Lesser the Knowledge

April 2015

James couldn't help but look smug. The broad, knowing smile he wore as he sat at Wellsworth Station was both natural and superficial at the same time, almost a performance for the other engines that passed. He generally looked smug most days, but today, he hoped his smugness would stand out so someone would ask him about it.

It was a look Edward knew all too well. As he pulled into the station with his own passengers, he caught James looking eagerly at him, and struggled not to laugh: his desire for attention was so obvious it was as bright as his paint.

Might as well throw the poor thing a bone, I guess, he thought smiling. "Something up, James?"

"Oh, hello Edward, didn't notice you there," James replied airily, glancing away in such a way that everyone noticed. "How are you today?"

Edward caught Delphine shunting in the yard and rolled his eyes at her, earning a smirk back. "I'm fine James, how about you?"

"Well, I did just get some very exciting news," the red engine replied, beaming. "I am off to the Mainland tomorrow if you can believe it! I've been asked to take a train of enthusiasts down the old Lancashire and York Railway with another engine."

"That is very exciting James, congratulations. Are you doing it alone, or –"

"Yes, it is very exciting. I will probably be the most glamorous engine those enthusiasts have ever seen!" James interrupted, his eyes glistening as he spoke. "I don't think they will have ever been pulled by an engine with as shiny paint as myself. I can imagine them talking about this for years to come!"

"Yes, I'm sure," Edward replied wearily.

His tone did not go unnoticed, and James' smile suddenly turned sour. "What about you, Edward, have you pulled an enthusiasts train at all lately?"

"Not recently, no."

"I didn't think so. On these sorts of trips, they tend to prefer engines that aren't going to fall apart before they reach their destination!" James huffed before smiling at his own joke. Edward was used to jibes like that and simply ignored him, even though the words stung a little.

Almost simultaneously, both guards sounded their whistles – one for James to carry on to Crovan's, while Edward was taking passengers on to Tidmouth.

"See you later, Edward – I'll make sure to tell you all about it when I'm back!"

"Have fun with the diesels, James," Edward replied. He caught a glimpse of James' sour face as he pulled away, and Edward chuckled as he rolled down the Main Line.


There was a commotion as James arrived at Crovan's Gate the next morning. A grey haired woman was standing on one of the platforms, surrounded by people with cameras and large placards. The woman was gesturing angrily towards the middle of the yard, vaguely where Gordon had crashed into the goods train last week. James couldn't hear what she was saying over the roar of those around her, but the people in the crowd all seemed to be in agreement with whatever was going on.

"Who is that woman? She looks familiar."

"That's our local politician," James' driver replied unenthusiastically.

James knew how he felt: he really didn't care about politicians either, unless they wanted to take a photo with him. He ignored the crowd as he crossed the yard, his mind on far more important things than moody politicians. He was expected on the Mainland in a few hours, and James needed to look spic and span for when he took the first of his enthusiast trains that evening.

The works were always bustling and noisy, but as James came to a stop near the entrance, it seemed crazier than normal. Workers were rushing around frenetically, paying James no attention as they rushed by with toolkits and various engine parts. Sparks flew from behind a boiler hanging from the ceiling, one of the assortment of engine parts scattered around the place. James frowned as he saw patches of oil and green paint pooling together near the tracks.

After a few minutes of going ignored, the foreman suddenly appeared. "Hello James, how are you today?" He said, wiping his hands as he approached the red engine.

James looked at him with disdain, hoping he didn't plan on touching him with those greasy fingers. "Fine thank you, sir. I have just come for my wash down – got to be on the Mainland soon!" He added, hoping it would encourage them to start before something ruined his paint.

"Wash down? What are you on about?"

"What are you on about?" James replied, smirking. What sort of silly workman didn't know what a wash down was?

His driver appeared beside him, looking confused as well. "Is there something wrong? I left a message at Tidmouth to alert you guys."

"We must not have gotten it," the foreman replied, shrugging. "Scheduling isn't the problem though. Haven't you been paying attention to the news?"

"I live alone, mate!" James' driver laughed. "When I get home, I want to relax, not depress myself with whatever dreadful things happening around the world."

