HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Three - Back On Track

It only took a few days more to arrange for Lammergeier's transport to Sodor and for his purchase check to come through. The amount was more than enough to put a big smile on the salvage man's face, for Christophe had even managed to get Sir Topham Hatt to add a little extra to pay for the engine's three years of board and care, and Denise additionally promised to send him photos of Lammergeier once he was properly painted up in his new livery and working alongside his brother. The last they saw of the young Frenchman was him waving farewell as their train pulled out of the little village's station. With his lucky windfall finally off to a good new home and the money in the bank, he was a happy man.

The subject of their new engine and his emerging personality came up often during the two railway workers' own trip home. Christophe already liked Lammergeier and was optimistic. Denise was less so. Truth be told, she wasn't sure how she felt about Lammergeier yet. She normally found engines easy to understand. They had less complex minds and simpler motivations than most humans and could bounce back from the worst of hardships with far less baggage. But Lammergeier seemed to be one of those engines caught in the process of still bouncing—his personality seemed wayward to her. Denise consoled herself by thinking about Adler, who'd undergone his own journey, and what a pleasant and charming engine he'd turned out to be. Lammergeier might have it in him to become the same, given time.

However, there was one trait of his which she couldn't wait on. She was still stuck on Lammergeier's rudeness.

"I've never met such a disrespectful engine," she complained to her colleague. "Did you even once hear him use a sir or a ma'am or anything like that? Wait'll he gets to Sodor and runs into Sir Topham Hatt. He won't put up with that kind of nonsense for a second."

Christophe grinned. "I wouldn't count on that. In fact, I suspect we'll see a whole other side to that loco as soon as he's unloaded. And I don't think he's been rude, exactly. There's actually a more flattering explanation. He's probably been relating to us as he would to other engines."

"What?"

"Well, think about it. He's been alone for years. No one to talk to, no friends to be had, unless you count the guy who's always hanging around and who might take a blowtorch to you any second. I'm thinking that's what was really behind his being in such a bad mood when he first woke up, especially since all you had to do was make your spiel and—bam! Total turnaround!"

"He did not turn around, he made fun of your accent!"

"Yeah, well, he warmed up after that. I really do think he's just been desperate for a friend. You don't say sir or ma'am to your friends."

"You don't lie to them either, but he did."

"Oh, he just enjoys kidding around with you. He likes you. I can tell."

"Why in the world would he like me? I point-blank told him he was a liar and a naughty engine. And that was just during our first meeting!"

"Yes, but when I went off to call Sir Topham Hatt, you chose to stay behind and start caring for him and gave him comfort. Don't think he didn't pick up on that. He's very clever."

Denise fumed. She'd really only stayed because she'd been taken in by Lammergeier's resemblance to Adler. She hadn't known at the time how much their personalities differed.

"It was also you he turned to when he got scared on the flatbed," Christophe reminded her, and her brief anger withered at once. That had actually been a rather sad scene. During his removal from the salvage man's yard, at the instant his wheels had first touched down on the flatbed rails as he was being lowered, Lammergeier's eyes had suddenly flown wide open with terror and he'd glanced wildly about until he'd spotted her. Denise, shocked and alarmed by his inexplicable reaction, had run forward and gotten as close as she could to him without getting in the way and tried talking him down, soothing him with familiar German phrases and gently explaining what he should expect during his journey to come until the fear had left his eyes and he'd become calm again. Why he'd taken such a sudden terrible fright was still unknown to them, but there was no denying that it had been real and that he'd responded to her placating words. It was yet another of the unknown mysteries hidden in Lammergeier's past.

"Well, um, I'm sure you would have done fine too," she countered lamely, then let the topic slide.

That was then. This was now. No matter what she thought of Lammergeier's personality, Denise still had every intention of driving him once he was ready. Although she went straight back to her usual job once back on Sodor and wasn't present during Lammergeier's eventual arrival, she did keep close tabs on the new engine's progress via Christophe, who was supervising his restoration. Unfortunately, Christophe's progress reports tended to be rather terse at best, ranging from such fact-filled winners as "oh, he's fine" to the even more scintillating "he's doing pretty good". All Denise knew for sure was that Lammergeier hadn't gotten himself kicked off the Island yet, which did argue for his having learned to behave himself at the very least.

Eventually, Christophe let her know that Lammergeier would be all set to go the following day. Denise got permission to change her schedule, fortified herself the next morning with an extra-good breakfast and two cups of coffee, then drove up to the Sodor Steamworks at Crovan's Gate to finally see how Lammergeier was doing for herself.

She found him waiting just inside one of the middle bays, and from outside and a little distance away, he looked…pretty much as he had in the French scrapyard. Then again he hadn't exactly been bashed up and damaged to any great degree.

Lammergeier's whole face lit up the instant he saw Denise walk in. "Endlich! You are here zu drive ze hell out of me, na?" he said by way of greeting as she came up to him.

So. Not only an accomplished eavesdropper, but one with uncommonly keen hearing and memory, Denise thought. No conversation held within his cab or anywhere near him would be safe from now on, she realized further with dismay.

"Well, hello to you too," she said back, somewhat sourly. Still, it was nice to see him cheerful. A couple of fitters hovering by Lammergeier's left-hand driving wheels and injecting a last bit of lubrication snickered over the exchange.

"Lambchop's been waiting for you since dawn," one of them said, smiling, then reached way up to pat the edge of the engine's running board. "Haven't you, big fellow?"

Denise blinked. "Excuse me. Lambchop? You called him Lambchop?"

"Sure! Lum-whatever's way too hard a name for us English folk so that's what we call him now. Like Adi for whatever Adi's real name is. Cute, no?"

"Ja! I chop ze lambs," Lammergeier added smugly.

Denise felt as though her head would explode. "But-but that's not what it means at all!" she sputtered. "Lambchop's like—like calling someone Lambkin or Lambie. It's a sort of endearment!"

"Vhat? Am I not endearink?"

The fitters snickered again.

"Yeah! You saying Lambchop here's not endearing?" the guy who'd patted him exclaimed, playing along. "That's kind of mean of you. I thought you loved locomotives."

The woman threw her arms up, admitting defeat. "Fine. Lambchop it is then. It's only the most ridiculous name I've ever heard for an engine, but if Lammergeier's happy with—"

"Not happy, ekstatisch!" the loco interrupted, and his two fitters, who'd had no trouble understanding the meaning of his exclamation, burst into full-fledged laughter. Denise aimed a fake glare at the men as she passed them on her way to Lammergeier's cab.

"There's way too much hilarity going on in this workshop, way too much," she scolded them. "Don't you know you're supposed to be moaning and groaning about your untenable workloads and cussing out all the messed-up engines who make you work so hard?"

The men just chuckled.

"Lambchop makes it fun," the friendly guy said, and patted him again.

