Chapter 8

James was enjoying himself. Riding in a car was a real treat; and it was just as exciting as when he was pulling the express instead of Gordon. His head was swivelling back and forth as he tried to look at both sides of the roads he was travelling along, not wanting to miss any of this new scenery.

It wasn't taking him and Steve, the fitter accompanying him, long to check the stations they'd been allocated, as the taxi driver knew the roads on Sodor very well, and so they'd started off by visiting the stations at Dryaw, Toryrock and Elsbridge and, after rounding up and berating a few former trucks that had decided that throwing ballast from the tracks at some dogs and the clothes that were hanging from the washing lines in people's back gardens was a good idea, James and Steve tied the troublesome teenagers to some chairs in the café at Elsbridge station. They were also warned by Steve before he left for Crosby that, if they misbehaved, Sir Topham would send them to the scrapworks to be melted down when they changed back into metal trucks.

There, they found a small group of former coaches that had been gathered together by the station staff and were now being consoled and fed by the canteen lady at Crosby Station. James had met some of them before when he'd been given passenger services to do on the mainline, and so he decided to show how useful he could be by cheering them up with his natural exuberance, though he hadn't been that pleased when they'd started to touch and stroke his new shiny red leather coat with their chocolate-stained hands. He was starting to feel as much pride in his new red leather coat as he did his original red paintwork, and kept wiping it clean with some tissues, thinking that it might get ruined with the mess it was getting into. Finally, after assuring the former coaches that Sir Topham was dealing with the situation, he managed to leave his adoring fans and get back to the peace and quiet of the taxi-cab.

Bo-Co, James recalled, had been looking to do something different for a few days, which explained why he and Steve had found the green-suited former BR Class 35 Bo-Bo Hymek Diesel Hydraulic, Bear, sitting on a bench at Wellsworth Station, looking at a newspaper with intense fascination as he turned the pages to look at the pictures. Even though there was friendly competition between him and James when it came to who was going to pull Gordon's Express when the large blue engine was otherwise busy, Bear was the only diesel that James was really fond of. He was quite different to the other diesels and very friendly with the rest of the steamies as well, unlike the arrogant and bad-mouthed diesel engine that had come to Sodor with Bear in many years ago. That other diesel, D199, had spent his time doing nothing but insult the steamies until both Duck and 7101, as Bear was known as then, both made him shut up.

"Hello, Bear," James greeted him warmly. "Busy enough here for you?"

"Hello to you, too, James. I DO like your new red coat!"

"Yours isn't bad, either," replied James, looking at the seated man's light-green two-piece suit and tie with lime trimming on the coat's cuffs and edging, and underneath that he had a grey shirt. James' own leather coat was buttoned all the way up to his neck and, as he couldn't undo it, he didn't know what he had on underneath, though if he had the chance to look in a mirror, he'd see the top of a red tie and the collar of a black shirt.

"How are you finding it as a human?" he asked Bear.

"It's strange, but not too bad," his diesel friend replied. "I nearly got taken away by the police this morning!"

"What do you mean?" asked an alarmed James.

"Well, there were three coaches here with me last night, and when I woke up this morning with three women lying on the track behind me, all they wanted to do was to cling to each other and fret about what had happened to them. Me, all I wanted to do was to find somewhere to go to. I'd walked almost half a mile along the track before two of the station workers came running up to me and told me to come back to the station with them. They weren't sure who I was and were about to call the police and have me and the three women taken away, but Sir Topham phoned them, just in time, I must say, and told them that something nasty had happened to Lady and that the trains in Tidmouth and Knapford had all changed into people. How long are we going to be like this, James? I can't sit here al day, I've got work to do."

"I don't know, Bear," said James, frowning. "Sir Topham said that he was going to find out why this has happened to us. That's all I know, but he's given some of us important jobs to do," he proudly boasted.

"I wish he'd give me something to do," sighed Bear. "I was having so much fun covering for Bo-Co. One thing puzzles me, though."

"What's that?"

"Why can't I take these gloves off? It makes turning the pages of this newspaper really awkward!"