"Well, if you had been, you'd know that there is a water shortage on at the moment. There was a landslide at the reservoir on Culdee Fell during the storm, there's too much silt in the water supply. We have to preserve water so the system can cope with the excess dirt."

James looked between the two men, reality slowing dawning on him. "Are you saying… that I have to go to the Mainland… I have to pull enthusiasts… without a wash down?"

"Yes James, that's exactly what I'm saying."

James fell silent. He couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. This was his worst nightmare come true. He down at his buffer beam, the specks of coal dust and a drop of fitter's oil shining to him as brightly as neon lights.

"B-b-b-but I need a wash down. Look at me, I'm filthy! I can't pull coaches looking like this!"

"I am sorry James, but wouldn't you rather there be enough clean water so you can fill your tanks without getting sick?"

"Of course not! I'd rather have clogged pipes then have to face enthusiasts looking like some common shunting engine!" James couldn't believe how inconsiderate the foreman was behaving. "Can't they just use some of the dirty water to clean me?"

"That's not how it works!" The foreman said, eyes narrowing. "If you don't mind Steve, we really need to get back to working on the new engine."

"Of course – sorry about this Arnie." James' driver shook hands with the foreman and turned back towards the cab.

"What are you doing? Don't just give up!" James screeched, his voice raising several octaves higher than normal. "I need to be clean!"

"James, you are making a scene. I know this is disappointing, but there is nothing we can do."

James whooshed steam furiously. "Making a scene? I'll show you a scene!" And without hesitation, he began to whistle. The workmen all stopped what they were doing to cover their eyes as a high pitched shriek resonated around them. James' face was beginning to match his paint under the strain of maintaining the amount of pressure needed, but he didn't care: he had a point to prove, and he would not stop until he got what he wanted.

After several minutes, during which time both his driver and fireman tried to reason with him while attempting to stop the whistle, they gave up, time slipping away. They reversed James out of the shed, his whistling briefly silencing Margaret Macmillan's protest, and a disgruntled porter switched the points so they could take him down the main line.

James tried to fight back, but couldn't maintain his whistling and apply his brakes at the same time. Dejectedly, he gave up, settling instead with pulling the grumpiest face he could manage, and joylessly made his way to the Mainland.


James had known that as soon as he got back to Sodor, the Fat Controller would want to speak with him, he had prepared himself for that fate. However, he had expected to at least have the journey to Tidmouth to think about how he would defend himself.

What he hadn't expected was to arrive at Vicarstown, his wheels barely back on Sudrian soil, and find his owner standing on the platform, withering look visible from metres down the line. James was stunned but tried not to let his surprise show. Instead, he tried to look natural as he pulled into the station, as though this was an innocent surprise.

"Hello sir, is something wrong?" James asked cautiously and knew right away that it was the wrong thing to say.

"Don't try and pull that nonsense with me!" The Fat Controller boomed, his voice echoing throughout the empty station. "You have arrived home from an enthusiast's job two days early, of course something is wrong! Would you care to explain your side of things, or shall we skip the excuses and jump straight to the punishment?"

James winced under the verbal assault, but he was ready enough and knew his version of events stacked up. Ignoring the clear exasperation on the Fat Controller's face, James began his story.

In his opinion, James did not think it was his fault that he had been in a bad mood. He could not be blamed for the water shortage and the worker's refusal to give him a wash down. His mood had come from a place of concern for how it would reflect on the railway, sending a dirty engine to pull such a special enthusiasts train.

Admittedly, James couldn't say for certain that the coaches had been talking about him, but he felt strongly that was the case; why else would have they all been staring at him, twittering quietly as he went past? And why else would the other engine on the train have mentioned James' paint if not to make fun of him? It may not have been the strongest of evidence, and perhaps James shouldn't have bumped the coaches in revenge or refused to pull his weight when going up the hill, but what would it have said about Sodor if the Mainland engines thought they could mock them and get away with it?

"- obviously, this all could have been avoided if I had had a proper wash down, but really sir, what can we do about it now?"

"ENOUGH!"

James fell silent. It had been a long time since he had seen the Fat Controller this angry: his face had gone so red that if he had taken off the top hat he could have blended in with James' paintwork. The tender engine knew his defence hadn't worked, and with a sigh, he braced himself for his punishment.