Denise carried on without comment, her expression now thoughtful. Had she misjudged the big German engine? Christophe had thought that he had a hidden side. It was obvious that Lammergeier was getting on splendidly well with the workmen at the steamworks and he was making an effort to speak English, even though his accent was laughable, so perhaps Christophe was correct. She mounted the steps to the engine's cab, ready to eat some crow; Christophe had already told her that he'd be coming along on the test run as her fireman.

She found a nice fire already on the go, but no fireman. The chief engineer in charge of the steamworks was in the cab, though, sitting on a folding chair with at least three clipboards laden with pages balanced on his lap. He looked up and smiled as she came in.

"Good morning! Glad to see you," he said. "We're almost set to go here."

"Hello, Mister Baker. Where's my fireman?"

"Christophe? He's back by the forge, I think. He wants to have a word with you before we leave."

"Oh for— What now?"

"Just something about the engine. Take your time. I'm still getting my charts in order."

Denise climbed out again and went looking for her colleague. Sure enough she found him in between the foundry and the forge, looking over a recently made wheel still cooling on a grate.

"What on Earth are you doing way back here?"

Christophe just grinned and pointed over at Lammergeier. "Why do you think?"

"What—oh. Of course. Bloody snoop."

"The worst," Christophe agreed. "But then, I can't blame him. He knows we're restoring him and mean to put him back to work, but he's still a little anxious under all that bravado."

"Oh, is that what you call it? I was going to ask what's up with all the smiles and chuckles. And Lambchop? Seriously? Who's the idiot who came up with that?"

"One of the fitters, I think," said the engineer. "It's Lamb—oh hell—I mean, Lammergeier himself who's been encouraging them to use it. You were right about thinking he was smart, by the way. He is. He's been working the people here all week, ingratiating himself as best he can. It's been spooky to watch. Way too human. I just wanted to give you a heads-up on what we're dealing with here before we go back to him."

"Oh-kaaay," Denise said slowly. "How'd the meeting with Adi go?"

"Touching, actually. They both started sobbing and we had to walk away for a while. Lots of emotion. They definitely care for each other, which I was glad to see for Lammergeier's sake."

"For his—what? What d'you mean?"

"I mean, he's capable of feeling something good. He's got empathy. That's a huge plus for him."

"Good heavens, you make it sound like you thought he was psycho or something!" Denise exclaimed with a short laugh. "You don't…do you?"

Christophe shrugged. "No. He's just too smart, is what I'm saying. Just keep that in mind."

"I don't think being smart is a bad thing. Justin's smart. And so are Francois and Edward," Denise pointed out.

"This is different," Christophe insisted. "Look, I've got to throw a few more coals on his fire to get him up to full steam, so whyn't you go talk to him a bit more until I do. He's been all excited about you coming over to drive him since I got here. Speak German to him. He'll like that."

"Oh great. I'm the one who gets on well with the loony loco, is that it? That's some compliment."

"Heh. He's not loony, he's…interesting. Just go chat with him for a few minutes while I finish up. Keep him calm, if you can. He's been pretty antsy."

The two went back to their locomotive, where Christophe peeled off to climb up into the engine's cab while Denise carried on to his front end. The two fitters from earlier had left and it was just her and Lammergeier now. He fixed his gaze on her the instant she entered his field of vision, looking intense and expectant…and a little desperate.

"So, a happy update," she said to him at once in German. "Mister Pelletier's just about to get you up to full steam and we should be underway shortly. Excited?"

"Yes! Very much so," Lammergeier replied, switching back to his first language in turn with relief. He didn't like speaking English, or French either, for that matter. He stared past the woman, through the bay doors and at the world outside for a moment, his longing evident, so evident that Denise felt bad for having thought ill of him earlier. It wasn't his fault if he came off as aggravating, she thought. She'd probably act weird too if she'd been stuck on death row for years and then got a reprieve. To compound her sense of guilt, he suddenly added, "I haven't moved under my own power for over five years."

"Oh, um, that's a while," she remarked.

Drat the thing! Now she felt sorry for him. Then a certain discrepancy in what he'd just said niggled at her.

"Wait. Five years? I thought you were in the scrapyard for only three years."

Lammergeier's eyes narrowed. "I was in the Strasbourg yard before that."

"And you—what? Sat idle in storage the whole time? On a siding?"

"On a siding. I did not want to be there. I wanted to work. I did work the first week after I was sent there and the drivers liked me and even asked for me. But then…" His voice grew ever grimmer, rough with remembered resentment. "There was a man, the yardmaster. He began ordering the crews not to take me, to take any of the other engines instead. He said to them I was not economical. So I sat there, watching the others come and go. I sat there for two years and in the end I am sure it was he who arranged to have me thrown away. I hated that man. I hated him so much! I would have run him over if I could."

Denise just looked at him. It wasn't the first time she'd heard locomotives say such things. Justin was the worst and was always threatening to flatten someone; he and Pierre had a whole shtick worked out which involved her husband calling for a cutting torch to take Justin apart and the engine swearing to run him down in revenge. But when Justin said it, it was always in jest and accompanied by a gleeful grin and sparkling eyes. Lammergeier's expression was dead serious and his eyes were flat and hard.

Again, she felt a tickle on the back of her neck. It was the same feeling she'd gotten back in the French scrapyard when she'd first met Lammergeier, the fleeting sense that something was off about him. Something else then occurred to her that was even worse, the remembrance that engines on Sodor were always put away in their berths at the end of their work day with their fires dying, but their boilers still hot. It allowed them steam enough to move about a little in the sheds and settle themselves as they pleased for some time until their boilers cooled and their residual steam was spent.

Lammergeier could catch someone crossing in front of him while he was still cooling down. Or he could lurch forward and knock someone off his running board.

"You—you don't mean that," said Denise, and he glanced at her out of eyes that had suddenly gone bright and lively again.

"Of course not. I was joking."

"Some joke. You do realize we're all here for the sole purpose of getting you back on track, right?"

"I know." He fixed his full attention on her again and adopted a pleading expression in place of the ugly indignation he'd just shown. "Are you climbing aboard now? I feel in full steam and would like to move. You can drive the hell out of me all you want as long as I can move again."

The woman's head was still spinning a little from what she'd just witnessed, but his words sounded genuine, and in any case, he was right about being in full steam; Christophe had stuck his head and an arm out of the side window of the engine's cab and was gesturing at her. Her friend would no doubt be glad that she'd just ferreted out two more years of Lammergeier's history, even if it reflected somewhat poorly on the engine's character. Denise sighed inwardly and decided to set her reservations aside for the moment. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand, not waste her time thinking about what her engine might do based on some angry reminiscence.

"Okay, Lammergeier, let's see what you can do," she said, giving the end of his buffer beam a pat.

"Thank you. Thank you so much!"

Well, certainly a change from the initial reception she'd gotten from Adler when it came to their first trip out of the works. She supposed she ought to feel relieved; at least she wasn't going to have to scream at Lammergeier to get him moving. A faint mist of steam was just starting to vent out about his wheels. He was ready to go all right. For better or worse, she went back to his cab again and climbed aboard.