"I don't know," replied James. "I tried to mine off this morning but they were stuck on as well. Maybe they're not supposed to come off. Percy thought that if we could take our clothes off and we suddenly changed back into engines, we'd end up on the floor in bits and pieces and be scrapped. I wouldn't like that to happen to my red paintwork at all!"

"No, I suppose you're right. Ah well, I suppose that's how it is. So, do I stay here all day like this, or what?"

"You wait here, I suppose. I'm only supposed to check where everyone is. Sir Topham will probably decide what to do with us all when he returns to Knapford."

"Oh! Where's he gone, then?"

"He's gone to St. Tibba's Hospital to see Burnett Stone. It was him that told Sir Topham about Lady being ill and losing her magic."

"Oh. I don't know who he is, but I hope that Lady gets better," said Bear.

"Hello, Bear," called Steve, returning from speaking to the three former coaches. "I must say, you are looking fine considering what's happening to you engines."

"Thank you, Sir," said Bear. "James was saying just the very same thing."

"Well, James, I've managed to calm those three down, so we'd better get going. Bear, things will get sorted out, I'm sure. Just sit tight for now, though, yes?"

"I'm sure your right, Sir. Sir Topham's never let us down before."

"That's the spirit, Bear. Be safe, and goodbye."

"Goodbye, Sir, and goodbye, James."

"Goodbye, Bear. See you again soon, I'm sure."

James and Steve started their way back to the taxi and James looked across to Steve, and said, "Steve, Sir, Bear said something to me just now that's making me think. I never thought about it before today because, well, it was just something that we knew to be true, but, do you know why the coaches and trucks aren't as bright as us engines?"

After a few moments of thought, Steve replied, "Well, James, I suppose it's because all they have to do is to carry people or goods. They don't need to think about what they're doing, unlike you engines. What I mean is that you all have to know about signals and routes and controlling your speed, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir, that's very true. I've never thought of that like that before now. All I knew before today was that I had to pull coaches and trucks whenever I was told to. It was all I ever felt I wanted to do, though I'd rather pull coaches than trucks, though, and I used to know if something was right or wrong and I'd be either happy or sad. Sometimes, I'd even be angry, especially when the diesels were calling me names and making fun of my red paint. Now, though, I wonder about things that I used to take for granted, like, why do I have a driver when I can move by myself?"

Steve, like all the other fitters and railway workers, knew that although the trains were sentient to a certain degree, some were more sentient than others. The engines were more sentient than the coaches, which had to be aware of the passengers inside them, and they were more sentient than the trucks that only needed to know whether they were laden or not. There were subtle differences, of course, after all, the guardsvans had to know when to assist with braking, but that didn't explain how the Troublesome Trucks could get away with their bad behaviour. All the engines, Steve knew, had a duty to serve, and the work imperative was at its strongest with both the steam engines and the diesels, and they and the coaches could all manage to converse with the railway staff, which quite pleased Steve when Sir Topham had given him the opportunity to accompany the former red engine on this task. As to James' question regarding drivers, though, that was quite easy to explain.

"Because, James, trains are such big and heavy things, the safety of the public has to be the most important thing, and that's why, although you can do the job yourself, drivers have to be able to take over control of the engines when necessary. They have to be there to stop the train if they realise or notice something that you may not have, also, in the case of the smaller engines, the fireman is needed to shovel coal into their firebox and to take on water when it's needed. Because trains haven't got arms, they can't do that by themselves. If you break down, they can either fix what's wrong with you or walk to an emergency phone and ask for a fitter like me to come and help. Engines just can't do that by themselves, can they?. Tell me, James, if you were travelling through countryside and you broke down, what would you do if you didn't have anyone on your footplate?"

"I'd be stuck there until someone came along and found me," said James.

"That's right, or another train came along and crashed into you because you couldn't put warning detonators on the track, also, what if you had to switch tracks and the electronic points were broken?"