The Fat Controller paused momentarily, taking a deep breath and regaining his cool before carrying on. "Your excuses won't work on me, James. I heard about the stunt you pulled at the works, right outside Margaret's protest; you were in a foul mood well before you got to the railway. I don't see how you are 'defending Sodor' when you go over there and glower at the passengers and treat the coaches like common coal trucks! There are passengers demanding refunds, for goodness sake!

"You acted selfishly because you value your appearance more than the importance of a hard day's work. It may surprise you to learn this, James, but no one cares what an engine looks like as long as it shows up on time and gets the passengers there in one piece. If you don't value your passengers, then maybe you shouldn't take any coaches for the next few days."

James gasped. "Are you sending me to the shed?"

"No, James, that isn't really a punishment, is it? You don't need a rest but I think BoCo and Bear might like one, so for the next few days you can relieve them of their goods trains. Perhaps the long runs between Tidmouth Harbour and Barrow will give you plenty of time to think about what type of engine you really want to be. Do you have anything else to say?"

The idea of pulling trucks revolted James, but if he said anything now, it would only make matters worse. Instead, he stared sheepishly down at his buffers in total silence.

"Excellent, you can get to work tonight." The Fat Controller smiled and tipped his hat at James' crew before turning to go, but paused at the last moment. "Oh, and James – don't think you'll be getting a wash down anytime soon. I am sure all the coal dust and fuel will look wonderful with your paint."


James had never spent the night in Barrow before, and after a few hours waiting there, he hoped he would never have to again.

"How do you live here?" He said with a shiver as another burst of sea wind blew through the yard.

Arianna glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Comfortably, actually. Why, is there something wrong?"

"It smells like ocean for one thing." Arianna laughed at this, and James glowered back at her. "Plus it is so dirty. Is it always like this on the Mainland?"

"Well, the siding I sat in for nearly a decade waiting to be restored was a bit grubby, but hey, that's just one experience."

James felt a moment of shame, but the feeling passed as the wind tickled his axles, making him jolt backwards in discomfort. "Good lord, when is that diesel getting here?"

"Will you be quiet?" Arianna snapped. "BoCo is never this noisy."

"BoCo's too boring to make any noise," James fired back. The purple tank engine sighed and looked away, and James grinned triumphantly.

It was a minor win, but it was the only one he'd had today. After his crew had taken a few minutes to freshen up, James had to head back the way he'd come and park himself in a siding at Barrow, waiting for the Mainland diesel to arrive with the tankers he'd have to take back to Sodor.

A half hour wait quickly stretched out to hours. James wasn't sure what the delay was, and he didn't care: he was more concerned about all the diesels coming past with passenger trains, staring at him as if he was a particularly interesting museum exhibit. The red engine was more aware than ever how filthy he was, and he had to look away as they passed, not wanting them to see his shame.

It didn't help that he was next to a long line of empty tankers that the diesel was picking up when he arrived. James could see congealed streaks of fuel running down the sides of the trucks, and every time he felt a gust of wind, he expected splotches to blow onto him, tainting his paint further.

James took some relief in the fact it was now night and his filthy paint would be hidden in the dark, but it had brought on a new range of problems. He was parked with his tender to the station so he had no light to see by, only the crescent moon's weak glow reflected off the ocean and the small yellow pool created by Arianna's lamp. Every clang and bang in the distance sounded strange and unfamiliar, and James wished he was still with the enthusiasts; giggling coaches and condescending engines were far better than this torture.

His fear must have shown on his face, as he could see Arianna watching him with a superior smirk. "What do you want?"

"Scared of the dark, are you?" The tank engine purred. "Funny, from what I've heard of you, I would've thought you were far too proud for that."

"I'm not afraid of the dark! I just don't like being on the Mainland."

"Why, do you think they still have diesels hunting for steam engines? That hasn't happened for decades if it even happened at all."

"What do you mean, of course it happened!" James said incredulously. "We have an engine, Oliver, who escaped from scrap and had to hide –"

James fell silent. At the exact moment, the roar of a diesel sounded somewhere in the dark. His eyes flickered all around, trying to see where the noise was coming from, aware only that it was getting closer and closer.

"Careful James, the engine snatchers are coming for you!"