For the human beings who care for locomotives, there are few things more rewarding than to be present when a brand new engine first awakens. Their expression when first fired up, the first wheel-turn, their sheer delight at being alive and underway…it's a beautiful thing to witness. Almost as gratifying is to share in an engine's return to the rails after a long, long layup. Such locos already know what they've been missing out on and because of that, their new-found delight can sometimes be laced with a little anxiety and impatience. Denise and Christophe were both expecting Lammergeier to give them trouble and braced themselves as the steam began to flow.

Nothing. Not a knock or a wrench or the slightest jostle to indicate that the ten big driving wheels were turning at all as they gripped and completed their first revolution, then turned again. The big engine moved out of the steamworks and onto the transfer table as smoothly as the proverbial silk and paused there. Mister Baker, the chief engineer, made a notation on one of his clipboarded papers.

"Good. Let's take him southwest, over to Kellsthorpe Road. We can run him a bit through the cutting."

"Will do," Denise acknowledged, and exchanged a happy smile with Christophe.

As it turned out, they'd smiled too soon for their engine was merely biding his time. They'd no sooner gotten onto the mainline than the throttle lever suddenly came alive in the woman's hand, pulling hard towards the full open position. She grit her teeth and hung on. "Langsam, Lammergeier! Langsam," she managed to call out. "Vorsichtig bitte!"

To her relief, he listened and the control went slack again. She gave her abused hand a quick shake. It had taken all her strength to restrain him and she knew that if he'd really wanted to, he could have overridden her in a heartbeat; no human in the world could outmuscle a locomotive. The chief engineer standing behind her gave a little snort of good humour.

"This one you have to hold back and talk down, and the other one you had to yell at to get moving at all," he remarked. "Bloody obstinate Germans."

"But well-made obstinate Germans," Denise pointed out.

"True, that," Mister Baker said, and everyone in the cab laughed.

Lammergeier wasn't laughing, but only because he was annoyed, primarily with himself. His driver's commands to slow down and be careful, shouted in German, had kicked in his innate obedience and he'd aborted his attempted bolt without really thinking about it. Part of him still wanted to run off, a larger part now wanted to cooperate. He did kind of like the little female human at his controls, after all, and he was bemused to find that she was indeed just as capable as any other driver…so far. He supposed that he owed her and so chuffed on at the speed set and no more, although he did still pull a tiny bit now and then to let her know that he wanted to go faster.

And she'd had to yell at Adler to get him moving? What was THAT all about? Lammergeier sensed there was a juicy story to be had there and began to pull hard again in his excitement; Denise calmed him a second time with pats on the wall of his cab and an entreaty to be gentle. This amused him more than anything—he? gentle? Still, he did like being petted and agreeably settled down once more.

But the glorious rush of the steam and the thrum of his wheels made it SO hard to go slow! It seemed like forever since he'd had a hot boiler and strength enough to do anything, and he wanted the wind in his face and to hear the rhythmic clickety-clack as he sped over the sections. And everything still worked fine, he was sure of it, he could feel it. How much longer would he have to dawdle along like this? he fretted, leaning on his poor driver again.

Both engineers by now had noticed Denise's difficulties in holding the throttle steady and exchanged grins.

"Giving you a hard time, is he?" Christophe asked.

"Oh, he's just eager to go," said Denise, then raised her voice to add, "And smart enough to know that engines who don't take it easy at first after being laid up for a long time will only make any problems they might have ten times worse…richtig?"

Lammergeier didn't answer, but he did smirk. She didn't intimidate easily, this one. He liked that about her. Her grey-haired friend had some grit in him too and he was far too shrewd because when he looked at you, you felt yourself being sized up, which made Lammergeier squirm. He was the one who was used to sizing up the humans, not the other way around. At least the grey-haired man didn't seem to be in charge of too much. It was the English-speaking engineer riding in his cab right now who ran the steamworks, Lammergeier had determined early on, and the one who had the final say and who issued the permits and certificates. A man to cultivate and curry favour with, in other words, if one were a steam locomotive looking to return to the rails.

And a man to suddenly love as he uttered the magic words, "Okay, let's run him up. Nice and easy and if he feels good to you, let him have full steam."

Full steam! Full steam! Lammergeier gloated wildly, barely able to contain himself. Yes, sir! As you wish, sir! Full steam ahead it is! He almost trembled as he waited for his cues. Oh, hurry it up, woman! he wanted to shout. Didn't you hear him say I could go?

She had and turned him loose. Gradually. Lammergeier lugged on the throttle the whole time, asserting himself, but not pulling so badly that he came off as uncontrollable to the all-important, watchful chief engineer. Eager would be all right, though, Lammergeier thought. He wanted the man to think of him as eager to work and high-spirited. Finally, he was given free rein, and the wind began to whistle past him and the rails began their rhythmic clatter. A minute more and he was in full charge, going faster and faster, his expression becoming almost beatific in his great joy.

All too soon he was eased back down and made to go slower, but only because they were running out of safe track on which to speed. Lammergeier had been so immersed in his need to move that he'd paid not one wit of attention to his surroundings. He looked around now, really seeing the fields, the trees, the simple rural landscape for the first time. So this was Sodor. Huh. And here came some sort of village, where he was forced to go slower than ever. There was a little station coming up too, and much to his annoyance, he was asked to stop at the main platform. Lammergeier obeyed, but not happily. He could not see one valid reason to halt at what amounted to a glorified whistle stop.

The chief engineer and Christophe both climbed out of the cab and greeted the stationmaster, who came out of his office to look over the unusual new arrival. "That the one from France?" he asked. "The new Adi?"

"Not so new, but he does run like new. So far," the chief steamworks engineer said happily. Then everyone shook hands and the men began talking about mundane railway matters and Lammergeier found himself getting more and more irritated. The two engineers were supposed to be testing him, not stopping partway through to gossip with some random rail employee! The engine didn't realize that the stop actually was part of his test, meant to simulate the demands of everyday passenger work.

The stationmaster was a keen gardener and had set up a number of large barrel planters on his own initiative to decorate his station. He led his visitors from one grouping to the other to admire the flowers; one extra-large container even housed a climbing rose which was blooming beautifully. Lammergeier moodily watched as the men sniffed at some of the pinkish rose blossoms. He wished that a bee would fly out and sting them all on the nose.

The whistle of an approaching engine, rather high-pitched, diverted Lammergeier's attention. A smallish green tank engine pulling a couple of flatbeds laden with straw bales puffed into view on the through track on the other side of the station. His face brightened as soon as he spotted Lammergeier and he opened his mouth, but then shut it again before he said anything, his expression becoming puzzled. Lammergeier regarded him coolly. The tank engine had no doubt mistaken him for Adler at first.

Denise suddenly yanked on Lammergeier's whistle to toot back a greeting and leaned out of the cab window to wave. "Hey there, cutey!" she yelled at the green loco. "Hi, guys!"