"I'd end up going the wrong way." James replied, grinning that he now understood the rightness of why he wasn't allowed to drive by himself. Before this conversation, all he'd known was simply that orders from the railway staff were meant to be obeyed, now though, he knew why things were as they were. He opened the door to the taxi and carefully climbed in. Before today, he'd never imagined having to do such a complicated and fiddley thing such as to fasten a seat belt, now though, after a couple of awkward attempts before they'd left Knapford Station that morning, he was doing it just as well as Steve was, and as Steve gave the taxi driver instructions to their next destination, James smiled, nodding his head as he thought that thinking like a human instead of an engine wasn't so complicated after all.

At Suddery, Steve was pleased to be told by the station master there that Alan, the driver accompanying Gordon, had called in that morning and phoned Brendam Station and the clay works, leaving a note of the wagons and engines there for him, and after marking his own list as appropriate, they set off for the last two stations, Cronk and Killdane.

Many of the engines and rolling stock on Sodor, through countless years of servitude, had reacted to their change of form in pretty much the same way, by staying close to where they'd woken up. They were so used to having their movement being confined to the two thin iron rails they'd found themselves lying between that morning, that was where they felt they had to stay, huddled together nervously in groups. There was a reason why the Tidmouth engines were respected and looked up to by the other steamies on Sodor, and that was their long experience and better understanding of the railways. Some of these other engines, though, thought that they should go and find the station masters or one of the other railway workers to get instructions, and had led long lines of variously-garbed former coaches and trucks along the tracks to the station where they stood waiting on the track next to the platform of the station they had reached. Such was the case at Cronk, where James and Steve had found a bemused station master standing at the edge of the platform talking to a grey-haired man dressed in a long, white leather coat. Behind the man down on the track, a long line of women and youngsters stood about looking worried. The former engine's coat was reflecting the sunlight so much that it was difficult to see its silver edging and cuffs. What wasn't difficult to see as Steve and James got nearer, was the pair of bright red shoes he was wearing. The two men were trying to persuade a group of women and youths that it would be best for them that they come up off the track and sit in the waiting room. James and Steve walked up to the two men and introduced themselves.

"J-J-James!" exclaimed the station master. "Well, I never! When Sir Topham and then his secretary phoned me saying the most surprising things, I thought they were both playing a trick on me until I went outside and saw this lot."

"What's the matter with them?" Steve asked the station master.

During the course of the morning, he'd been playing a mental game, trying to identify the various trucks from the way they were dressed, and the only three he'd got incorrect were two box vans that were a bit miffed to hear that he'd thought them to be flat-beds, and a tanker wagon that was horrified to think that the fitter thought him more suited to carry horrible, dirty oil than nice, clean milk, and Steve, seeing the numerous former trucks dressed in various coloured garb milling about below the platform, decided that he'd played that particular game long enough, and gave up.

"Hello, Stanley," James said to the slightly shorter man. He'd found as the morning wore on that identifying the former engines he was meeting to be quite easy, now that he was more accepting his new form. It seemed that the magic of the Sodor railways was still maintaining a binding connection amongst the former trains despite what had happened to them. "You're looking rather shiny today,"he continued, "and what marvellous shoes you've got. They're as red as my coat!" James twirled round, showing off his new look.

Stanley had been brought to Sodor to take care of Thomas' workload during the restoration of Great Waterton. A very friendly and willing engine, Stanley soon became very popular and enjoyed the company of the other engines, all except for Thomas, James recalled. The blue tank engine had felt jealous and believed that the stronger and more powerful white engine would take over his place on the railway. Thomas had then tried to play a trick on Stanley that made him look weak, only for his plan to fail, and whilst Stanley made a lot of new friends, Thomas was looked down upon by his fellow engines for his horrible trick.

Later, when Thomas went missing, it was none other than Stanley, his supposed replacement, that had found and rescued him, earning him Thomas' respect and then friendship as they worked together restoring the lost town of Great Waterton. Some time after that, James, had worked with both Thomas and Stanley, helping with the rebuilding of the Sodor River Bridge, and that was when James and Stanley had become very good friends.

"Well," said the station master to Steve, "They're being rather stubborn, that's what the matter with them!"

