoker came to work to mend the snowplough as best they could. Neither excelled in metalworking, however, and all they managed to do was wake Thomas, the coaches, and the village streets close to the railway with all the noise they made. 

Only Annie had a good view of the situation, and she only grew more and more dismayed. 

“Perhaps there’s a spare,” she said to Clarabel, “There must be one around here somewhere.” 

“Mmph,” said Clarabel; she was still trying in vain to return to sleep. 

Unfortunately, Terence didn’t surprise them with another plough, and the crew had to give up on the one they already had. 

Thomas had been cross about the clamor; he didn’t know what it was about after all, but when he saw that his snowplough remained in its sorry state, he forgot all about being cross. 

”I shan’t have to wear it! I shan’t have to wear it!” 

Annie and Clarabel looked grieved as Thomas moved off to back down onto them. 

“This doesn’t feel very safe,” Annie muttered.

“Or sensible,” Clarabel added sadly. Thomas harrumphed with a smirk. 

“I’ll show you. I didn’t need that silly old thing yesterday, and I shan’t today!” 

When they headed for the station, Clarabel shut her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at the snowplough anymore. 

All was well for the first stretch of the line. It hadn’t snowed during the night. The driver still couldn’t help but feel anxious. 

“It’s not bad here,” he said discreetly to the stoker, “but it’s sure to be deep in the valley.” Snowflakes began to fall as they distanced themselves from the top station. One landed gently on Thomas’ nose — and melted away just like that. Thomas chuckled to himself.

“Silly soft stuff. Snow can’t stop me.” He thought he was the cleverest engine in the world — and certainly cleverer than Terence. His field wasn’t far ahead; it was just beyond the tunnel. Thomas had always liked the tunnel. It was great fun plunging in somewhere and popping back out somewhere else. Thomas hoped Terence would be in his useless old field so he could show off how much better he was getting on. 

Annie and Clarabel hoped they wouldn’t run into any trouble. They kept a wary eye on the sky and on the line, ready to stop the train at a moment’s notice whether Thomas wanted to stop or not. But they couldn’t have prevented what did happen.

The tunnel curved through the hill it dug into, preventing anyone from seeing straight through it. Thomas whistled triumphantly as he puffed into the dark. The soot-covered tunnel walls were soon blinded by light coming from the other side. Thomas was the first to see the heap of snow. It had fallen from the sides of the cutting, though Thomas didn’t particularly care where it had come from.

“Nothing to it. I’ll just push it aside.” He sped up to charge it, jolting Annie and Clarabel’s couplings as well as their nerves. 

“Thomas! What are you-” Annie wouldn’t get the chance to finish, because the train came to an abrupt, awkward halt. 

Thomas had made it only his own length outside the tunnel before burying his footplate in the snow. 

“What happened?” he uttered in a daze. The coaches had to take a minute to regain their own bearings. 

“Thomas! Thomas, are you all right?” Annie demanded, more alarmed than cross for the moment. Thomas blinked, then steeled himself. 

“Don’t worry! I’ll get us back out and we’ll try again! I can do it!” He tried to move. His wheels spun in place. To make matters worse, more snow fell and piled around  him as if it wanted to keep him there for itself.

“Oh, Thomas, we’re stuck, aren’t we?” wailed Clarabel, “We’ll stay here until we freeze!” 

Thomas didn’t much like the sound of freezing. 

“I know!” suggested Annie suddenly, “He can be dug out!” 

“Yes! There’s the shovel for his coal! Shovels dig things!” enthused Clarabel. Though they were pleased with the idea, and Thomas liked anything that would keep his wheels from turning bluer, the crew were less enthusiastic. 

“Suppose it’s all we have,” said the driver. 

Thomas’ crew didn’t excel in ploughing snow either. The stoker used his shovel and the driver his mittened hands to clear as much as they could. When it became clear they wouldn’t make a dent by themselves, the passengers had to become involved. Thomas was still in steam, so the coaches were being kept warm; no one wanted to leave, but the guard promised he’d venture off and find help.

”If I can brave the elements, so can you,” he said gruffly. Inspired or baffled by his tenacity, that guilted the passengers enough to give it a try. 

Tried indeed, but even with driver, stoker and passengers all digging frantically at Thomas’ wheels, more snow simply took its place. Everyone had been so busy that no one had fueled Thomas’ firebox; he was swiftly growing colder.

”Oh, I am going to freeze! What a silly engine I am!” 

Annie and Clarabel’s teeth chattered, neither able to think much of Thomas’ lament.    

All had been quiet since Thomas had stopped puffing, as quiet as any winter day naturally was. So it came as a surprise when a cheeky toot of a horn came from somewhere behind. 

The passengers threw their hands up in delight. 

“We’re saved! We’re saved!” 

Thomas, Annie and Clarabel perked up…until they saw it was a bus. A bus that giggled helplessly at their predicament.

”It’s not funny!” snapped Thomas, which of course only made the bus giggle more. Thankfully, it went away quickly as the passengers had nearly jammed themselves trying to get on.

Now it was just Thomas, the coaches and the crew.

Until Clarabel made out a “chug-chug-chug” coming from within the tunnel. She squinted into the darkness. 

“Is that…?” Her question was answered for her. 

“Hello! What are you all doing there? I thought trains were meant to stop at stations, heh heh!” 

Annie and Clarabel were expectedly jubilant. 

“Terence! It is you! You’ve come to rescue us!” beamed Clarabel. 

“You always pass by the farm; thought it was strange you didn’t. I’m glad I went investigating now!” 

Now Thomas wished he were completely buried in the snow. He expected Terence to laugh, but surprisingly he didn’t.  

Clarabel’s tail lamp made it much easier for Terence to maneuver himself in order to be hitched up to Clarabel’s coupling. Clarabel peered down at the chain hooking them together.

“Are you sure you can pull us, Terence?” 

“Sure as I’ve hauled a cartload of pumpkins!” 

Thomas sighed, so muffled by the snow that nobody heard. 

Sure enough, Terence pulled Annie and Clarabel with ease. They rolled through the tunnel and back out the other side. 

“Oh, thank goodness! Our frames aren’t frostbitten!” said Annie.

”You will go back for Thomas, won’t you?” asked Clarabel, “He’s been terribly rude to you, but-“

”Rubbish,” interrupted Terence with feeling, “Anyone who needs help ought to get it.” He trundled back into the tunnel, making his way through the cold expanse before finding Thomas exactly where he’d left him. Thomas still couldn’t move, but his wheels were clear. That would make things easier. 

Despite his circumstances, and his relief that he hadn’t been abandoned, Thomas still eyed Terence’s caterpillar tracks doubtfully. 

Following his line of sight, Terence grinned up at him. 

“I’m adaptable. You’ll see.”

The chain was reattached between engine and tractor. Thomas’ driver stood near the tunnel mouth to watch the operation.

”Ready…heave!” 

Terence was strong, and his caterpillars clung to even icy surfaces, but Thomas was already much bigger without a heap of snow weighing him down. 

“Phew! Oh dear.” Terence slipped and tugged and slipped and tugged. His engine roared and started to heat up.

”Steady, Terence! You’ll burn yourself out!” called Thomas’ driver. Terence panted with exertion, unable to respond. Thomas looked back anxiously. 

“Go on, go on! I think I’m moving!” Slowly but steadily, Thomas’ wheels began to turn. His buffers popped out of the snowdrift. Much of the pile on his running board fell off. 

“We’re away!” cheered Terence. Thomas’ crew clapped as they walked alongside through the tunnel. Thomas would’ve whistled if he had any steam left. 

“Oh, thank you, Terence, thank you. Your centipedes are splendid.”

”Caterpillars. But thank you . I haven’t had this much of a challenge in a long time!” Obviously he was gloating, but Thomas held his tongue, lest he somehow be shoved back where he just was.