"Hi, Missus Doyon!" the little engine called back and whistled again. His crew waved back too, as he passed. Up front, Lammergeier shut his own mouth with a sudden snap. He'd been about to shout "stop that!" when his driver had activated his whistle because he didn't believe that engines ought to be socializing when on duty, and had remembered that the two engineers were still within earshot just in time. Angering the woman he didn't much care about—he had her number already and knew she'd forgive him most anything—but the two men were a different story. They could make trouble for him if they thought badly of him.

"That was Percy," his driver remarked in a cheerful tone. "Sweet little fellow. You'll see him around Knapford a lot once you're down there. He shunts together the morning trains sometimes."

Don't care, want to go, Lammergeier pouted, keeping his mouth prudently shut.

To his relief, the flower tour finally ended and the engineers got back aboard. Denise sent him on. Lammergeier chuffed along, the very picture of docile obedience, willing to behave now that he was underway again and had gotten the tickle out of his wheels and felt reassured about his own fitness.

Then it happened.

Mister Baker suddenly cocked his head to one side. "Do you hear that?" he said.

Christophe already had his head tilted as well. "I was just about to comment on that. Is the beat off?"

"Maybe. Denise, could you slow him down about twenty klicks and then bring him back up to this exact speed? Very slowly, if you please."

She did as asked, looking worried. The two engineers listened intently while Lammergeier sped back up.

"There it is again," said the chief engineer. He looked over all the steam gauges, tried adjusting one valve and then another. Now even Denise could hear the problem, a faint irregularity in the way the engine's steam was blowing out, almost like a mechanical heart murmur. Mister Baker readjusted the last valve he'd moved and the faint murmur lessened. "Something in the cylinders, perhaps."

"One of the pistons stroking short?"

"Maybe. Well, whatever it is, we can sort it out back at the steamworks. Turn him around wherever you can, Denise. We'll have another go after lunch."

Lammergeier limped back to Crovan's Gate, crestfallen, paying not one wit's worth of attention to his surroundings again.

Once back at the steamworks, Lammergeier was backed into the exact same position from which he'd departed and the chief engineer spoke to the foreman of the regular fitters working the day shift and asked him to see to it that the covers were taken off both of Lammergeier's cylinders and the inner structures made ready for inspection for when he returned. Then he, Christophe and Denise went off to treat themselves to an early lunch. Neither engineer said anything to the engine before they left, nor did they give Denise the time to do so...they just went. The woman, trailing behind, couldn't help turning around to have a last look at Lammergeier's despairing face even so.

"Aren't we going to say anything at all to him?" she asked.

"Nah," said Christophe. "Lunch first."

"But he looks really upset."

"So? He'll draw his own conclusions from the fact that we're leaving at all. Don't baby that engine, Denise. He'll take advantage of you and run you ragged."

"Oh, I don't think so…" She stewed about it all the way to the chief engineer's car out in the parking lot and once inside, added, "So you must already know what's wrong with him…do you?"

"It's almost certainly just debris-related. Stuff gets into them when engines are kept idle outside and exposed to the elements," Mister Baker said. "Something likely got shook loose—or even steamed loose—during his run. Whatever it is, it's throwing off his rhythm so we'll try the easy fix first."

The chief engineer sounded so confident and unconcerned that Denise was able to sit back and relax and later enjoy the steak and kidney pie she shared with Christophe on top of their ploughman's lunch. Crovan's Gate might not have been a teeming metropolis, but it did have some terrific pubs and little restaurants. However, even a bellyful of good food lost its charm when they returned to the steamworks an hour later and Denise started thinking about Lammergeier again. She rushed off to find out how the loco was doing as soon as they entered the big building, not even bothering to find out first whether anything to explain his off performance had been found. Mister Baker smiled, a little touched by her obvious compassion for an ailing machine. Christophe just shook his head.

Lammergeier looked as though he was still wearing the exact same miserable beseeching expression as when Denise had last seen him, and as soon as he spotted her coming back, he exclaimed in a heartbreaking wail, "I'm broken!"

"What the— No, you're not. You just got clogged up with a bunch of stupid leaves or something. Nobody's even worried about it. Why do you think we all went off for lunch?"

"Are you certain?"

"Well, no. But let me go ask…"

She went back to where her lunch-mates had joined a little knot of fitters clustered about one of the opened cylinders. All of them were craning their necks, trying to look closely at something inside it.

"What's up?"

"You tell us," one of the fitters said.

Mister Baker already had his hand inside the body of the cylinder, picking at something stuck to the rearmost inner wall. Christophe passed him a chair and he sat and began digging at the anomaly again, this time with a flathead screwdriver. It started to come off in thick irregular flakes.

"What is that?" a different fitter exclaimed.

"Looks like me lunch."

"Recycled, I hope. I pity you if that's what it looked like going down."

The group broke apart to allow Christophe to bring in another chair, then both engineers sat, Christophe holding a small bowl to collect what the other man was prying off of the cylinder wall. Luckily, the flattened mass came apart quite easily once lifted a bit, and a quick rub with universal solvent cleaned up the last remnants of it. The fitters and foreman passed the bowlful around, almost reverently, trying to identify the content's origin.

"Ugh, that's horrid. Mashed up leaves, I guess, but it's got these hard bits too…grit or cinders or summat."

"Or bone. Bone and fur."

"Heh. Maybe Lambchop noshed on a rat."

"Rat's revenge."

"I found a mouse nest in an engine once. A narrow gauge fella, kept in a shed near the woods. It was in the smokebox. Made a right mess when we first lit up."

"The lads at the dieselworks told me one of our diesels picked up a wasp's nest during a layup, waiting for parts. Right in the cab it was. You shoulda seen the driver bail when he first found out, they told me. Moved
like lightning, he did."

The stories went round and round. Even Christophe had one to contribute and told about finding a swift's nest inside the funnel of an engine sitting idle on a siding back in Montreal. The only thing no one could explain was how the material they'd just scraped out—whatever it was—had found its way inside one of Lammergeier's cylinders in the first place.

"Were the drain cocks left…no, that wouldn't have mattered," Mister Baker mused. "We would have noticed
something when we first had him opened up a couple of days ago, even if something did manage to crawl in."

"And anything coming in with the steam, it would've had to have been pulverized so finely that…I dunno. Doesn't make sense," said Christophe. "But at least we know where the off-beat came from. And like you said, an easy fix." The small man stood up, flexed his back, put a hand back on the loco. "Well, if Lammergeier were an airplane, we could blame the gremlins for this one. Given that he's an engine, I guess we'll have to chalk it up to the train table gods having their laughs again."

The foreman, still standing by with the bowl of unidentified foreign crud in hand, nodded in agreement.

"The train table gods must be crazy," he intoned solemnly.

"Well said," Mister Baker remarked, and that was the last he had to say about his latest repair job.

Denise, who'd been hovering and taking in all the comments, finally scampered forward again to place herself in front of her waiting locomotive and pat his buffer beam.