"That's not funny," James huffed as Arianna cackled. Suddenly, he saw a pinprick of light appear in the distance, and James tensed up. It could be the diesel he was waiting for, but there were no trucks rattling behind, only the unhealthy grumble of their engine, a guttural and pained sound that clearly didn't belong to a diesel in the proper condition.

Beside him, Arianna fell silent, her face scrunching up in confusion. "That can't be the right diesel – whatever it is, it should not be on the tracks let alone pulling fuel tankers."

"I told you!" James hissed. He didn't want to speak up in case the diesel heard and decided to come for him. However, as the headlights got clearer and closer, James realised the engine wasn't coming towards him at all. "It's heading to Sodor!"

"Maybe it's a new engine?"

"Does that sound like a new engine to you?" James watched the diesel's headlights until they had moved out of sight, leaving only the sound of their spluttering engine echoing throughout the yard. He and Arianna looked at each other, but neither of said anything, lost in curiosity and confusion to put it into words. James forgot about his paint and the long wait; by the time the tanker train finally arrived, he obediently followed his driver in silence, wondering what exactly he had just witnessed.


"My, my James, you look filthy. Looks like you could really use a wash down."

Henry's laugh resonated from every corner of the station, but James was too tired to care. He slinked slowly into Tidmouth, his wheels protesting with every metre he moved. He glowered at the green engine as he came to a stop alongside, but sighed and let the jibe slide, too tired and distracted to care.

"Have you seen the Fat Controller?"

"No, not recently," Henry said with a slight huff, clearly disappointed by James' reaction. "I am sure he is here but I imagine he is avoiding them." The two engines looked to the back of the station, where a crowd was gathered around the bust of the famous author.

James wasn't sure why they were there, but he was pleased they were the only people around. He knew his paint really was dirty, the smell of fish hanging over him after delivering the trucks to the harbour, and the fewer people who saw him the better. Thankfully, the crowd seemed far too focused on chanting something to notice James, and all eyes in the station were focused on them.

"I think I saw that group at the Works the other day."

"They've been going around the railway protesting," Henry explained. "I saw them at Wellsworth yesterday; they shouted at me when I pulled up and they blocked my passengers from getting on."

James frowned, not sure what to make of the situation. It would have to wait though, as he had more important matters on his mind.

"You haven't seen any new diesels around lately, have you?" He asked Henry.

The green engine raised an eyebrow in response. "You mean Delphine?"

"No, no, not her, I mean new as in arrived today."

"Today? I left the sheds twenty minutes ago – unless they were disguised as Donald, then no, I've seen no one." A smile appeared on Henry's face again. "Why, did a diesel spook you on the Other Railway? I thought you got over this irrational fear of them years ago."

"I'm not afraid!" James hissed, but Henry only laughed harder. A guard's whistle sounded, the sharp sound briefly cutting over the protestors chant, and James spluttered as Henry blew steam in his face.

"There you go, that might clean some dirt off for you!" And Henry chortled all the way out of the station, leaving James to seethe. He was so frustrated he didn't notice Emily pulling up on the other side of the platform, ignoring her friendly whistle.

I am not being irrational; I heard it, Arianna heard it, we saw it coming here. There is a diesel here, and the Fat Controller needs to know!

James was about to ask his crew to take him back to the shed when a groan sounded nearby. He looked around and saw The Fat Controller hovering in the doorway leading to his office, mumbling to his assistants.

"Sir, sir!" James cried. His shout echoed and he heard the chant quieten down, but he was too energised to notice. "Sir, I have something important to tell you! Last night I heard this spluttering diesel and –"

"I don't have time for your nonsense, James; can't you see I'm busy?" The Fat Controller snapped. He turned and walked away before James could say another word, the placard-waving crowd hot on his heels.

James was crushed. He was filthy, he was tired, and now he couldn't even get the Fat Controller to pay attention to him for five minutes. He could try telling the other engines, but he could easily guess how they would react after the way Henry had laughed. He was a joke, a paint obsessed clown, and no matter how serious, anything he said or did in the next week would be held alongside that.

Dejected, James was about to head back to the sheds when a soft Scottish accent piped up over the buzz of the protestors. "A spluttering diesel, you say? We must have heard the same one."