On the other side of the tunnel, Annie and Clarabel gave the two a valiant welcome. 

“Thank goodness you’re all right, Thomas!” said Clarabel. 

“You’re a hero, Terence!” said Annie, “How can we ever thank you?” 

“You could start by making sure our friend here wears his snowplough,” Terence replied wryly, “Remember, you have to be sensible if you want to stay safe.” He and the coaches’ laughter was interrupted by snow being crunched under boots. The guard came strolling up, chewing on a biscuit. 

“Where the devil have you been?” demanded the driver. The guard shrugged helplessly. 

“There was a cottage just up the line. Real nice lady lives there. Let me use her phone, made arrangements for an engine to come and help Thomas. She makes killer biscuits too. She sent some for all of us but I ate them.” 

He looked over and saw that Thomas was already free.

”Ah. Well-”  

Emily’s whistle interrupted the interruption. 

Thomas didn’t want to see Emily, but even though she could’ve (and she knew she could’ve), she deemed “I told you so.” to be a bit tactless for the moment. As she was coupled up to Clarabel, she whistled to thank Terence for his assistance. 

“Safe travels!” called Terence. Careful to sand the rails, Emily pulled the train through the rest of the tunnel. 

“Now then,” she said after an expectant beat of silence, “Let’s get you three someplace warm.” Annie and Clarabel were more than happy with that — it seemed both safe and sensible. Thomas rolled easily behind, too cold to care where he ended up. 

Thomas remembered Terence’s mantra; while annoying, perhaps the tractor had a point. But if there was anything Thomas learned, being sensible was difficult. If wearing his snowplough was sensible, and it kept him out of more snowdrifts, then he supposed he’d have to try. 

Even if it meant sore buffers.

Chapter Text

The Hatt household was always chaotic in the mornings. Stephen and Bridget had to catch their school bus. Their father, Topham Hatt, had to hurry to his office in the center of town. Their mother, Jane Hatt, often had a deadline to meet for the local newspaper.

Recently, she’d holed herself up in the room delineated as her “writing space”. Clicks of her typewriter echoed down the halls — as did her sighs and the crumpling up of paper. It had been a struggle, as many an artist can tell you, but at long last she had something presentable.

Today, she assembled her outfit quickly. Blue dress, blue trim jumper, blue hat with a pink band. Last but certainly not least, her trusty wristwatch that made the hectic days so manageable. 

Her husband was approaching the doorway when she emerged from her “writing space”, a large, purple purse over her shoulder. She warily eyed her wristwatch. 

“They’ll like your story,” said Topham, “I’m not much of a reader myself, but I quite enjoyed it.” Jane smiled but only briefly.

“Thank you, dear. I just hope I get there.” She hurried to the living room, plopped her purse down on a sofa and sifted through it to make sure she had everything she needed. Topham shambled up behind.

“I’ve always gotten to my destinations without confusion or delay. I wouldn’t spend all hours stewarding the railway if it wasn’t worth the effort.” 

Jane zipped up her purse and huffed as she headed for the door. Before she left, she turned around and gave her husband a quick but tender kiss. 

“Good luck, dear,” he said warmly. 

  “I’ll need it!” she called over her shoulder, breaking into a run out down the side of the road. 

Jane didn’t hate railways. She’d never have moved to the Island of Sodor of all places if she did. But all the fuss about them — or why her husband dedicated his life to them — made no sense to her. It wasn’t a very convenient mode of transport, in her opinion. 

For one thing, there were specific times when they left from stations. If your schedule didn’t align, that was that. And for another, those stations were only in certain places “lucky” enough to have them built there, so if your destination lay elsewhere, tough luck. In fact, Jane’s destination today was the small publishing house at Balladrine, nowhere near the railway.

A writing contest was being held there, advertised in the very Tidmouth Times she worked for, and participants had to submit their entries before 11:15 am, Saturday. Now it was 9:25 am. 

The fastest train, so she’d been told, would leave in fifteen minutes and take about forty to make it to Crovan’s Gate, the closest stop to her real destination. From there, she counted on the bus, which she didn’t look forward to much either.

The other passengers, more at ease with their situation, carried about their own business. Many held back within the station itself to grab a cup of hot tea or enjoy small talk with an acquaintance. 

Jane had no time for distractions. Not today. 

She pulled her sleeve over her watch.

Engines were present, too, idling about at their platforms, though none that were to pull Jane’s train, so she tried to tune them out.

Easier said than done.

“He’s going to be late if he doesn’t hurry up,” remarked Emily.

“Not his fault,” said James, loftily, “What do you expect when you make us tender engines do work we aren’t meant to?”

“You always complain when I’m slow,” put in Henry, displaying a rare moment of bravery. James snorted.

“You have no excuse, Henry. You’re always slow.”

Henry’s face fell. 

“That’s enough, James,” Emily snapped.

The woman beside Jane snickered. Even Jane’s journalistic training couldn’t bend her curiosity enough to want to follow that rabbit. The machines talking never quite sat right with her, and to hear them chattering like children twisted her stomach into knots. If they had to have minds of their own, they should at least have more pertinent matters on them. 

A sudden, extraordinary whoosh of steam drew everyone’s attention, even the other passengers. Jane’s curiosity won the new battle as she leaned around the crowd. Even behind the long line of coaches, the hissing and roaring and, most of all, grumbling was unmistakable.

“Pushing coaches, shunting coaches… Ohh, the indignity.” 

More snickering and nudging from the passengers, as if it were all some sort of joke. Jane stared mournfully up to the heavens, obscured somewhat by the glass canopy of the station. What right did the engine have to gripe? They had nothing else they could do. If a toaster suddenly opened its eyes and whinged as it burned its toast, where would the world be? 

9:37.

At last, the coaches were brought to the platform and Gordon ran around to the head of the train. Jane boarded her compartment, begrudgingly. The aisle she had to walk down was so thin. At least the carpet had been vacuumed. The seats weren’t much better. The leather was clean, and she had to give credit to the designer for choosing a stylish pattern to decorate the cushions with, but it all felt so cramped. That wouldn't have been so bad if she at least was the one driving.

She settled into a seat and crossed her arms. Fortunately, she had no luggage other than her purse, which she kept at her side. She expected the rack to collapse even with her purse’s weight. 

The velvety leather was comfortable, at least. 

9:50.

She was just about to (try to) relax when the engine whistled with such ferocity that she poked her head out her window to see what the matter was.

“Express coming through!” Gordon boomed. The sheep, having the ability to run away from such a dreadful noise, scattered to the other side of their field. 

Every so often, Jane checked her watch. Despite all her reservations, they were bound to reach her station in time for her to hop on the bus to Balladrine. All would be well after all. She’d meet her contact and get her first ever story published-

She almost slid off her seat when the train stopped. Another peek out confirmed what she suspected. 

Kept at bay by the signal, Gordon seethed with righteous indignation. The stationmaster tentatively approached to broach the problem.

“There’s been a derailment up near Kellsthorpe Road. Cargo spilled all over the express line. You can’t proceed until it’s cleared.”

“I’m an express!” thundered Gordon, “I’m not meant to stop at local stations!” He eyed the station sign, reading “Cronk”, with contempt. Before the stationmaster could defend her town’s honor, Edward came panting up on the adjacent line with the Breakdown Train. 

“Hurry up!” barked Gordon as Edward clanked on by, “I can't be kept waiting and neither can my passengers!”

“All in good time, Gordon,” said Judy, “Just be patient.”

“Take the world as it is for once and not as a blur, eh?” Jerome smirked. The cranes chuckled to themselves. Edward wasn't going fast, so he had a chance to attempt to smooth things over.

“Ever so sorry, Gordon!” he called back, “We’ll get there in a few puffs!”

But Gordon already brooded over the cheek of cranes who couldn't even move on their own.