"There, see? Just like I said," she related happily. "You had some stuff stuck in one of your cylinders and it put the piston stroke off a tiny bit. But it's all cleared out now and you look as good as new."

Lammergeier still looked concerned. He had that same taut-mouthed uncertain look about him, his thin lips pressed tightly together, as he'd worn back in France, only minus the anger. "Are you absolutely sure that's all it was and that they got it all out?" he asked now, eyeing Denise with considerable doubt.

Denise began trying to reassure him. At the same time, Christophe edged forward himself and went still to listen in. Although he couldn't understand the words being used, given that the woman and the engine were speaking in German again, it was easy enough for him to comprehend what was going on from their inflections and expressions alone and he was surprised by the degree of Lammergeier's misgivings. Surely he'd been listening in while all the workmen and he himself had been chattering away…hadn't he? Aside from a few silly jokes, everything said had been positive. Finally, Denise must've been able to convince him that all was well, for they went silent and the engine's face lost its hard edge.

Christophe decided to speak to him. "You have trouble believing what humans say to you, don't you?" he asked quietly.

Lammergeier suppressed a terrible start. He'd never even noticed Christophe, although he was standing right there next to his right-hand leading wheels just within his field of vision. This was exactly why he was leery of the man. He was far too good at sneaking silently around and Lammergeier didn't like the way he looked into him, instead of just at him the way normal humans did. Luckily for the engine, a distraction showed up at that moment before Christophe could press Lammergeier further for an answer.

"Oh ho. And here comes his nibs," the engineer said, still speaking softly and starting to grin.

It was indeed the Fat Controller, striding into the steamworks all on his own, dressed to the nines as usual. He greeted his two foreign workers cheerfully, then looked over the newest addition to his foreign fleet.

"Hello, Lambchop! Still chopping those lambs, are you?"

"Oh, ja, Sir Topham Hatt, sir! I chop zem und I rip zem."

"Ho ho! Good lad."

Denise felt her sanity plummet. He's named after a flipping vulture, a vulture! she thought. The only ripping he does is to tear apart nasty rotten old carcasses. But of course it was too late to point that out to Sir Topham Hatt. He obviously approved of Lammergeier's new English name and even seemed to like the engine's pained attempt to carefully enunciate his name, so that it came out sounding like 'Top-ham Hett'. Then he spotted the still-open cover on Lammergeier's right cylinder.

"Oh dear. What's going on here? I thought you meant to complete his tests this morning."

"We're halfway there, sir," Christophe said, stepping up to fill in the boss. "We just ran into a snag after his first run-up and stop, and it's something that's not uncommon in engines left idle outside for long periods…would you like to see?"

"Well, now you've got me curious. Of course I'll have a look."

The two of them joined the little work party who were just about to finish up with the cylinder. Mister Baker, the senior man present, was glad to see Sir Topham—they all were. Despite his jovial looks and sometimes clownish behaviour, everyone knew the Fat Controller was at heart a shrewd businessman and very hard-working, a kind man who cared deeply for the welfare of everyone who worked for him in turn. He was an easy boss to get along with and the chief engineer in particular was always happy to indulge Sir Topham's engineering proclivities.

"My goodness!" the Fat Controller exclaimed when he examined the small bowlful of debris that had been dug out and collected. "So this is all it took, was it?"

"Yes. It was stuck right here, all around the rim. Barely anything and of course the piston pounded it flat, but not quite flat enough. We started to lose the beat any time we went above two-thirds speed. No damage done yet, but it would have, in time, had we ignored it."

Sir Topham Hatt pulled thoughtfully at his chin. "Much better a quick small fix than a major one done later on…you'll get no objections from me when it comes to anything to do with that."

"Exactly right, sir. Incidents like this also make you appreciate how finely designed these locos really are," opined Christophe. "Large though some of them may be, they're all still precision machines. I once saw an American Challenger brought to a standstill by a piece of stray metal no bigger than your little finger. It was very sobering."

"Indeed. Hopefully Lambchop won't be picking up anything like that any time soon. And he'll be sleeping indoors from now on, so no more debris either, I should think. When do you expect you'll have his tests completed?"

"Give us fifteen minutes," said the chief engineer, "and we'll be back on the rails to do exactly that."

"Ah, splendid!"

The little party became aware of a sudden verbal tussle going on towards the front of the engine. The locomotive and his driver appeared to be arguing, in German, although the human at least was trying to keep it quiet.

"Er, something I should know about?" Sir Topham Hatt inquired, as he went forward to see what the problem was.

Denise, who still had her hands planted on her engine's buffer beam, seemed to slump downward, resigned.

"Lammergeier wants me to ask you if you would like to ride in his cab for the remainder of his test, sir," she related without much enthusiasm. "He would like to ask you himself, but he can't…find the right words in English." Actually, the words he had found were unrepeatable, but she wasn't about to convey that. Sir Topham Hatt, oblivious to anything underhanded going on, perked up.

"Oh my, this is…tempting," he mused.

Both engineers, who'd overheard the invitation and saw how much Sir Topham brightened, chimed in at once.

"Great idea, sir! I should have thought of inviting you aboard myself," Mister Baker said.

"That's right, you should come, sir," Christophe added. "It's a lovely big cab, Lambchop's a very clean engine, and we've even got a big comfy folding chair if you don't want to stand. Besides, how often do you get a chance to speed-trial a locomotive, sir?"

"Is that what you were planning on?" Sir Topham Hatt asked his chief engineer. He sounded as excited as a little girl promised a pony ride. "To test his speed?"

"If he checks out a hundred percent beforehand, sure."

"I'm in," the Fat Controller decided, and hurried off to place a quick phone call. The two engineers bumped fists and the fitters smiled. Only Denise appeared bummed at the prospect of having the boss in the cab. She slunk back and climbed in and took her place at the engine's controls without saying a word, her face positively stormy.

She cheered up again, though, as soon as they finally got underway. Lammergeier executed another silky-smooth start and this time remained on his very best behaviour, even when they turned towards Kellsthorpe Road again, without any of the annoying pulling or messing about from earlier that morning. He ran up beautifully through the cutting, sounding as precise and controlled as a well-oiled sewing machine throughout, and eased back just as promptly when asked to slow down. It was enough to put smiles on everybody's faces, most especially those of the chief engineer and Sir Topham Hatt.

"That's it, then. I'm satisfied," he said. "Turn him at Kellsworth, Denise, and we'll have a go en route back."

"Yes, sir!"

Sir Topham Hatt, who'd been hanging onto the engine's right-hand cab door and alternating between looking out and watching his people go about their work, snapped his head about. "So it's on?"

"With your permission, absolutely, sir," Mister Baker said warmly.

"Oh, you have it. One hundred percent's worth!"