James jumped; he hadn't noticed Emily pull up, and for a moment his eyes darted around before settling on her, wondering if he was imagining voices in his fatigued state. "You heard the diesel as well?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I did," Emily said, her face quizzical. "Something woke me up last night at any rate. A lot of trains come past our shed and normally I can sleep through anything, but this diesel made such a racket, it sounded unhealthy like something was –"

"Something wrong with it, yes, yes!" James was so excited he whistled with glee. "I knew I was right – Arianna heard it as well, and we thought it was heading to Sodor but we weren't sure."

"I can't be certain it was the same noise, but something definitely came past my shed last night, that's for certain." Emily paused there, frowning. "I don't know where it went afterwards, though."

"But Vicarstown was deserted before they reopened the station – there are so many sidings around there it could have hidden."

"Are you suggesting we go looking for it?"

James laughed and flashed his widest grin at Emily. "Yes, Emily, that's exactly what we need to do."


All was quiet as dusk settled over the Vicarstown yard. Construction work on the station had ended for the day, and while some passenger trains would carry on into the night, none would disturb the peace of the yard. James could remember how busy it had been when he had started on Sodor, the hub around which the whole island seemed to spin; now, unwanted trucks rotted in sidings while the turntable creaked as it battled rust and grime to operate.

The darker it got the more abandoned and disturbed the yard became, but James was too excited to pay much attention to twisted shadows covering the tracks. He felt like he was on a grand adventure, and all the worry he had felt that morning had melted away: he had a job to do now, one that would the others take him seriously again, and he wasn't going to rest until it was done.

"I don't know what you think you'll find here."

James glanced grumpily at Arthur. "The diesel, that's what I am going to find!"

"That is not what I meant," Arthur replied as he rolled backwards into the shed. "I mean, yes, there are some sidings that haven't been cleared yet, but I think we would have all heard the diesel if they came cluttering through the yard."

"Emily heard it though," James replied defensively, looking across at his comrade, and was dismayed by her enthusiasm.

"I said I heard it, I didn't say how close. It could have gone through the station or come completely past the yard. It might be hiding on the Norramby line?"

"I would have seen it," Murdoch interjected quietly, as though unwilling to get involved in the discussion.

James huffed and glowered between the various engines. This wasn't what he needed. It had been hard enough convincing his crew to come here, and they might not stay on board if the other engines didn't help out.

Emily seemed to see his frustration and smiled gently at him. "I am still going to help you, don't worry, it's just… Arthur could be right; we have no idea where the engine is, we might be looking in the entirely wrong spot."

The words had barely left her mouth when something suddenly rumbled behind them. The four engines all jumped and looked at each other. James was terrified for a moment before he began smiling. This could be easier than expected, he thought, and started down the line, waiting for the diesel to emerge and admit defeat.

His joy passed the second the rumbling figure moved into the light of the sheds. "What are you doing here?"

Arianna raised an eyebrow as she slid to a stop. "A diesel broke down at Barrow so I offered to bring the trucks over rather than wait for one of you lazy lot to get there."

"That's not one of your jobs," James grunted, but then the truth dawned on him. "You want to find the diesel as well, don't you?"

"Pretty much," Arianna replied with a cheeky grin. "As much as it pains me to admit it, you were right last night; it is bloody boring being stuck in that yard all day. That diesel is all I could think about today, and I'm not going to sit and wait for someone to bring the gossip to me. So, have you had any luck?" She added as she shunted the trucks away.

"None. We were just about to start looking through the sidings."

Arianna shook her buffers. "No point. I kept my eyes peeled as I came past and I couldn't see anything that resembled a diesel. Sorry gang, but you'll need to look somewhere else."

James didn't respond, letting that sink in. What were they meant to do now? There was no way they could search the whole island on their own. If they couldn't find the diesel, he would be nothing but the foolish engine that let dirty paint get in the way of a special train. The Fat Controller would stay mad at him, the other engines would continue to laugh at him, and his paint would only get dirtier and dirtier.

James could feel the other engines watching him, but he refused to meet their eyes, disappointment weighing on him once again. If he could he would simply roll out of the yard and forget about it all, he would.

"What are all these engines doing here? I am not sharing my shed with them!"