"Well, they can't stay down there all day," said Steve.

"I think they look really smart," said Stanley.

"You'll have to keep them nice and clean, though."

"People will see them and ask questions about them."

"I tried pulling them up earlier but they just wanted to stay there."

"We could tie them together to keep them in one place."

"They must be hungry by now."

"Have you offered them anything to eat?"

"That might work."

"I don't want them to get dirty."

"What do you think would be best for them?"

"I've always liked damp rags."

"We could spray them with water."

"They'll get soaking wet!"

"They'll get soaking wet when it rain, anyway."

"So it's agreed, then, yes?"

"Yes."

"I think that's the best course of action."

"I agree."

"Right, I'll tie Stanley's shoes together."

"And then I'll feed them some wet rags!"

"Can I spray them with water after you've done that?"

"Okay."

"I'll use that hose-pipe over by there."

"Right."

"I'll get a bucket, then."

"What?"

"Who?"

"Me or you?"

"Um...him?"

"What?"

"Who, me?

"I didn't do it!"

"Nor me!"

"STOP!" shouted the station master, covering his face with his hands in confusion. "All of you, SHUT UP! I don't know which way my head is turning! James...stop talking about Stanley's shoes. Stanley...they're YOUR wagons...were wagons, whatever! Get them up off the tracks NOW! James, you will help him! You, whatsyourname, you're a fitter, go...and...go and fit something, but I want all of them up off the tracks and on the platform pronto!"

The red-faced station master pointed down to the large group standing just below the platform before turning around and storming off back to his office, muttering something about shoes, children in a school-yard, and the damned no-smoking whilst on duty rule.

It took the two former engines over ten minutes of coaxing and persuasion that they would be safe and well inside the station's waiting room before the women and youths finally gave up their resistance and slowly clambered up onto the platform, then, after bidding a cheery farewell to Stanley, James and Steve returned to their taxi that was waiting for them outside the station.

The last station to check, Killdane, turned out to be pretty much deserted with nothing or no-one in sight except for some pigeons parading up and down the platform as they searched for any crumbs that had been dropped by the previous day's passengers munching on pastries and crisps whilst they waited for their train. Steve and James, feeling quite pleased that they'd at last finished their allotted task, sat back in the taxi to enjoy the sights on their journey back to Knapford.

ooo

Both Splatter and Dodge breathed a sigh of relief as the pump trolley slowed to a halt beside the platform at Knapford Station. They'd been pumping the trolley like fury all day, and now all they wanted to do was to sit down somewhere, rest, and have something to eat.

"One of you, stay here and guard the trolley," ordered Diesel 10. "I don't want any of those stinky steamies to steal it. The other one can come with me and have something to eat before we go and see Sir Topham. Daisy, you come wit me as well. No-one'll bother you while I'm with you."

Daisy accepted the hand he offered to help her step onto the platform and they made their way towards the café.

"Ooh, what's that over there?" Dodge suddenly asked, pointing across the tracks to nothing in particular.

"What? Where?" Splatter asked, looking over to where his friend was pointing. "I don't see anything," he continued, only to see as he turned back round that Dodge had quickly sneaked onto the platform and was catching up to where Diesel 10 and Daisy were, and was about to enter the café.

"Look after the trolley for us," Dodge called back to his friend, "there's a good lad!"

Splatter let out an exasperated sigh as he sat down on the front edge of the trolley, swinging his legs back and fo. "That Dodge, he gets me every time," he muttered.

As the threesome entered the café, Percy looked up and saw his worst nightmare walking in. It was Diesel 10, with a wide smirk on his face as he gently ushered Daisy, the engine he'd let get away from the station earlier that morning, to a seat at one of the tables over by the back wall of the café.

"Well, well, well," sneered Diesel 10 as he passed by Percy's table. "Look who's sitting by here! It's Percy, my fine little green...friend. Look, Percy, look who I've found and saved from a terrible plight. If you'd been better at your job, she wouldn't have got into any trouble, would she? It just goes to show, doesn't it?"