“Pah. They only pick up the pieces when small, silly engines have accidents.”

The guard explained the situation to the passengers, walking down the aisle and giving his terse message. How they heard it and not the muffled voice of the engine at the helm shouting, Jane had no idea. The coaches were supposed to be private, hence all the separate compartments. Maybe she shouldn't have had any expectations.

Engine and passenger alike agonized over the wait. Both kept an eye on their respective clocks that ticked relentlessly onward, much as they wanted them to stop. 

Gordon glared at anyone within his line of sight. 

Jane drummed her fingers on the armrest.

9:55.

10:02.

10:24.

Now reaching Balladrine on time was up in the air. Possible, yes, but Jane still had a sinking feeling in her chest. 

At 10:33, the red signal dropped and the stationmaster came back out to tell Gordon they could go. Her words drowned in Gordon’s whistle. She herself was soaked in the flood of steam that ensued. The train moved into motion.

This time Jane knew to hold on for dear life. 

Gordon galloped along the line, going faster and faster as he pressed his luck in the hope his driver wouldn't hold him back.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” he chanted, so loudly that Jane had no choice but to hear. Ahead, all that remained of the former accident was Edward and the cranes; the engine responsible had wisely disappeared. Gordon thundered by them, shaking the ballast as he went. 

Jane could do nothing but stare at her watch. 

10:43.

10:51.

Gordon smiled broadly as he eased himself to a halt, right alongside Skarloey and his little train. 

“How's that for making up for lost time, hmm? This is how you retain passengers, little engines.” 

Skarloey glanced at the clock on the station wall. 

“Is it now?” he murmured. Passengers disembarked from Gordon’s coaches. Very few crossed the platform to Skarloey’s. One didn't move at all after stepping off. The woman in the blue dress, trim jumper and hat stared at the same clock. Her jaw clenched. 

11:09.

Some passengers would've gone straight to someone to make a complaint, if only to let off their own sort of steam. This passenger didn't. She remained the last on the platform, still staring up at that clock. Skarloey grimaced as he departed for the lake in the mountains, whistling farewell.

Gordon had already recovered from his exercise and was ready and raring to head off for Vicarstown. Before the guard blew the whistle, however, he did spot the lone passenger stomping past and towards the footbridge that spanned the big railway. 

Perplexed, Gordon looked at the clock, then at the passenger. He gasped.

Jane Hatt’s withering look made him avert his gaze. 

Jane cared not how the machine felt. She didn't care how any of them felt. They could never understand missing such an important engagement — through no fault of their own.

The Hatt household had a despondent air that night. Jane put aside her whirlwind of feelings, temporarily, for the children’s sake. Topham kept sneaking worried glances over dinner, but he too kept the matter underfoot until Stephen and Bridget were sent off to bed.

When she and Topham were alone on the sofa next to the fireplace, heads almost on the other’s shoulders, the crackles and pops of the aflame logs helped to spur difficult conversation.

“I didn’t get accepted,” she said quietly, “I didn’t submit it before the deadline.” Topham nodded in sympathy.

“I had, er, heard the express was late today.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry, dear. I know this meant a lot to you.”

Jane’s features softened. It wasn’t truly his fault, even if he did take responsibility for everything on the dratted railway.

“It did.”

“There’ll be other contests, I’m sure,” Topham continued, “You’re a good writer. You’re bound to be published by somebody.” 

“That’s just it. They never even reviewed it. They weren’t able to.” She shook her head. “If I had my own way of getting there…” 

The room fell into troubled silence, only punctured by the roaring of the fire. 

Life carried on essentially as before. Jane still wrote her articles for the Tidmouth Times. Her story remained safely tucked away in her desk drawer, ready to be brought back out when the time called for it.

A few days later, the subtle but distinct scornful aura about her lifted.

After Stephen and Bridget caught their bus, Topham again broached the subject.

“It is a nice day, dear.”

“Mhm.” Jane sipped her coffee, looking at him over the rim of her cup with mischievous eyes.

One day, Topham had a difficulty of his own. He had a meeting on the mainland to attend involving the possibility of acquiring another engine for the railway. The process was always difficult; he had to navigate red tape and a clear aloofness on the mainlanders’ part about having to bother with the Sudrians. It didn’t help that Topham wanted to avoid a repeat of certain past events. His standing his ground was why he’d been appointed for these sorts of trips.

It was for the railway’s, and the island’s, sake, but it could be dreadfully exhausting.

Topham and Jane shared an alarm. They usually rose out of bed at the same time, if only to enjoy the chirping of the birds and the fruitful hues of the sky before the day truly started.

When Topham did wake to the world, he mumbled “Good morning, dear.”, only to reach out into empty space. Jane was not next to him. Rays of sunlight lit up the curtains. Topham shot up, rubbed his eyes and stared at the clock on their bedside table.

“Oh, bother.”

“Wait! Wait!” Now in his dapper suit and top hat, Topham waved his arms above his head, running down the road towards the entrance to Tidmouth station. The express coaches peeked out from the gaps within the building. Topham scrambled to the platform, pushing past a stunned stationmaster. 

“Gordon, stop! Stop!”

But the train was already leaving. His one ticket to the mainland sailed away into the distance. punctuated by Gordon’s whistle — which for one reason or another had a bitterness embedded in it.

Topham hung his head. His contact would no doubt lodge a complaint about his truancy, and the incident would become a new hot button issue that could prove to be precarious.

The stationmaster ran over, having regained his bearings.

“Mr. Hatt, what the devil are you doing here now? You’re never late!”

A forceful, unfamiliar horn caught both men off guard. After another, louder hoot, Topham excused himself and hurried back to the road entrance.

He almost fell on his face when he saw the saloon car parked where he’d been a minute ago.

The car was painted in a shiny, bright blue — and looked straight at him. They had beady eyes and a thin smile that made it seem as if nothing in the world ever disturbed it.

“Hello!” said the car. Topham waved out of common courtesy. Then he noticed Jane in the front seat. She had her hand firmly on the steering wheel and dark sunglasses covering her eyes. Her lips curled into a grin.

“How’s this for a ride?”

Topham had too many questions for any to win out. He tentatively opened the door and slunk into the passenger seat.

“Destination?” Jane smirked at him. 

“Vicarstown. I doubt we’ll catch my train, but it’s a start.”

“So you’re on another one of your excursions. Well, at least you’ll get there in style!”

Topham’s soul almost stayed behind at the station when Jane put her foot on the gas and tore off into town. They left behind a squeal of tires, a trail of exhaust and much bewilderment.

Jane had the lit-up face of someone half her age venturing out beyond their parents’ abode on their own for the first time. Downtown sped on by, her incessant usage of the horn keeping anyone from thinking about crossing the street before their time. She exuded such confidence in her steering and assurance in where they were that Topham would’ve felt indeed assured if not for two things. 

For one, the speed at which they were going. 

Two, the car she drove remained strangely quiet. Topham was quite used to the chatter of such machines, cars less so than most others. The car only aimlessly looked around and smiled at everything, putting up no objections and not even slyly applying his own brakes.

“Can we go a tad slower, dear?” Topham asked. Jane sighed in faux frustration.

“Oh, if you wanna be a bore. You really should live a little, Toppy.” 

His ears reddened. That nickname hadn’t come up since their courting days. 

Nonetheless, she was only teasing and did ease off, allowing them to somewhat more smoothly stop at a traffic light. 

“You know,” she said, “I was thinking. Why should I throw my own, ahem, ‘timetable’, to the wind? I’m taking back control of my own transport.” She patted the dashboard with her free hand. “And this is exactly what I wanted.”

The car’s smile broadened slightly.