James looked up as a green tender engine appeared, reversing towards the shed. Norramby Hall was glowering at him and Arianna with great suspicion.

"Don't you start Robert," Emily sighed. "We are trying to find that diesel we heard last night and we've hit… we've hit a setback."

James perked up. "You heard it too?"

"Of course, who wouldn't have?" Robert scoffed. "There I was sleeping peacefully, and suddenly some diesel comes clanking and clanging past the shed with the most dreadful engine I have ever heard. If you find the engine, drag them off to the works and tell them to put a silencer on that thing!"

"I'll make sure to do that if we do actually find it," James responded bitterly, "but we don't really have that many places to look."

"What about the new line?" Murdoch offered.

"Which one, there are a dozen!" Emily sighed.

"The new northern branch line, it could have gone there. I was meant to take trucks there today but they still haven't cleared a landslide that happened during the storm last week. They've had to stop work while the engineers inspect it."

"Murdoch, that's brilliant, why didn't you say anything before?" Emily said.

Murdoch looked away sheepishly. "Oh, I didn't want to cause a fuss, it's a silly idea, really, I'm sure I'm wrong –"

"Nonsense, this is the break we've been looking for! Shall we head there now, James – James?" Emily looked down the track, the red engine's tender already disappearing into the distance, Arianna in close pursuit. With a joyous sigh, Emily set off after him.

James raced through the yard with such speed you'd think he was being chased. The sound of his wheels pounding the rails echoed through the empty sidings, but James didn't notice the racket he was making, his attention focused on getting to the new line and proving himself.

Within a minute he had left the yard and was roaring past the station. The new line jutted off of the main line, a sharp turn heading along the previously untapped coastline. If it was any other situation, James might have stopped to savour the new sights; the untapped fields, the clusters of houses dotting the seaside, the shimmering darkness of the ocean stretched out alongside him. Yet this was no ordinary situation, and there was no time to acknowledge Sodor's beauty.

"How far until we hit the landslide?" He yelled into the dark.

"How would I know?" Arianna shouted back, and James tutted. "Just pay attention and try not to drive into it."

"Helpful!" James huffed. He stared at the track ahead, but the beam of his lamp only went so far, and everything outside of its glow was indistinguishable in the rapidly fading light. James didn't let it stop him but kept his mind on his brakes, ready to apply them when needed.

Suddenly, something bright and unnatural leapt out from the darkness. James gasped as he smacked into an orange warning sign, the reflective metal hitting him on the nose before being flung off into the night. He looked at the track and saw dirt was starting to pile up on the outskirts of the yellow glow guiding him onwards. Without a moment's hesitation, James slammed his brakes on, just as a face began to emerge in the distance.

"STOP, PLEASE!"

James screeched to a stop, hitting his brakes with such force his tender slammed into him, sending a metallic shudder through his body. As he skidded to a long, painful stop, he felt a second, larger thump as Arianna hit his buffers, pushing him further down the line. A boxy shape was caught in the light of his lamp, and James tensed, preparing himself for impact.

He opened his eyes a few seconds later, finally at a stop, and found a frightened, grime covered face staring nervously back at him mere centimetres from his own.

James struggled to contain his excitement. He had found the diesel! The feeling didn't last long though: as he stared at the perplexed engine, the more confused James felt. What was he meant to do now?

"Hello," he said finally, looking around as though the words would come to him in the night.

"Hello," the diesel replied, his voice soft and quiet but with a touch of weariness behind it. While his crew approached the diesel's, James tried to get a better look at the engine. From this distance, he could only see a hint of his maroon paintwork, but it was clear this definitely was the right engine; his buffers were coated in rust and oil splotches, there were black marks that covered his face and windows, and the pungent smell of fuel hung in the air.

"I must say, you are quite filthy," James said before he could stop himself.

"Speak for yourself!" The diesel fired back. James was taken aback by the insult, but almost instantly he began giggling. The diesel's surprise turned into a smirk, and soon both engines were laughing loudly and shamelessly into the night.


Word reached the Fat Controller about the discovery just in time for him to catch the 6:17 train. It was a long wait for James, Emily, Arianna and the diesel, but finally, they saw the distant gleam of headlights, and a few minutes later BoCo was sliding into the station, an amused glint in his eyes.