The next little while passed with almost agonizing slowness. They'd already gone past the markers which indicated the measured mile section of the tracks running through the cutting and it took some time to reach the Kellsworth area, loop about to change direction, and get back on the mainlines. But at last all was done and Lammergeier was allowed to start picking up speed again preparatory to his trial run. Sir Topham Hatt was so worked up that he paced back and forth from one side of the cab to the other, trying to stay out of the way, yet unable to simply stand and watch anymore. Mister Baker got his stopwatch ready and showed it to Sir Topham.

"Not long now, sir."

"Excellent. Perfect! Oh, this is a lovely smooth engine. How fast would you say he's going right now?"

"Probably close to fifty. And that was the max speed for the class built before him and which he's based on."

"He'll go faster than that! He's not even trying yet."

Another voice, pervasive and seeming to emanate from the bulk of the engine directly in front of them, suddenly filled the whole cab.

"Take ze control, Sir Topham Hatt, sir. Qvick. Before ve start."

It was Lammergeier's voice, and they all recognized it instantly, of course, yet still it caught them all by surprise. Locomotives rarely chose to speak to their crews when they were in motion. More usually, they just listened.

"What's that, Lambchop?" the Fat Controller exclaimed, as startled as any of them, yet already a little intrigued.

"Ze lever. Take it, sir. Bitte. I go fast for you."

Sir Topham Hatt reached for the throttle lever, looked towards Denise and then his chief engineer. "Could I?" he asked, almost pleadingly.

The woman hastened to step aside. "Gosh, I don't see why not," she said. "Mister Baker? Couldn't Sir Topham Hatt drive, just for a minute? All he needs to do is open the throttle fully."

The chief engineer was already nodding his approval. He was also a tad astonished. He had never in his entire long working life heard a locomotive ask for a specific person to drive them, yet Lammergeier had just done exactly that. His unprecedented request had certainly delighted Sir Topham Hatt, who took up his driver's relinquished position with instant enthusiasm. Although a decent driver in his day, the Fat Controller rarely got a chance to drive anymore; in fact, the last engine he'd driven had been one of his faithful old coffee pots, the newly restored Glynn. He couldn't help chuckling to himself as he noted all the differences between the two locos now, especially Glynn's simple open cab and bare basics versus the multitude of controls and fine-tune options offered up by Lammergeier's positively luxurious enclosed cab.

"So, as soon as we pass the marker, yes?" Sir Topham asked Denise, fingering the throttle with barely restrained anticipation. "I open him up then?"

"Actually, you'll already want to be going at full speed when you pass the marker, sir. I'll let you know when to turn him loose. He responds fast, too—you'll want to have your feet set and braced!"

"Oh, lovely! Oh, this will be fun!"

Sir Topham leaned sideways to look out the side window and at the track ahead. Christophe took the opportunity to fire in a last feed of coal, checked the water level. "Max pressure imminent," he announced. "He'll start venting in a minute, sir."

"Time to let him go, sir," Denise added. "Ease him over bit by bit until you can't push any further and we should hit the marker right after that."

"Got it!" Sir Topham cried, and in his excitement of course clapped the throttle wide open at once. Or at least he tried to. Denise's watchful eye was the only one to catch that the throttle control had suddenly become so stiff that it was barely movable at all and it was all because Lammergeier had taken charge again…he was the one who was resisting the pressure Sir Topham Hatt was applying and ensuring that his final acceleration was properly smooth and gradual. Why, you sneak! Denise thought, and almost laughed aloud with reluctant admiration. The engine was overriding the Fat Controller's command so subtly that the man never even noticed that he wasn't in full control after all.

They roared past the mile marker and everyone heard the click as Mister Baker activated his stop watch. Now it was a mere matter of counting the seconds for the humans could do no more. It was up to Lammergeier to squeeze every last iota of energy out of the steam power his crew had made available to him and use his sleek machine body to translate it into speed, speed, and more speed. Sir Topham Hatt leaned out of the side window again, his hat prudently clutched in his free hand, exhilarated by the sheer sensations of experiencing a locomotive in full charge. He'd ridden in faster engines, but never before had he participated in legitimately racing one against the clock.

A mile a minute would have been good. The 48s had been built to exceed the performance specs of their 44 class forebears by about twenty percent—it was the one and only piece of background info the engineering staff on Sodor had ever been able to locate and verify about Adler and his kin when their first 48 had arrived. Adler had gone on to exceed expectations during his own tests. Could Lammergeier do the same?

The other marker came up even faster than anyone expected and Mister Baker stopped his watch and held it up while he consulted a chart. They could all see that the second hand hadn't gone all the way around, but what that would translate into…

Mister Baker finally looked up, smiling.

"110 klicks," he announced. "A touch over 68 miles an hour."

There was general jubilation in the cab. Lammergeier had just beaten Adler's own record by two miles per hour. The chief engineer continued smiling as he wrote down his findings.

"I think we can safely set aside that twenty percent expectation for the 48s," he said. "It's closer to thirty percent…more than thirty. I still hate to admit it, but those Berliners did a great job of tweaking a proven design. Too bad the class was unsustainable."

"Bad for the Germans. Good for us," said Christophe. "Wait'll we get this fellow cleaned up and painted to match Adi. They'll look great together."

"Yes," Sir Topham agreed. "I've already been thinking about sending the two of them over to the Mainland occasionally with a big goods train. That'd make for quite the impression, wouldn't it? Two hard-working North Western engines, who also happen to be historical rarities you can come and enjoy riding behind back on Sodor?"

"It sure would…"

Christophe's voice trailed off. The reason it did was because he'd suddenly and for the first time taken notice of the fact that the Fat Controller was still driving, and doing so very well indeed. He was even managing the brakes, using them judiciously to ease Lammergeier down off his headlong charge to a more reasonable pace, and all while chatting away to boot. Christophe's gaze flicked over the interior of the cab, his friend Denise, the chief engineer, who'd seated himself on the folding chair to continue writing more comfortably. Everyone else seemed unconcerned and everything looked normal.

"Er…Sir Topham Hatt? Would you…prefer we took over again?" Christophe offered.

"Oh, thank you, Mister Pelletier, but if you don't mind, I'd like to take this fine fellow back to the steamworks myself. I feel very much in tune with this one, and you know what I always say when it comes to crews and engines."

"A driver for every engine…" Denise suddenly spoke up.

Sir Topham Hatt chuckled. "…and an engine for every driver, quite right, Missus Doyon. And I do believe this is an engine for me…aren't you, Lambchop?"

"Oh, ja, Sir Topham Hatt," the engine's disembodied voice echoed within the cab at once. "You drive me gut, sir. Zank you so much."

"Heh heh, no, thank you, Lambchop."

And this time Christophe saw it too, the man tugging far too hard on a brake lever that responded with a slow reluctance which had nothing to do with any mechanical limitations. He looked with some disbelief over at Denise, who looked right back at him, rolling her eyes. Then she shook her head, just the tiniest bit. It rocked Christophe back on his heels, literally. He'd never run into such a bizarre situation in his entire life and honestly didn't know how to proceed.