"Sh-sh-show what?" stammered Percy, finding himself quite intimidated by the tall man.

"Why, it simply shows that you steamies are past it! You can't do even a simple job. Whatever will Sir Topham do with you, I wonder? Where is he, by the way?"

"He's gone to the hospital," said Toby, not sure that he wanted to get too involved with the man that looked much more frightening as a person than he did as an engine.

"He's gone to see how Burnett Stone is after his accident," added Henrietta.

"That looser?" snorted Diesel 10, rolling his eyes. "What's wrong with him, then? Is his heart broken again because his Lady love is unwell?"

"There's no need to talk about him like that," said Toby, deciding that he should speak up for the man that had gotten hurt as a result of his own haste. "He came here to warn us about Lady's magic failing. He got hurt when I derailed last night."

Diesel 10 started laughing loudly on hearing that.

"I dinna ken tha to be verra funny," said Emily, quite put out with the large, former diesel's attitude.

"HA-HA-HA-HA! Tha-that's just brilliant," laughed Diesel 10. "That's TWO steamies now that can't do anything right! That's really made my day!"

Emily huffed indignantly to herself, but seeing the obviously upset Daisy as she sat down and nervously looked about the café, went over to comfort her, leaving the laughing former diesel without any response from her as he looked for something to eat.

ooo

Thomas, eager to show Sir Topham that he was a useful eng-, um, person now and that he could be trusted to get the job done, had been rather put out when, just before exiting the platform at Knapford with Gerald, one of the drivers he sometimes worked with, he almost bumped into the rather plump Duck. The green-coated man squawked in surprise and immediately wanted to know where Thomas was going in such a rush.

"Sir Topham has given me an important job to do," Thomas had proudly told him.

"Well, I'd better come along with you to make sure you do it right," Duck had replied.

That was one thing that Thomas really didn't want. He knew that if the former GWR 57xx 0-6-0PT came with him, then he'd end up taking charge and taking away any credit that Thomas felt he should get from Sir Topham when they returned to Knapford later that day.

"Um...er...you can't!" said Thomas, desperately. "Sir Topham only said that driver Gerald was coming with me, and besides, I don't think there'll be room for you in the taxi as well."

"Well, in that case, there's only one thing I can say, then," said Duck, glaring at Thomas.

Thomas hoped that he hadn't hurt his friend by refusing his company. Although they had known each other since 1955, he and the other engines had found that the squat green engine was a bit of a stickler when it came to work ethics, always maintaining that 'There are two ways of doing things: the Great Western way, or the wrong way.'

Before being given his own branch line between Tidmouth and Arlesburgh to work on, Duck had been working on the main line, which had led to the other green engine, Percy, coming to work with Thomas on his own Knapford to Ffarquhar branch line, and the two small engines had been the best of friends since.

"There are two ways of doing things," said Duck, "there's the Great Western way, or the wrong way."

"Well," snapped Thomas, "I'll just have to make sure that I don't do it the wrong way!"

"That's my fellow!" Duck exclaimed, pleased that he'd been able to teach Thomas something that would be of great benefit. "Just don't allow yourself to get distracted as you go along and all will be fine."

"Ooh," Thomas suddenly gasped, thinking on how he could show the former Great Western engine that he was starting off on the right foot. "Where are your coaches, Alice and Mirabel, and have you seen Oliver anywhere?"

"My ladies are following along behind, they'll be here shortly, and Oliver was in his shed the last I saw of him, talking to Donald and Douglas."

"And are they in train or human form?" asked Thomas, marking the engines' location on the sheet that Sir Topham had given him.

"They're in...human form," answered Duck, "if you want to put it like that, just like my ladies. It's good to see you're taking this seriously, Thomas. Sir Topham will be pleased with you."

"I'm sure he will," retorted Thomas. If there was one thing that the other engines did when talking with Duck, it was to make sure that they were clear in everything they said to him. Although Duck was a hard-worker, he could be rather strait-laced at the best of times.