“That’s nice, dear,” Topham replied, his voice mouselike. The railway had always been a bit of a shadow in their life together. Jane put up with it, for which he was grateful, but he knew she didn’t like it. Perhaps it pulled him away to his office too much when he should’ve been at home or spending time with her. He always thought he’d done a sufficient, if imperfect, job. Now he wasn’t as certain.

Or perhaps, as united as their hearts were, they pulled apart on this one matter. No one agreed on everything. It was all right that she’d given up on the railway and gotten a car.

It was all right. It was her right.

She could still slow down more, though.

The Hatts in the blue car tore down country lanes and through isolated villages. Most of the road network was left unpaved, nor was it particularly extensive. Though still fairly new, elsewhere the road was the new frontier. Not quite so on Sodor, even if it was for Jane,

Wherever they went, the roar of an engine preceded them, and a cloud of dust followed. The noise disturbed ranging sheep and cattle, who responded by bleating right back or retreating. Jane hardly cared. The routine of daily life fell away, just for a while. There was only the road ahead.

Jane couldn‘t check her watch, but she knew they made excellent time.

She did have to ease off when they returned to society. Downtown Vicarstown greeted them, along with a mournful whistle not far away.

“He’s running late,” Topham muttered. She couldn‘t resist grinning at him.

Their journey ended in a crescendo of honks as they stopped at the railway station. Everyone turned to look, even Molly, who still waited for Gordon.

“You can thank me later, love.” Jane planted a kiss on Topham’s cheek right as her stomach rumbled. Sweet cinnamon and icing called to her from the station cafe. She hurried to go, making sure to lock the car behind her. Topham made a beeline straight for Molly’s coaches. The car’s gaze roved around the big, lofty station like an explorer who had touched on land for the first time in months.

“Hello!” said the car. Molly blushed and instinctively inspected her buffers. The big, lofty fellow engine saved her.

“Molly, my dear engine, what tribulations we’re expected to put up with!” Gordon hissed, “That clumsy engine derailed her trucks in the same place a second time! What do we keep these goods engines around for?”

“Hello!” 

Gordon raised his eyebrows at Molly. Her lips were sealed; it certainly didn’t sound like her anyway. He then looked to his left. 

A blue car was smiling at him.

“Who are you?” 

“Oh my…” Molly bustled away before the station got any noisier, nonethewiser to her weary but timely top-hatted passenger. 

“That’e a conundrum,” said the car, sounding like he cared little for the subject, “You don’t have anything to call me. That’s all right. You’ll recognize me, won’t you? Jane Hatt drives me.” Gordon’s clenched jaw was promptly replaced by a grieved frown. With a curt, hollow whistle, he shuffled away without a word.

“Goodbye! Nice talking to you!” called the car. 

Gordon did recognize the car. He wished he didn’t, but he had no choice when the car popped up at some time or another at every one of his stops. Needless to say, Jane relished her newfound freedom and drove the car wherever and whenever she pleased. If she wanted some air after writing all morning, she could. If she wanted to go to her favorite fish and chips restaurant down at Brendam, she could. If she wanted to surprise her husband with a rose, she could.

If she wanted to arrange another engagement with the publishing house at Balladrine, and get there, and enter the contest, she could.

Now whenever the Hatts spent any time as a family, the car was sure to be involved. Sometimes Jane had places in mind like the Sodor Museum, but sometimes the trips burned petrol for the sake of it whether alone or together. The wind would fly through her untied ponytail. Every stick and knob and adjustment of the steering wheel responded that very moment, no questions asked. There was nothing else quite like it.

Stephen and Bridget were used to trains, and they did love them in their own way, but the car impressed them through sheer novelty. They laughed and whooped when their mum honked the horn or took a difficult turn in the road. Topham’s hat tumbled off his head more than once.

All the while, the car never said a single word — to his occupants, anyway.

“A car,” rumbled Gordon in Tidmouth Sheds. “A car! Oh, the indignity!” An emptiness ensued where formerly Thomas would’ve interjected with one of his cheeky retorts. Gordon glanced at the void of a berth, letting slip a saddened countenance. He hoped nobody saw.

“That car’s a good fellow,” said Henry, “I saw him at Maron today, and he was quite cordial.”

“Indeed,” Edward smiled, “I like him.”

“Bah.” Even Gordon’s inferiors had to know better. “He’s simple. Not an original thought in all his metal. To think a Hatt opted for him instead of riding on the railway. It’s shameful!”

“Indeed!” James tacked on, with more enthusiasm than he otherwise would, “Why ever would Mrs. Hatt do such a thing?”

Gordon’s momentary chagrin revealed more than he wanted.  

“Losing any passengers is unfortunate,” conceded Edward, “but I’m sure she has her reasons. He is a pleasant chap, once you get to know him.”

“Do you know him?” Emily put in; she had been conspicuously quiet till then. Edward and Henry looked startled.

“Er, yes,” said Henry uneasily, “We both said the sky was very blue when we met.” 

“Precisely,” said Gordon, not finding it strange that he and Emily seemed to be on the same side for once, “That is the trouble. Suppose everyone obtained a car. Suppose at every station you had five of these simpletons chattering to you about the weather.”

“That’s not the point, Gordon,” Emily cut in, “I’m worried about him. Doesn’t he always seem…restrained? He never says anything too personal. And then when Mrs. Hatt comes back from her errand, he stops and dons that smile. It’s like he doesn’t wish to bother her with his presence.”

A silence filled the shed for a while.

“He may just be private,” ventured Edward, “Like Molly.”

“The car is nothing like Molly,” sniffed Gordon, “Be quiet, the lot of you.”

“You brought it up in the first place!” But Emily’s plea for consistency was ultimately pointless, for Gordon fell into a restless slumber.

“How about you take the wheel, dear?”

“Oh, er. I don’t mind you driving, Jane, really.”

Stephen and Bridget sat on the steps to the Hatt home, eyeing each other warily. This Hatt morning was unlike most. It was a weekend, so there was no school for them. They had the luxury of watching their mum try to coax their father into taking the car for a spin.

“Come on. You’ll understand what I mean,” said Jane, leaning against the driver door in the vein of someone trying to sell something, “Once you’re in control, you can’t go back.”

Topham wore his blue suit and had gone without the hat, a fact he felt a little self-conscious about.

“Yes, dear, but…” He struggled to speak when the car’s door opened, courtesy of Jane. How could he say no to that face he fell in love with?

Jane got into the passenger seat. The children stayed where they were; each had a funny feeling in their stomachs.

Jane and Topham sat for a moment.

“Well?”

Topham’s now-sweaty hands grasped for something to touch.

“Excuse me, car,” he said, staring awkwardly ahead, “Can I drive you, please?”

The car’s smile faltered slightly, bemused.

“Of course, sir.”

Jane knit her eyebrows.

“You don’t have to ask for its permission.”

“It’s only polite.”

Yet even with the car’s blessing, Topham remained glued to the back of the seat. His voice shifted a pitch higher.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Jane…” The severity of his apparent impending confession made her lean towards him. “I don’t… That is, er…” 

“…you don’t know how to drive, do you?”

Topham forced a cough into his fist. “I used to drive engines. It was a long time ago now, but…”

“This explains a lot,” said Jane wryly, “No wonder you’re so put off by cars. You don’t know they work.”

“I know how, Jane. It’s just not something I’ve needed to learn.” His already thinning resolve received another crack as Jane put her hand over his.

“Here, I’ll help you. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“I don’t know, dear… Elizabeth can attest that practice doesn’t always make perfect.”

Jane spared him a blank look. She suddenly remembered that Elizabeth was the name of his old lorry and not some previous acquaintance or relationship.

“Right. So, first you…” She moved Topham’s hand with hers over to the key ignition, the stick gears and the steering wheel to ensure a proper grip.

“There. You should have it now.”

Instead of putting the key to the engine, he honked the horn instead.

Stephen and Bridget laughed. The car was unfazed.