"What have you three got up to?" He chuckled as he came to a stop. The engines were too nervous to reply and instead watched as the carriage doors banged open. James tensed as the Fat Controller emerged and strolled purposefully towards the diesel's crew. No one said a word, all watching as the Fat Controller exchanged words with the driver before casting his eyes over the diesel. Silence filled Vicarstown, the tension disturbed only by BoCo humming out of the station a minute later.

James held his breath. He hadn't spoken at all, not since his driver had told him he would be pulling the diesel back to the station. The maroon engine had clammed up at that, seemingly terrified by what would happen to him. James had pulled him in silence, forgetting all about his paint and showing up to the other engines, wondering instead if he had done something horribly wrong. Why is he here? Has he fled here, does he need our help? He must have been hiding in that siding for a reason?

In the station light, James could see more of the diesel. He was the same length as BoCo, possibly longer, and was dirty from buffer to buffer. Rust, grease, oil, it was all there, with scorch marks around his engine cover the most notable stain, maroon paint burnt black. James didn't know what he could do, but he just wanted to help the diesel however possible.

After what felt like hours of gazing at the diesel, the Fat Controller looked briefly at James, a smirk across his face, and the red engine tensed, but when the bald man spoke, it wasn't to him. "What is your name?" The controller said finally, eyes flickering back to the diesel.

The diesel gulped. "I was named after a baron, sir, but I was not fond of his name – it was Maurice, you see – so everyone just calls me Baron, sir."

"A much more suitable name." The Fat Controller turned to James, his face neutral, but the red engine nearly whistled in glee as he caught a familiar shine in his eyes. "James, would you please escort Baron to the Workshop? The men can give him a proper examination in the morning."

"Does this mean… can I stay here?" Baron wheezed.

"Perhaps; I will need to talk to your crew further and find out the facts, but if you are in a good condition, you might just solve a political issue I am having at the moment." The Fat Controller paused there and turned back to his own engines, eyes suddenly serious.

"I am not sure what possessed you three decided to go racing down a dangerous and unfished branch line. It would be remiss of me not to warn you three against doing something so reckless, idiotic and dangerous again in the future." The Fat Controller stepped back, a smile betraying the harshness of his words. "Yet Baron here may never have been found if not for you three, so I must thank you – you especially, James, as I hear this was all your idea."

"It – it – it was nothing, sir," the red engine replied quietly. He looked back at the Fat Controller, saw the pride across his face, and suddenly James couldn't take it any longer. "Sir, I didn't seek out to save Baron. When I heard an engine sneaking here last night, I thought that, if I found the diesel, you might forgive me for what happened the other day. I'm sorry, sir, but I don't deserve your praise."

The Fat Controller didn't say anything, he simply nodded, gazing up at the ceiling. James gazed down at his buffers, unable to meet Baron's eyes.

"James, while you are at the Works, make sure your crew arranges a time tomorrow for you to head back and get a proper wash down."

James looked up, confused. "Sorry sir, what did you say?"

"I think you heard me, James," the Fat Controller replied, smiling kindly. "You may think you were acting selfishly, and perhaps you were, just a little bit, but by trying to redeem yourself, no matter your justifications, you are behaving like the type of engine I want to see on my railway: one who wants to be accepted as part of a team, not a lone individual only thinking of themselves. And really, James, you can't be part of my team looking like that – whatever will the engines on the Other Railway think?"

It took a moment for James to realise what the Fat Controller had said, and then he laughed along with him. He was relieved to see Baron was smiling again, clearly holding no ill feelings, and James felt as though a weight had been lifted off of him.

This is better than taking twenty enthusiasts trains, he thought as he joined in on the chorus of whistles. The Fat Controller was right – it doesn't matter how clean my paint is, what matters is doing good, there is no feeling better than that!

"It's pity you're getting cleaned," Arianna whispered behind him. "All that soot was starting to grow on you."

James glowered back at her. Okay, maybe not… still… And as James set off back into the night, Baron clanking and spluttering in front of him, he couldn't help smiling. It may not be orthodox what had happened, but they had got there in the end. It felt corny for James to admit it, but as he looked at Baron's happy, relieved face, he knew the type of engine he wanted to be: supportive, cooperative, really useful – and most of all, clean.