Happy with his checking so far, Thomas bid Duck farewell and walked outside the station to join Gerald by the taxi that would take them to Arlesburgh to check on the small steam engines. After they'd got into the taxi and set off, Thomas recalled what Sir Topham had warned him, and wondered what would happen if he started to feel strange whilst he was still inside the taxi, as though he were going to change back into an engine. Then he remembered Sir Topham's instructions that he was to make sure that he was out in the open air if he felt anything unusual happen to him. Reassured that he was prepared for the journey, he resolved to be alert and not to fall asleep until he was back in Tidmouth engine sheds that night, and settled back in his seat to enjoy the ride to Arlesburgh.

Half an hour later, Gerald was shaking Thomas' shoulder and calling out, "Thomas, wake up! We're at the station!"

"Uuh... Whassmatter? Where am I?" mumbled Thomas.

"You fell asleep," said Gerald. "We're at Arlesburgh. Come on, out you get, sleepyhead!"

"I-I-I'm so sorry, Sir. I didn't know that travelling inside a car was so comfortable. It's a good job I didn't change back into an engine, isn't it?"

"You're right, there, Thomas," shuddered Gerald, thinking that the last thing he wanted was to be arguing for breathing space inside a car with a Billington E2-Class 0-6-0T locomotive. Nope, he thought, I don't want that by a long chalk!

On entering the station master's office, Thomas was almost pushed back outside by the force of a black-haired, freckle-faced woman in a long, lilac and grey coat and red shoes running up to him and hugging him very tightly.

"Oh, Thomas! I'm so glad to see you!" she blurted into his ear.

"Rosie! Let go of me before we fall over!" he cried out.

One of the more recent engines to arrive on Sodor, Rosie had developed a fondness for Thomas that bordered almost on obsession before finally settling down to a more sedate pace. They had often worked together, helping each other in times of trouble, and Thomas, in turn, had become quite fond of her, including coming to her defence when another engine, Hector, had frightened her, making her run away. Right now, though, she was frightening him with the ferocity of her greeting.

Reluctantly, she released him from her arms and slowly stepped back, looking him up and down.

"Ooh," she cooed. "I do like what I see!"

"You look, um, nice as well, Rosie," Thomas nervously replied. "H-h-how are you?"

"I'm better now that I've seen you," she said, smiling coyly at him. "Maybe you can take me with you back to Tidmouth. We could have so much fun together."

"Um...er...I think that Sir Topham wants you to stay here," Thomas said to her. "We don't know what's going to happen to us all yet, so, it's...er...better that everyone stays where they're supposed to be."

"Aww, Thomas! Don't be like that! Don't you want me to be with you?" pleaded Rosie.

"Er...I can't right now, Rosie. Sir Topham has given me an important job to do, and I can't do it right if I get distracted. Look, I'll tell him that you want to come to Tidmouth and maybe he'll do something about it later. How's that?"

"Well, I suppose it'll have to do for now," Rosie glumly replied. "Promise me you won't forget to ask him, Thomas."

"I promise, and I think that I have to go now, isn't that right, Gerald, Sir?" Thomas looked over at the driver leaning back against the office wall, wondering why he had a smirk on his face.

"Aye, Thomas, I think we have to go now, for your sake, if not for the lady's."

Nodding to the equally amused station master, Gerald led Thomas out of the office, leaving behind a forlorn-looking Rosie whispering sweet nothings to the departing former engine's back.

"What are you grinning for, Sir?" asked Thomas, still feeling embarrassed at Rosie's recent display of affection.

"I thought you engines had grey faces, not red!" laughed Gerald, walking back to the taxi..

A short drive later, Thomas and Gerald walked up to the booking office of the Arlesburgh Miniature Railway and knocked at the entrance door.

"Come in," they heard a woman's shrill voice call.

Gerald opened the door and walked in, followed closely by Thomas, who looking around at everything he could see, becoming fascinated from the smallest thing such as a stapler and some pens on the woman's desk all the way to the scenic pictures of the Sodor countryside that were hanging on the walls.

"What's that?" asked Thomas, suddenly pointing up to something hanging from the ceiling.