Eventually, after a good deal of trial and error, he did succeed in getting the car moving. Jane clapped, only a little facetiously.

“Now you’ve got it! Let’s go along this stretch. It’s straight, so you won’t have any surprises.”

Topham gulped but nodded in acquiescence.

The children hadn’t the best view now — the hedges blocked it — so they scuttled to the road to keep an eye on their father. What a show they were about to have.

Topham didn’t go fast. He hadn’t the heart, despite Jane nudging him to.

“It’s really more than a mechanical horse. You might as well have fun with it.”

He pressed the gas pedal with his foot ever so slightly, grimacing at the very noticeable shift in speed. How embarrassing this whole affair was. It was hardly the poor nameless car’s fault, but after this he was never letting Jane wear him down into this jungle of leather again. 

In a cosmic sense, it was the car’s fault. He was the first to notice the puddle of oil — and the last. Neither occupant was particularly focused.

“They raised the speed limit here, dear,” said Jane, smiling innocently, “You don’t have to crawl along.”

“This is crawling?”

And now they were spinning. The car remained ambivalent as he swung round and round like a top. Topham screamed as he desperately spun the wheel, which as it turned out did not help. Jane tried to wrestle it from him so she could do it, which did not help either. The car slid off the asphalt and into the dirt. 

All was silent…until Stephen and Bridget came running. Stephen hopped up and down to reach Topham’s window; his short status prevented him, 

“Do it again, father! Do it again!” 

“I want to be in it this time!” added Bridget, “I won’t get sick or anything!”

“Or we could drive it! It looks easy.”

Jane had enough humor left that she merely sighed with the realization that nobody had been hurt. 

Topham laid his head against the steering wheel, right on the horn. 

An older, redder car trundled by, her face contorted in vexation. 

“What’s the matter with you? Be quiet! Why do you young’uns have such loud horns? You’ll rattle my screws loose!”

“Sorry,” said the car, not sounding very apologetic.

After that, it was promptly agreed that Jane would remain the family driver for the time being. The car sustained only minor scratches, which he kept even when a few days later Jane got her purse and returned to her rightful place. She eased the car into the road, the Hatt house disappearing to the horizon in the rear view mirror. 

She had nowhere to go today. It was a “burn petrol” sort of day. 

The hum of the engine relaxed her tense muscles. It’d put her right to sleep if she didn’t remain vigilant. Her usual insistence on gunning it and assuming the best slackened. 

Jane loved her husband, and the kids, and her budding career, but it was pleasant to be truly alone again once in a while. To empty out her head and take control of something simple. She would never admit this; even to herself it was only a suggestion, a guilty pleasure. 

The car trotted through fields of growing barley and turnips. The intentional vegetation gave way to grass and shrubbery, interspersed with ancient trees. Most Sudrians lived near the southern coastline. The northern half remained, in spite of all the island’s development, more isolated, treacherous and untouched by rails. 

The car’s springs bore the brunt of the bumpy asphalt. The fact there was a road up here at all was a bit of a miracle, even if nobody had bothered to smooth it out for quite some time. 

“It’s a bit lonely up here, isn’t it?”

The voice echoed within the machine it had come from. All the tension and then some flooded back to Jane’s muscles. 

She never could be alone. Not now. 

“I like the railway myself,” the car went on, in a distant sort of voice, as if he assumed no one would bother to listen. “They’re like ants. They run around doing their little tasks all for some greater purpose. And I like the smoke that comes out their chimneys,” he added earnestly. 

Why was it talking to her? Why now? Stop it. 

A shiver trickled down her spine. The steering wheel now moved through her hands. She tightened the grip. Somehow, the car’s will overpowered hers. They turned gently onto a lane that Jane hadn’t even noticed. The packed dirt proved to be smoother than the tar. 

The car’s silence was now disconcerting, to say the least. It couldn’t be angry with her. That’d be ridiculous. She could overpower it right back, turn herself around and go right back to the lot and trade it for another one. 

Another one with less personality.

All at once, they stopped. Jane’s foot wasn’t on the brake; the car had done that too.

Or it was broken. 

Jane hastily unlocked the door and got out, brushing aside rebelling strands of hair that blew into her face. 

Her breath hitched. 

They’d stopped in a clearing, the oaks parting like curtains to allow any lucky creatures that stumbled into their abode to peek at their secret. Already they were higher than she”d realized, as was evident by the distant cliffside descending down to the verdure below. A gentle breeze played with her hair. She left it as it was.

The face of the machine that scared the daylights out of her to bring her here. It looked content, satisfied even.

Its composure wavered upon seeing whatever her face looked like.

“Sorry. This seemed a nice surprise, but you’re not used to that sort of thing, are you?” 

Jane ignored the glimpse into her soul by something that didn’t have one.

“How…” she began. The words stuck in her throat. If she voiced them, something would change, and that scared her a little. “How’d you know? About this?”

“Good question,” said the car, lazily, “I just have a good sense of navigation, I suppose.” It- He sounded like he knew more than he let on. Maybe it was better for her not to ask any further. 

Birds sang their little songs as they danced in front of the lowering sun. Sheep down below bleated to announce their presence. Not another person in sight. 

Her uneasiness ebbed but still remained. 

“I…appreciate this, I think, but please give me some warning when you decide to go rogue.”

“Rogue?” The idea seemed to trouble him. “Oh dear. The thought of being taken somewhere isn’t so strange to me. I guess it’s different for drivers.”

It felt strange, putting herself into a car’s shoes. Or wheels, rather. He understood his position and didn’t seem to mind all too much. He had no ill intent, nor could he possibly realize how it would come across to pull the stunt he had.

Did that make it all right? She wasn’t sure.

The thought of throwing him away like a broken pencil didn’t quite sit right anymore, though. (She hoped the pencils wouldn’t start talking to her too, or she’d have to assume she breathed in too much car fumes.)

“You don’t have a name, do you?” she mused before she could stop herself. Now, the car looked startled — for perhaps the first time.

“Pardon?”

“Seymour. Since I’m ‘seeing more’ with you.”

The newly-christened Seymour frowned in thought, clearly not getting the joke — which was a bit disappointing, really. She was proud of that one. 

“Are you sure it’s proper?”

She shrugged.

“Oh, why not? If we’re stuck together, you may as well have something for everyone to call you.”

Seymour broke out into a smile, a genuine one. 

This was so strange. 

The coldness returned but now for a different reason.

“Oh no.”

“Something up?” Seymour squinted through the leaves above them to get a better look at the sky. Jane scrambled back into the driver’s seat.

“Seymour-“ This was so, so strange. “-we have to get to Balladrine before four o’clock.”

Seymour returned to a more familiar breakneck pace, swishing down rural (even for Sudrian standards) roads. 

“Don’t you worry,” he said excitedly, “I’ll get you to Balladrine on the dot, madam!” 

She had forgotten. She never forgot anything, nothing this important. How could she forget how heart soared upon opening the letter from the Balladrine publishing house? She’d won first place. The judges liked her story enough to give her an award.

And now she was going to miss the ceremony because she’d been too busy driving her car- Seymour. She was driving Seymour. 

“Oh, I know a shortcut up ahead, if you’ll allow it,” said Seymour. Jane didn’t bother to ask how he did. 

“Yes, that’d be splendid, Seymour.”

The wheel turning through her hands didn’t freak her out this time. That itself might have been concerning. They stopped at an intersection. Seymour looked both ways because he was a responsible car. Jane took the opportunity to check her wristwatch. 

3:15. 

Not impossible. She and Seymour were working together now. 

They took off again, eliciting an agitated “moo” from a nearby cow. 

Their new route winded up a hill, flew back down and met up with the railway line. Jane grimaced. A shortcut was a shortcut. 

Seymour seemed a tad disappointed there were no trains to spot.

He did spot something shiny and metal on the road. 