To top it off, their boss was having such a fine time that he abruptly asked if they couldn't take a quick detour past Crovan's Gate and on up to Henry's Forest so Sir Topham could check on a team of workers doing some forestry work there, just general grooming and brush clearing along the mainlines. Mister Baker, who was still absorbed in his paperwork and temporarily otherwise oblivious to what was going on, grunted his approval. "Splendid," Sir Topham murmured to himself, and off they went.

The team the Fat Controller wanted to check on included two engines, one of them the very locomotive for which the forest had been informally named, plus his friend Edward. Edward was handling the positioning of a railroad crane, which the men were using to load the cut brush and other organic waste into trucks being managed by Henry. This was already Henry's second job of the day. Earlier, he'd done his regular pre-dawn Kipper run with only half his usual crew on board and he still had only half of his usual crew—Mister Pierre Doyon, who usually functioned as his fireman, was driving him today. A man from the spares list, whom Henry knew and liked, had filled in for the missing half earlier on during his Flying Kipper job. For this forestry gig, however, he'd taken on a second crewman of a very different sort, a very young man named Roger, who was currently having one of the most thrilling experiences of his short life, the opportunity to work as a real fireman on an honest-to-gosh real steam locomotive on the job.

Roger was actually a beneficiary of the North Western Railway's apprentice programme, which Sir Topham Hatt had initiated after he first saw how many children even on the Island of Sodor were growing up fatherless in the aftermath of the War. Roger was one of the lucky ones. He still had a mum and two sisters to live with right in the heart of Knapford and could walk over to the station. Mister Pierre Doyon was one of his favourite people to work with and he passionately loved Henry, who was one of the kindest engines he'd ever known. It wasn't that long ago that Henry wouldn't have been considered a good candidate to be a training engine, given his nervous, high-strung disposition, but he'd settled considerably since the Doyons had taken over as his primary crew, and he'd become very fond of Roger in turn, even if the young lad sometimes poked him by mistake when he washed him or spilled coal all over the floor of his cab when he tried to feed his fire.

Today was typical. Mister Doyon had encouraged him to try keeping Henry's fire at a certain level all while they were travelling to their job site and he'd yet to master the trick of keeping his feet anchored while shoveling. A couple of times he'd gotten more coal on the floor than into Henry's firebox.

"Not so easy, is it?" Pierre had commented, smiling beneath his big black mustache.

"Gosh, no. I'm sorry, Mister Doyon. I'll clean it up."

"Wait until we get to de forest. We 'ave lots of time den."

Sure enough, he'd been able to finally get things neat and tidy again once Henry had stopped for a while and Pierre had even helped him. The work thereafter had been low-key, but steady, with Henry needing to occasionally reverse back to the siding where he'd exchange a truck full of brush for an empty one to take back up to where the men were cutting and loading. It gave Roger lots of practice coupling up trucks and uncoupling them again and lots of time to try and keep Henry's water levels up and his fire burning just so, so that there was always enough steam available for the engine to do his job, but not so much that it was constantly venting out and going to waste.

A number of other engines went by as they worked away the hours, which was always cause for a friendly exchange of whistles. But then came a strange whistle, one they'd never heard before, and a minute later an engine which was familiar yet not familiar chuffed into view. It was Lammergeier, of course, running down the center track, slowing as he came. A minute more and he was eased to a stop next to Henry, so that their crews could regard each other. Denise was the quickest to take advantage of their surprise visit, by going to her cab door and leaning out and making a show of positively leering at the driver over in Henry's cab.

"Hey there, handsome," she called to him. "Where's that gorgeous wife of yours?"

The black-haired man lowered his head and shook it sadly.

"Ahhh, she left me dis morning and run off wid anoder of dos dam' Germans."

"Wow. She sounds like a real hussy."

"You 'ave no idea."

By now even Sir Topham Hatt was chuckling; the Doyons' love of teasing one another was well known. He looked past Pierre at his apprentice peeking out from behind him and asked, "And you, young Master Roger, how are you doing?"

"Oh gosh! Mister Topham Hatt, sir! I mean, Sir Topham Hatt…oh dear!" The man under discussion smiled indulgently as the young man, a boy, really, stumbled through a whole lexicon's worth of honorifics. "I'm fine, sir!" he finally managed to squeak out.

Sir Topham looked at Pierre. "Is he?"

"'e's doing ver' well, sir. And learning dat feeding an engine is much 'arder when it move dan when it sit still."

"Ah yes, I remember those days. Coal everywhere… Well, you two carry on. You're obviously managing the job just fine."

"T'ank you, sir. And t'ank you for checking in wid us."

"Oh, my pleasure…"

The engines, meanwhile, had been having a little social session of their own. Henry, who found himself right next to the new loco when it stopped, was the first to try and make friendly overtures.

"Hi," he had said softly. "I'm Henry."

"Lambchop," the new engine replied without preamble, which caused Henry momentary confusion. The Doyons had told him the new engine's name and he remembered only that it was foreign and rather long and hard to pronounce. Perhaps he'd shortened his name, the same way Adler had become Adi.

"Oh. Er, okay. Glad to meet you, Lambchop."

Lammergeier uttered a huge sigh of exasperation. It seemed as though lax work habits were the norm on this railway, for both humans and engines. "Ja. Gleichfalls. Meetink you," he said shortly.

It started to dawn on poor Henry at that point that the new engine's English might not be the best. In fact, now that he thought about it, the whole reason that Miz Denise had taken time off to go to Europe with Mister Pelletier to look at the new engine at all had to do with whether they'd be able to communicate with him. The answer, apparently, was…not very well. Not in English, anyway.

"Maybe we should wait for Missus Doyon to join us before we talk much more," Henry said, as politely as he possibly could.

"Okay."

They'd lapsed into silence. Awk-ward, thought Henry, squirming inwardly. He could see Edward further on up the track, close enough to have overheard though not join their aborted conversation. Edward looked about equal parts bemused, sympathetic, and relieved to be out of it. As for Lammergeier, he was glancing enviously over at the high gloss on Henry's bright green livery. The men at the steamworks had been keeping him clean, but nothing more, given that they meant to soon paint him. Although Lammergeier understood their reasoning, he couldn't help feeling rather shabby at times even so and this was one of those times.

Lammergeier's and Henry's crews finished with their farewells and Lammergeier was sent slowly forward, right past the rail crane between the two working engines and then the blue engine managing the crane. The blue engine was smallish and old-fashioned looking, Lammergeier thought, and likely fairly old, but he too had a lustrous coat and looked beautifully maintained. He also knew better than to talk. The German engine paused briefly so more words could be exchanged between their respective crews, then off he went again, with Sir Topham Hatt still happily working his controls. Or at least he thought he was working Lammergeier's controls. In truth, the 48 was smoothening out a multitude of overcorrections and yanks and pulls for the human so that he appeared to be driving with seamless ease.