"It's flypaper. It catches flies," said Gerald. "It's all right, Miss, he's just not used to seeing inside buildings," he added, looking at the bemused woman sitting behind the desk. "Sir Topham Hatt has sent us to check on the small engines to see that they're okay after what's happened on the island."

"I see," she replied. "My colleague, Wynford, has taken them to the village hall. It's just down the road. It's sign-posted so you can't miss it. He had such a shock when he went to open their shed this morning. He nearly had a heart attack when they all jumped up, calling to him. Why's this happened to them, and what's he doing with that sellotape?"

Gerald heard a long, drawn-out ripping sound behind him and turned round to see that Thomas had found a sticky-tape dispenser on a nearby shelf, and had pulled quite a bit of the tacky material out of it. There was a look of horror on his face as he unsuccessfully tried to shake the sticky snake-like length that was hanging off his left glove, only managing to transfer it from that glove to his right and then back again to his left.

"Ugh! It won't let go of me," he moaned. "What is it?"

"It's sticky-tape," said Gerald, grinning at Thomas' predicament. "It's used for sticking paper together and for putting posters on the wall. Here, let me..."

Gerald pulled the tape off Thomas' glove and rolled it up into a small ball before tossing it into a waste bin in a corner of the room.

"Come on, Thomas, let's go," he said, then, grabbing hold of the blue-coated man and turning to open the door to leave. "Thank you, er, Miss. We'll just check that all's well with them and then we'll be off. Have a nice day."

A two-minute walk later and they were at the village hall. Gerald pushed open one of the arched twin-doors and stepped inside. "Bloody Hell!" he quietly murmured.

"What's the matter, Sir?" asked Thomas, craning his neck to look over Gerald's shoulder.

"And I thought I'd seen everything," muttered Gerald, as he walked forward to let Thomas enter behind him.

"Ooh!" exclaimed Thomas. "They're little people!"

ooo

In the woods near Tidmouth Sheds, Henry found himself in yet another new world, but this time, he was glad for it. He'd been wandering about for over an hour, listening to the breeze gently rustling the few leaves that remained on the trees and the varied bird song that was filling the air, and he didn't want to ever leave. He wasn't even thinking of how things were for him now that he was no longer an engine, all he was doing was feeling and enjoying the calmness brought on by the multi-green shades of scattered conifers and the various brown hues of the tree trunks and branches and the wildlife surrounding him. He smiled as he watched a squirrel scampering along the forest floor before it rapidly clambered up to be hidden amongst the high branches. He bent down to pick up a fir cone from where it lay atop a carpet of brown and yellow autumn leaves and held it by his nose, not too bothered that he could only sense a faint smell to it, after all, there was nothing that he could really compare it too, considering that he'd not been able to smell anything at all before he woke up that morning.

After walking for about five minutes more, idly tossing the fir cone from one hand to another, he thought that he heard someone crying, and stopped for a moment to listen from what direction it was coming. He then turned to his left and made his way through the trees, looking around to see who and where the crying was coming from. He'd only gone a few yards when, as he passed a tree stump, he almost stepped on top of a young, grey-clad boy that was curled up on the ground, sobbing his heart out. As he stopped and knelt down next to the boy, he was surprised to see by the grey pallor of his face that he was one of the troublesome trucks. Maybe he's crying because he's not a truck any more, thought Henry.

He placed his hand onto the boy's shoulder and gently shook it, saying soothingly, "There, there! What's the matter, boy?"

The crying youth, startled by the unexpected touch and voice, jerked quickly away and opened his tearful eyes.

"Who-who are you?" he mumbled, drowsily.

"It's me, Henry. Why are you crying, little one? Is it because you're upset after what's happened to you?"

"N-n-no. It-it's not that. It's worse. It-it's in my head!"

"What's in your head, lad? Have you fallen and got something stuck in it?"

"No. It's p-p-pictures. There's pic-pictures inside m-m-my head and they're hur-hurting me."

"I have pictures in my head sometimes, but they don't hurt me," said Henry, stroking the boy's hair.