“Hmm. That might be sharp.” He’d been thinking aloud and hadn’t really meant for Jane to hear. Hear she did, and the brakes came on with a squeal.

Seymour’s assessment proved to be correct.

“Ouch!” His front left tire flattened out. Jane steered them off the middle of the road the best she could, and they bobbled along to a standstill.

Jane surveyed the damage with a blank face.

“I’m sorry,” said Seymour, truly sounding like he meant it this time, “I hear you didn’t exactly make it to another contest either. … I may have been eavesdropping.”

A twinge of guilt surprised Jane. 

“No one to blame but me for losing track of my time,” she said ruefully. She paced in front of Seymour, considering her options. None of them were good. 

They stayed in that suffocating melancholy until a faraway whistled alerted Seymour.

“Oh! That’s a train!”

Jane huffed and crossed her arms as she leaned on his hood. “They won’t stop for us. We’re not a station.” 

“May as well give it a try.” 

Seymour proceeded to put Topham’s prior abuse of the horn to shame.

Further behind, Gordon bucketed along with the express, a solemn expression etched into him. His run had been going well, but that didn’t seem to matter.

An extraordinary noise pierced his smokebox. 

“What is that?” he hissed through shut eyes and clenched teeth, “An alarm?” 

An alarm meant trouble, and trouble was what he wanted to avoid. Nonetheless, he reluctantly eased off, the wretched horn encompassing him like a bubble. 

“Over here! Help! If you please!”

Gordon groaned as he screeched to a halt. His own brakes couldn’t compete with the horn. It finally ceased after he stopped.

Either that or he lost all his hearing. 

Gordon opened his eyes, blinked, and scrunched his nose.

“What’s the emergen…” There was Seymour on the lineside, smiling like nothing was amiss. Gordon’s safety valve shot up.

“You.”

“Ahem.”

Gordon’s glare flickered out when Jane Hatt ran out from behind him.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this. First naming a car, now she was on her knees (metaphorically, she hadn’t stooped that low yet) begging for help from an engine.

“Please, get me to Crovan’s Gate. It’s good enough. As fast as you can.”

Gordon hesitated but only for a moment. Determination shone in his eye.

“I’ll set a new record, ma’am. Just you watch.” 

Jane sprinted to the nearest coach door. She was about to swing it open when she looked over her shoulder. Seymour still smiled; it was a sadder one now.

“I’ll get help for you.”

That sufficiently cheered him back up. Jane pounced on an empty seat. It had never been so comfortable.

Gordon didn’t bother to hide his glee.

“A terrible misfortune — it truly is — when a car must give way to the railway. A misfortune indeed!” The only witness being the car, he bellowed with laughter as he began the grueling process of regaining the speed he’d lost — and the time.

Seymour watched in admiration. Whether he picked up on the teasing and didn’t mind or he had no idea whatsoever was only for him to know. 

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” Gordon was on top of the world, right where he ought to be. He kept true to his word: they reached Crovan’s Gate early. Skarloey had quite the surprise when he and Gordon rolled in at the same time.

“You’re pushing yourself today, Gordon,” remarked Skarloey, which was exactly what he wanted to hear. Nothing the little engine could say would ever compare to Jane Hatt stepping out of her coach among the other passengers, dutifully checking her wrist and smiling.

3:39.

She would’ve gone straight for the bus stop, her time advantage was still tentative, but something nagged at her. She strode up to the engine and said, “Thank you, Gordon.” That was all before she scampered off, only a little embarrassed. 

Skarloey raised an eyebrow at Gordon, who struggled valiantly to maintain his decorum. 

It was dark before Jane or Seymour got home. The moment she had a spare minute, Jane arranged for Seymour to be picked up. He was close enough to the railway that an engine brought along Judy and Jerome to take him.

Naturally, Seymour quite liked that. 

He was soon fitted with a new tire, and the mechanic, being the good samaritan she was, drove Seymour to the Hatt household. Jane arrived first onboard a bus. She proudly showed off her ribbon to her husband, who waited at the door. 

“First place! Oh, that’s wonderful, dear.” 

“And I almost didn’t make it again. My fault,” she added upon Topham’s nervous look, “I took a drive with Seymour, and I lost track of time.” Topham laughed as they entered the house together.

“You? Lose track of time? Perish the thought!” He stopped and smiled knowingly at her.

“Seymour, eh?”

Before Jane could answer, an all-too-familiar horn echoed outside. The mechanic waved from the front seat. 

“Hello!” said Seymour. 

A blush crept up Jane’s cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye, her husband winked. 

The railway remained outside Jane Hatt’s interest. She didn’t need to take the train when she had Seymour. She still went out on drives with him too, albeit with a more watchful eye on her wristwatch.

Yet she understood why Topham invested so much of his own time into these machines. Even if the ones he liked were bigger and louder and sillier than she preferred, she understood. It helped that Seymour loved passing by the railway, and Jane didn’t mind. Gordon was his favorite. He hooted his horn of his own accord whenever the express passed him up. Gordon, for his part, always spared a whistle for the car — if only out of politeness. 

Chapter Text

Thomas was used to having to wait for the big engines. He didn’t like it, not one bit, but it had become expected. Today, however, even after the main line train had left for the other side of the island, Thomas had to stay. He knew he had to because there was no guard’s whistle.

If there was anything everyone drilled into him, it was the importance of waiting. So Thomas did — he didn’t want to prove them all right that he was a silly little engine who couldn’t learn from his misadventures.

But he really, really wanted to just leave already. Right as he was about to break, Clarabel spoke up.

“I say, we are hanging about a bit today, aren’t we?”

“So we are,” said Annie. The station was rather empty besides their own platform. “I wonder what’s wrong.”

A horn echoed off the glass canopy, followed by a red bus pulling into the roundabout beside the station. Thomas vaguely recognized the shape and nothing more. Their smile looked friendly enough, so Thomas took the initiative to be friendly in return.

“Hullo there. Who are you?” He made sure to reconfigure “what” into “who”, because apparently asking someone what they were was rude. 

“I’m Bertie,” said the bus. He squinted; it made Thomas a little uncomfortable. “I feel like I’ve seen you before. Have we met?”

Thomas tried to remember. 

“I’ve never seen you before.” 

Bertie suddenly gasped with recognition. “Oh, yes! You’re Thomas! You got yourself stuck in the snow and gave ol’ Terence something to do. And I took your passengers!” He giggled as the blue-faced, snow-covered Thomas returned to his memory. “I’ve come to help you with your passengers today.” 

So this was what Thomas got for trying to be friendly.

“Help me? I don’t need help!” he flounced, “The Fat Controller trusts me to run this line...” He spared a sheepish glance back at the coaches. “…with Annie and Clarabel. Yes. We run it together, you see, so we don’t need anyone else. We keep things in order here.” Annie and Clarabel smiled proudly. Bertie smiled too — a knowing one that got under Thomas’ footplate. 

“Oh, I doubt that.” He was only teasing, but it was too much for Thomas.

“I can go faster than you!” This he was quite sure of, because while he was small compared to his fellow engines, he towered over this red bus, and that had to count for something.

“Now, Thomas, we needn’t boast,” said Clarabel nervously.

Bertie’s grin widened.

“You can’t.” 

“I can!” insisted Thomas. 

“I’ll race you!” The glee in Bertie’s voice was all too evident. Annie and Clarabel gasped together.

“Ignore him!” Annie hissed to Thomas, “We don’t need to trifle about with this hooligan!” But Thomas couldn’t listen. He wasn’t cross anymore; he was intrigued — and excited to boot. He’d never raced anyone before. Such contests laid outside the boundaries of what engines were expected to do. 

“Yes, let’s!” 

