The Singing Engine
Gordon gave one last rejected look behind him as he steamed out of the Sheds into the starlit night. His movements were not proud smooth and confident as they usually were, but shuddering and sad, almost as if he would fold in on himself.
He had been kicked out of the sheds by the other engines for singing during a play.
All that happened was that Gordon and his friends had been busy helping a theatre company set up an outdoor theatre, and as a treat, they had been allowed to stay behind and watch the performance.
They had decided upon a musical take on War Horse which the engines had been enjoying until the boy playing Albert sung his solo "Alone amidst the Fields of War" when Gordon, forgetting his promise, began to sing along. He had an impressive voice, but all it got him and his friends was permission to send them all despite the fact that only he had been singing and he felt bad for it all now, so he decided to leave the Fat Controller's railway and find somewhere else where he would feel more appreciated.
He puffed on into the night, singing the very song that got him trouble in the first place.
Presently, he found himself at Knapford.
"I've made up my mind." He told someone on the platform. "I'll go with you."
"Buona." A voice hissed vehemently.
Out of the shadows stepped a man with a scarred face half burnt off. This had happened in an accident, and ever since he had turned to opera to save his face- only he couldn't sing and he was too much of a phantom for Phantom of the Opera so he went for big money by becoming a manager.
And it worked, too. He carried silk handkerchiefs spun from the finest silkworms in China and black suits, tails and top hats that only opera men could pull off. His shirts indicated a firm roundness of his figure and he was a very short man- however, one you would not like to cross without defence.
Mr Nicholas Pavoni smiled at the Express engine, who managed a nervous smile in response.
"Very well then- stay with me, Gordon, and I shall make you 'Il mio piccolo uccello canoro acciaio.'"
"Very well then-I'll go." He conceded.
"Good. Now come with me- we leave tonight and we have a long journey ahead of us!"
"What?"
"I'm setting you up in an opera in London!"
The big engine gaped.
...
The next morning, the other engines felt bad about what they said to Gordon, and for kicking him out. So they called out to their friend- for he was still their friend, after all- but to no avail. He would not appear.
All day, Gordon never turned up for his Express trains. So the Fat Controller had Hiro, James and Henry take over until Gordon could be found.
Thomas thought back to the night before, trying to find some clue that might lead them to their friend.
"Thomas, don't scrunch your nose up like that." Edward reminded him whilst the two engines were at Cronk Scrapyard.
"Are you alright?" Reg asked. "You like you smelled something awful."
"I certainly think something fishy is going on." Thomas admitted slowly.
"So do I. Do you remember a gentleman wearing a top hat at the play last night?"
"What, the Fat Controller's responsible for this?" Thomas asked, bemused.
"No, Thomas- the gentleman I am referring to was wearing a silver pocket watch, a mask and a purple silk ribbon around his top hat."
"Oh! I might kind of remember him."
"Well, when Gordon began singing, I saw him give this look, almost as he had found something priceless."
Thomas felt the pieces slowly fit together. "You mean-"
"Exactly- I shall make some inquiries into the matter. Do you wish to come with me this afternoon?" He offered politely.
"Well, I'm free, so I'd love to!"
"Good." Edward smiled warmly at his friend.
...
Later, they asked a bunch of friends about the man they saw the previous night. Thankfully, an old woman knew who Edward was on about.
"Nicholas Pavoti, his name was," she said.
"Don't you mean Pavoni?" Edward asked her politely.
"Oh yes I do! Forgive me Edward, my memory's slipping these days. People these days can't rely on the elderly."
"Well we can!" Thomas replied. "You're the only one who gave us any helpful information so far."
"Indeed, so I beg of you, Marjorie, if you know anything of value, you must tell us." The old engine implored his friend.
Well, I do remember that I took my great niece to the play." She began.
"Oh- you mean Kate?" They both recognized the name. Kate was a blind, sixteen year old girl. She loved sewing and music, and she was encouraged greatly by her family.
Yes I invited her, you see, along with my brother and some friends of mine. She explained. I know about Pavoni- why, he took on an old acquaintance of mine who had the most beautiful singing voice. She worked for him for sixteen years-but then he sacked her in favour of a squirrel!"
Why would anyone do that?" Thomas asked.
I thought he lost his dooally but no one can dare question him of his insanity. He is very powerful and rich- not to mention having the temper to master all bad tempers!"
Oh dear Edward thought weakly. This would be harder than I thought..."
...
Meanwhile, Gordon had arrived in London, after a long journey.
"Whew! I could do with a rest." He thought to himself. "Now, Mr Pavoni told me to meet him at Charing Cross Station..."
After navigating the line several times, thanks to some silly little diesel shunters, he finally managed to find Charing Cross.
...
"I'm afraid that's all I can say." Marjorie said.
"Well, thanks anyway," Thomas told her. "Though I do have one question..."
"Go on then, dearie."
"Do you happen to know if he's based in London?"
The old lady laughed. "Why yes he is! Where else around on Sodor and the mainland would he be?"
"Thank you so much my friend." Edward said gratefully, before looking at the tank engine.
"We need to warn Sir Topham Hatt -immediately." He said gravely.
Equally solemn, Thomas puffed off to do just that, whilst Edward gathered the other engines.
"What? But how can this be?" The Fat Controller demanded, later on, once he and the engines were gathered.
"I don't know sir, but that's all we found out." Thomas explained.
"Very well then- we shall have to venture into London and get him back!" The Fat Controller decided. I shall make some telephone calls, whilst you all head off to Crovan's Gate. I'll meet you at the Steamworks, and we shall venture on to Vicarstown and go to the Mainland via the bridge."
Once the engines set off, the Fat Controller entered his office and made heaps of phone calls. Most were to the stationmasters to arrange the running of the railway, and he also made one to his wife and his mother to let them know where he would be.
After he called everyone he needed to, he grabbed his hat and ran out of the door to his blue car, parked outside the station.
They were going to get Gordon back.
And by golly they were going to do it!
(Il mio piccolo uccello canoro acciaio.'")- means 'my little steel songbird' in Italian.