They were lucky insofar that there was a looping turnoff and points not much further down the line where Sir Topham was able to get his engine turned around and over onto the south-bound fast track en route back to the steamworks. Lammergeier soon steamed past Henry and Edward again, traveling at a much faster clip this time at the behest of his temporary driver, who appeared to have become quite enamoured with his new engine's speed. By now, even Mister Baker was starting to look puzzled. He knew that Lammergeier was not difficult to drive or fire, but he did require a certain finesse and appreciation for his overpowered responsiveness. And considering Sir Topham's reputation for manhandling his unfortunate railcar, Winston...well, his apparent sudden expertise was a bit of a head-scratcher. Mister Baker decided to chalk it up to a born railroader's instincts. The possibility that Lammergeier was largely driving himself didn't even occur to him.

Denise and Christophe, on the other hand, were under no such delusions. They'd already pantomimed their way through an entire conversation by surreptitiously mouthing words, some of them unprintable, and making faces at one another behind their cab-mates' backs. Their consensus had been to say nothing and to stay well out of it aside from tending to Lammergeier's fire and pressures. Outrageous though Lammergeier's behaviour was, neither of them believed for one second that anybody was in any real danger, least of all Lammergeier himself.

Plus which there was no denying that Sir Topham Hatt's turn in the driver's seat, as it were, had given him a thrill. The moment that they finally came to a stop back at the Sodor Steamworks, he began enthusing about what a splendid engine his new acquisition was. "And so easy to drive, too!" he concluded, giving Lammergeier an affectionate pat as he exited the cab. "Oh yes, he'll be a fine addition to the fleet. When do you think we can have him certified and painted?" he asked, addressing his chief engineer.

"Well, I can only issue provisional papers for now, given that he came with no records or logbook, but I can certainly get started on that this very afternoon. As for the paintjob, I'd still like to put him through a few practical jobs first, some heavy freight work, pulling coaches and the like, just on the off chance we uncover some weakness, although I'm not expecting to. So maybe…say, first thing Monday morning we start grinding him down for his undercoat? He'll be done by Tuesday? Wednesday for sure?"

Sir Topham Hatt beamed. "Perfect! Be sure to have him painted identically to Adi, if you can. Aside from his nameplate and number, of course."

"We'll do that, sir…"

The two wandered off towards the steamworks' offices, still chatting. Christophe trailed behind them for a moment, stopped and stood indecisive while glancing back at Lammergeier, then carried on following his two superiors. Denise by contrast had no difficulty deciding what to do. She marched straight up in front of her locomotive, caught his eye, and did her best to glare at him.

"Well, I hope you're proud of yourself!" she exclaimed in German.

Lammergeier looked completely unperturbed by her words. "What? I made the boss happy. Now he thinks favourably of us. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is that you deceived him! And inviting him aboard at all, that wasn't your decision to make either. That should have come from Mister Baker!"

"Oh, you were all too slow," Lammergeier said dismissively. "He would have walked off before any of you said a word."

"So your solution was to make a scene, was it? To get him to come forward to see what was wrong?"

"Well, it worked." The engine's eyes narrowed and he smirked. Then he winked at her. "Didn't it."

Unfortunately, Denise never got a chance to formulate a response or to give him the tongue-lashing she thought he so richly deserved for a flock of fitters came up at that point and all of them were full of congratulations for Lammergeier's feat.

"Lambchop! We just heard! Good show!"

"110 klicks! That's a new record for you 48s, innit?"

"Is it true Sir Topham was driving? That's wild, man!"

Lammergeier looked down at the men crowded about his buffers and leading wheels. "You fix me gut so I go gut," he said warmly to them all.

This elicited a happy murmur of response as the fitters expressed their general appreciation for his acknowledgment. As for Denise, she gave up and left. There was no way she could chew out Lammergeier anymore with a bunch of his groupies swarming around and she had a sneaking suspicion that it would be pointless anyway—he really could be hopelessly recalcitrant. Maybe Christophe was right. It was time to stop babying him. Besides, it wouldn't be much longer before he moved down to Knapford and once there, she was sure that his brother, Adler, could straighten him out.

In the meantime, no matter what she thought of him personally, Denise was happy enough to continue on as his driver and Christophe was likewise fine filling in as his fireman. The two of them wanted Lammergeier to have the best chance possible to prove himself during his trial period, and acting as his crew—virtually the only crew around besides Adler's with some prior experience with 48s—seemed only fair. During the next several days, the big engine was put to work at a variety of jobs and given the opportunity to show what he could do. Mister Baker used Adler's past performance as a guide to choosing the tasks and counted on Denise and Christophe to report in on the engine's performance daily.

As it turned out, Lammergeier could do quite a lot. His first job was to pull one of the local passenger trains for two days and his work was impeccable throughout. He never bumped the coaches together, he slowed to his stops and started off from the platforms just right, and he ran so fast between stations that he always arrived early. Denise and Christophe weren't terribly surprised by how well he did, though. As Christophe jokingly put it during one of their breaks, while standing well away from the engine and out of earshot, "Guess if he'd ever dared jostle the likes of ol' Goering, he would've been turned into tin cans long ago." And Denise, grinning back, had said, "Hermann Goering? Oh please. He'd see to it that Lammergeier was turned into aircraft undercarriage. And they'd put it on some training plane they used for the crappiest, worst pilot recruits of all, so he'd get bounced and pranged up every day."

Lammergeier's goods work was even more impressive. When asked to tow a huge load of stone up and over Gordon's Hill, he'd simply put down his figurative head and pulled like a fiend throughout, using his superior traction to help manage the trucks and keep them steady on the inclines. Hard work seemed to appeal to him. He liked being absorbed by the physical demands of moving a long, heavy train and would become almost docile to handle at such times, going silent in order to better concentrate on the difficult work and never complaining. Christophe saw it as a mark of intelligent professionalism, that Lammergeier had a self-imposed work mode. Denise simply considered it evidence that he possessed the same excellent work ethic as did his brother.

Mister Baker was pleased with what he heard and more importantly, pleased with the lack of any further mechanical issues, and he okayed Lammergeier's paintjob to start on schedule. Adler came by partway through so the painters could use him as a brief model to exactly match their trims and the script style for Lammergeier's nameplate and number, and the two 48s spent several happy hours together, chatting and laughing, while the men worked on the engine's beautiful new livery, bright red above and black below, with a bold white horizontal stripe ending in a stylized raptor's profile separating the two base colours. It was a paint scheme which had come to be informally known as two-tone foreign and Lammergeier was the fifth engine on the Island to be so adorned. The last things to be added were the golden bands decorating his red body and his black chain railing, installed all along the edge of his upper running board as both a safety feature and to serve as an anchor for decorative bunting. When the men who'd worked on Lammergeier finally backed up to take in the full effect of their efforts, he looked so good and they were so pleased that they burst into spontaneous applause.

The next day, following his very last night spent at the Sodor Steamworks, Denise and Christophe came to fire him up and take him to the big new roundhouse down in Knapford.

Lammergeier was a North Western loco now.

to be continued...