Throughout their conversation, Bertie’s passengers had been transferring to Annie and Clarabel. While it was amusing, they had their own, human concerns. The last few, however, overheard the challenge and swiftly spread the word to everyone onboard. Some pulled down their windows. 

“Beat that bus, Thomas!” an elderly gentleman said. He distrusted anything that rode on roads by virtue of being newer and thus a threat. Similar encouragement only emboldened engine and bus to the arrangement, and soon the station was abuzz that in their own little corner of the world, there was going to be a race. Annie and Clarabel’s protests were no match. 

“R-Remember what Terence said!” said Clarabel, weakly, “You have to be sensible if you want to stay safe!”

“We can conduct this very sensibly,” agreed Annie. No response from Thomas. He was busy collecting a good head of steam for their imminent departure. Driver, stoker and even the guard would be no help either. They were as excited as the passengers and eager to show off what the railway was capable of. 

“Only a little friendly competition, you understand,” said Thomas’ driver as he shook hands with Bertie’s. Bertie’s driver didn’t seem to quite share the bus’ enthusiasm, for his grip was limp and his eyes tired. 

“And what’s all this then?” 

Everyone went silent as the stationmaster emerged from his office, arms akimbo. Thomas’ driver promptly dropped Bertie’s driver’s hand and put both of his own behind his back. Bertie himself looked away and did his best to appear composed. Annie and Clarabel sighed with relief. They had avoided a terrible situation, after all.  

“Bertie and I are having a race!” announced Thomas, obliviously. The abashed silence was only broken by the stationmaster’s laugh straight from his belly. 

“Oh, you are, are you? That’s a lark! One of you chaps tell me who won, eh?” With a courteous tip of his cap, he strode away. The coaches gaped. The last possible obstacle evaded, and with all the passengers settled in, the guard put her whistle to her mouth and raised her flag. She eyed Thomas, then Bertie. Thomas and Bertie smirked at each other. 

“Ready…”

“We don’t have to do this,” began Annie. 

“Steady…”

,Clarabel picked up where she’d left off. “What would the Fat Controller-“

“Go!” The guard’s whistle was drowned by Thomas’ own and a great whoosh of steam — and the squeal of tires on asphalt. Before Thomas had turned a wheel, a cloud of exhaust was left where Bertie once had been. Thomas blinked but swiftly recovered. Upon scanning the platform to be sure the guard had gotten in, he took off with a will, jolting the couplings behind him. 

“Thomaaaass!” Annie and Clarabel wailed as they descended upon the junction to the branch line just beyond the signal gantry.

The race was on.

“Come along, come along, come along!” Thomas panted, more for his own motivation than the coaches’, for they had little to speak of. The routine they’d so settled so nicely into was being decimated by the dratted bus. 

“You’ll wear yourself out and no mistake!” Annie said, “And for what?” 

“We should ignore him,” suggested Clarabel, “and- Oh, my!”

Thomas strained to make himself go faster. Coal took longer to burn and water to boil into steam, much longer than Bertie’s petrol in his combustion engine. He didn’t know the mechanics of his own fuel, only that his own breathlessness annoyed him. 

He could go fast when it counted. That was reassuring. 

The stoker did his absolute best. He diligently shoveled from the bunker and launched it into the firebox. The exertion and the heat from the fire made him work up quite the sweat.

Thomas regained his breath as fresh steam flowed into his cylinders. His pistons pumped faster and faster. Meanwhile, Annie and Clarabel kept a watchful eye on the road.

“Bertie must be a long way ahead by now.” Clarabel squinted through the passing verdure. “We can’t possibly catch up.”

“Yes! Can’t possibly,” said Annie shakily, “We may as well throw it!”

But Thomas’ morale improved too much to teeter already, particularly because he had an inkling of where they were headed. 

“That’s no fun. Come on!” He spared the steam to whistle and sped up still more. The coaches, growing quite fed up, tried to hold back, but Thomas bounded onward like a dog escaped from its leash. 

They rounded a bend, and there was the first level crossing. Further up the branch line, further away from the coast and into the heartland of the island, the roads went unpaved and the crossings ungated. They were primarily used by tractors like Terence who didn’t much care whether the ground was muddy. The first level crossing had the luxury of gates standing guard against traffic that had any fanciful ideas. Traffic like Bertie.

“Ooh, fenders and gaskets! What rotten luck!” For several minutes now he’d been forced to sit and wait. All his momentum evaporated. “I could’ve gotten to Toryreck in all the time I've been detained here. Why’ve they got the right of way?” His indignant horn got Thomas’ cheeky whistle in response. 

“Goodbye, Bertie!” he called and was gone in a flash. Bertie’s face fell into a scowl. Even after Thomas’ plume of steam disappeared from view, the gates still had to reopen.

The road diverted into the village of Dryaw after the crossing, so Thomas, Annie or Clarabel couldn’t see Bertie even if they wanted to. This mattered little to Thomas. The memory of Bertie’s scowl, obscured by the gates, entertained him endlessly. 

“What a poor loser!” he guffawed, “Ah well. He should’ve known better than to race me!” They ran well now, so well he’d long forgotten he was ever concerned. Annie and Clarabel shared a knowing look. 

“You haven’t won your silly game, Thomas,” said Clarabel, “We still have our own stops to make!”

“Dryaw’s not far!” added Annie, “You have to slow down!” Thomas snorted; they were being such spoilsports. It wasn’t his fault they didn’t know how to have fun. 

“‘We’ll’ win, not just me. You’ll be there too. I may have made the effort, but- Oh, horrors!” The station’s dark green footbridge was visible on the horizon. Sparks flew from Thomas’ wheels as they skidded along the rails. Annie and Clarabel applied their brakes too, and it was thanks to their aid that they just managed to stop at the platform and not half a mile off.

“Phew!” Thomas looked at the surprised waiting passengers. “Quickly, please!” 

Word spread of the historic event taking place, and any harsh feelings were swiftly smoothed over. Many didn’t want to get off the train, not when the race wasn’t over. Annie and Clarabel were glad for a reprieve but knew it wouldn’t last all that long. They seized the chance to bargain while they still could. 

“I’m sure the passengers don’t like being bounced around like…like…”

“…peas in a frying pan,” finished Clarabel, “And neither do we!”

“Yes, quite. Please, Thomas, stop being silly.”

But Thomas still wasn’t listening. He had steam but only some of what he used to. Bertie was nowhere to be seen either. He could be far ahead or far behind.

“He can’t be far if he’s ahead,” Thomas decided, “and he must be far if he’s behind. He’s only small.”

Clarabel shuddered. “Mice are small and terribly fast. When they make their way inside a poor coach, you can never get them back ouuuuut!” They were off again before any poor coach got their bearings. 

The train reached its former pace faster than the first time. They fast approached a bridge that spanned the railway. Something red seemed to jut over the parapets. The triumphant horn confirmed Thomas’ suspicions. It rescinded as quick as it came; Bertie wasn’t far ahead at all. They could pass him if he just kept at it.

“We’ll beat Bertie yet, well beat Bertie yet,” he chanted to himself. Annie and Clarabel heaved weary sighs.

“I thought he’d have given this up by now,” Annie whispered. Thomas, meanwhile, was the first to notice the next station, Toryreck. Stations always seemed to pop up when he least wanted them to. 

“Maybe if I won’t stop, nobody will notice.” His coupling instantly grew taut as the coaches held back with all their might. Thomas hadn’t exactly realized he uttered his brilliant plan aloud. “Hey!”

“We have to stop, Thomas!” strained Annie, “And that’s final!” 

He struggled at first but had to admit defeat when he saw there were people waiting at the station. The second stop was marginally smoother than the first. To Thomas and the coaches’ surprise, the waiting passengers cheered for them.

“We won’t keep you waiting,” one said before clambering into Clarabel. Word had gotten ‘round faster than the participants, it seemed. Thomas smiled, though he wouldn’t for long. At this part of the line, the road ran parallel to the railway. From her vantage point, Clarabel was the first to spot Bertie. The bus strolled along his road, grinning at the train as he passed. Thomas’ flabbergasted face proved to be endlessly entertaining in its own right.

“You must be tired,” said Bertie, "Sorry I can’t stop, but we buses have to work, you know.” The roar of his engine elicited yelps from engine and coaches as he took off like a rocket. “Goodbye, Thomas, goodbye!”

“What a cheeky bus!” said Annie, aghast, “He’s as bad as you, Thomas!”

Thomas stared at the cloud of dust that remained. Bertie turned his own words back on him. That would not stand. He’d catch up, say it again and leave him far behind. He was ready when the guard blew her whistle — Annie and Clarabel, not so much. 

The middle station along their branch line, Elsbridge, was the station near the river. Thomas didn’t need the coaches’ help to stop now. He felt parched — and dismayed. All the challenges had been fun at first, but now they’d mounted to where the race seemed unrecoverable. 

The glow from the signal was the red dot on top. 

“Oh dear…” The wheeze that escaped only made him feel worse. Bertie probably never wheezed. “You were right, Annie and Clarabel. We were never going to win…”

The coaches had gotten what they wanted. The race was, for all intents and purposes, over with. Bertie would win and it would be dreadfully embarrassing if they ever saw him again, but otherwise things could return to their pleasant equilibrium. 

It didn’t feel all that pleasant, though. 

Clarabel gently spoke first.

“Oh, don’t say that, dear. That’s just nonsense. We’re only halfway. You can still win.”

“We can still win,” Annie corrected, “You’ll feel better once you have your water.” The crisp fluid flowing into his tanks certainly did make a difference, but Thomas was still pouty. He looked up at the road. Atop the hill, it towered over the railway.

“I don’t know… I don’t want to look silly.” The “again” went unsaid, but Annie and 

Clarabel still felt it. The poor engine was silly. no doubt about that, but he meant well and he was learning. They exchanged a look in silent agreement,

“Thomas,” said Annie, carefully, “we’ll…let you go as fast as you like.”

Thomas immediately perked up.

“J-Just this once!” Clarabel put in, “Everyone seems to want you to beat Bertie so badly. It’d be a shame not to see it through.”

“But only once!” said Annie — rather uselessly, for Thomas already buzzed with excitement. With Annie and Clarabel’s blessing, maybe there was still a chance. 

A goods train puffed on by. Only Clarabel got a glimpse of the engine at the head of it. 

“Is that…red?” More quietly, she added to herself, “What’s James doing here?” Only the first part was heard by Annie.

“What’s red, dear?”

Right then, the signal dropped — and Thomas’ hopes soared. He laughed for so long that Annie and Clarabel grew concerned he’d cracked a cylinder. 

“I knew he wasn’t so good as he says! I knew it! We’ll get ‘im! We’ll get ‘im!” His whistle echoed throughout the valley. Still giggling, he surged forward, dragging the coaches more easily behind. Neither Annie or Clarabel still cared much for the jarring jolt.

“Only once,” muttered Annie.

“Just once,” said Clarabel; she now regretted her prior, seemingly banal observation. They sped from the station towards the bridge over the river. All the anglers weren’t focused on catching fish; they looked to the railway line, many of them whistling in their own human way. A horn overpowered all applause. Bertie was close by; he was stuck waiting again, this time at a red traffic light. He had to wait for cars and lorries to cross the bridge.

“Why’s the bridge so narrow?” grumbled Bertie, “The railway has two tracks.” Thomas thought it a great joke and laughed even harder.

“You have your own signals too, eh? Goodbye, Bertie!”

Even Annie and Clarabel tittered. Bertie gasped and watched helplessly as the train rumbled across. He glanced to the light. It flickered to green. Bertie smirked. 

“Not yet.” 

His passengers cheered in delight as he started with a roar. They soon reunited with a flabbergasted Thomas. Bertie winked at him.

“Goodbye, Thomas!” With a giggle, he shot ahead. Thomas couldn’t be cross; he was having fun again. Every ounce of steam went to his cylinders. His own passengers opened windows and shouted out.

“You’ve got it, Thomas!”

“Don’t let the bus beat you!” 

His wheels became a blur. A stream that carried water down from the mountains into the river divided road and rail, albeit not enough for passengers in both bus and coach to not have a good view. Foot by foot, yard by yard, Thomas gained on Bertie. Now all his worries did seem very silly; he could go fast and now he was able to. Initially, engine and bus were level, but soon Bertie fell to Annie and then to Clarabel.

No one much noticed when they roared by Terence’s field. The tractor had the best spot out of anyone on the whole line. Idling near the fence, he gawked as Thomas sped on toward the very tunnel he’d gotten stuck in not too long ago. The road climbed the hill instead; Terence chuckled.

“Poor ol’ Bertie.” He gave a small hoot of pitying support. Bertie, who now toiled up the slope with everything he had, didn’t even hear.

“I’ve done it! I’ve done it!” Thomas’ wheels practically floated over the rails as they approached the last station. Annie and Clarabel laughed. They had no whistles or horns to express their jubilation, but their voices would do,

“We told you so! You could win!” said Clarabel. Thomas felt a pang of guilt; if the coaches hadn’t let him, he wouldn’t have at all.

“We won,” he said, doing his best to sound humble. It was official when they reached the station first. The porters, the stationmaster, and many villagers who had no intention of going anywhere that day were there to greet them. The passengers who’d been with them all along gave the loudest shouts.

“Three cheers for Thomas, Annie and Clarabel!” the elderly gentleman exclaimed. He was the most pleased out of anyone. “Hip, hip…”

“Hooray!”

“Hip, hip…”

“Hooray!”

“Hip, hip…”

“Hooray!”

Presently, Bertie came up, red-in-the-face and, to Thomas’ surprise, smiling.

“Three cheers for Bertie!” said the stationmaster; this puzzled Thomas even more. Bertie wasn’t an engine, and he didn’t win. Nonetheless, the same cheers for him were repeated for Bertie. Thomas tried not to look put out when Bertie spoke to him.

“Well done, Thomas. That was fun.”

“You’re not…sorry you lost?” 

“Oh, sure I am, a little. But it’s been a good long while since I’ve had a race that exhilarating. Mind you, I tried it with Terence once.” 

Thomas could guess how that went.

“You had me on the edge of my tires,” Bertie continued, “To beat you over that hill, I should have to grow wings and be an aeroplane.” Thomas smiled despite himself.

“But I thought you wanted my passengers.”

“You are silly!” Bertie sounded a bit wounded by the idea. “I take your passengers to you, and you bring my passengers to me. I like friendly competition, not taking things.”

Thomas did feel silly — and relieved. 

The race became the talk of the valley. So much so that it became a sort of legend, whispered in classrooms and doubted by the more skeptical. It became, I’m sorry to say, a bit of a wedge between good friends. Thomas, Bertie, and even Annie and Clarabel (to the latter’s chagrin) were often asked to verify that the race actually happened, and after the inevitable awe and upset that came with being proven wrong, were mined for details. Thomas and Bertie alike happily obliged. Bertie tended to leave out the first level crossing, while Thomas tended to leave out their meeting at Toryreck. Unfortunately for Thomas, he hadn’t realized the Inspector was among one such attentive crowd until it was too late.

“I thought you knew what happened to engines that went at dangerous speeds, Thomas,” she said. Thomas was abashed, but the Inspector only smiled and said no more on the matter. 

Thomas and Bertie often met at the stations after their race. They talked in excited, hushed tones about it and naturally the idea of another was tossed around. However, Annie and Clarabel made their stance more than clear. “Just once”, apparently, was non-negotiable. 

“Someday,” said Thomas hopefully. 

“Someday,” agreed Bertie.