"What sort of pictures are they?" he then asked, turning slightly to sit down on the leafy ground next to the boy.

"They're d-d-dark. Like I'm in a t-t-tunnel, and then they...they hurt me."

"Who hurts you, little one?"

"I-I-I don't n-n-know! It's too dark for me to s-s-see. This has never happened t-t-to me before. When I was a t-t-truck and I fell asleep, everything went d-d-dark until I woke up. It didn't hurt me then."

"When I fall asleep," said Henry, looking off into the distance, "I see many pictures. I see pictures of things that I've done that day, and things I've been thinking about. I remember when I went to sleep after I'd been pulling the Flying Kipper for the first time and I saw pictures of lots of fish swimming in the air around me. It's called dreaming, and all the engines do it."

Listening to Henry's quiet voice seemed to calm the boy down somewhat, and he slowly pushed himself up to lean back against the tree stump.

"Us trucks don't do that," he said, stopping his crying. "We trucks only see black when we sleep. I don't like what's happened to me if my black is going to hurt me all the time."

"One good thing about what's happened to us," said Henry, "is that we can think a lot better now. When I was an engine, the feelings I used to have, when I was happy or angry, or even when I was sad, they were never as strong as what they are now. It's like...it's like seeing something new for the very first time. We engines have always had the feeling that we must complete our tasks, to get the job done and be really useful engines, and to do whatever Sir Topham tell us to do.

"Now, though, there's so much more going on inside my mind than just work, work, work. I...I can think of things that I don't think I've ever thought of before. My world has become so much bigger, and with all these new thoughts going on inside my head, and especially after the fight some of us steamies had with the diesels back at the station, I'm so glad that I can finally manage to get away from all that nasty thinking business and walk amongst all these trees. I really like trees. Trees don't argue all the time over who's better at doing a particular job, or play tricks on us because of something someone said that's been taken the wrong way. I still have that need to be useful and to get the job done, though, so do you want to tell me what you think is hurting you in your dreams, little one?"

"I-I-I can't! It's too frightening, and everytime I think of it, it upsets me and I start to cry. I feel so much sadder now than I did when I was a truck, and I don't like it. I-I-I wan-"

"I think," said Henry, looking at the boy, "that talking about it with someone can help. A difficult job that's shared is a job that's made half easy, as they say."

"Who says that?" the boy asked, looking up at the face of the former engine sitting in front of him.

"Us engines say it to help us with our work," Henry replied.

"Well," said the unhappy boy, "this dream I'm having..."

ooo

Tasked by Sir Topham with looking for wayward engines and rolling stock between Kirk Ronan and Vicarstown, Gordon found that he'd been doubting himself for no good reason. Once on their way in the taxi, he'd slowly lost his pomposity as the morning wore on, and had been entertaining Alan, the fitter that was travelling with him and the taxi-driver by telling them of the various escapades he'd been involved in over the years with the other engines. Alan, of course, knew the true dynamics of the stories, and had been adding the occasional extra detail or 'alternative' explanation for the sake of the confused driver of the Sodor-liveried London taxi-cab, Jock. Jock, whilst being amused by the large, ashen-faced man, hadn't understand why, for all how the storyteller had seemed rather erudite and accomplished in the English language, kept using the wrong personal pronouns to describe various deeds and actions that the engine had done, so much so that Jock would have sworn that the blue-coated man was pretending to have been the actual engine he was talking about. Mentally shrugging, he was totally unaware that it was actually an experimental prototype Class A0 Pacific 4-6-2 that was sitting behind him and, indeed, had actually done the things he'd talked about. Jock had reckoned that it was some sort of corporate-speak that railway officials with too much time on their hands had come up with to justify their inflated salaries. Ah well, he'd mused, payment for the day's work had been guaranteed by the boss of the railway station, and the fact that he hadn't had to sit and wait all day for punters to hire his cab had gone a long way to making him smile, and it was a sunny day as well, what more could he have asked for?

They drove through Suddery, and although James would be passing through there later that day, Alan suggested that they stop there to phone Brendam Station and the China Clay Works, where they found out that the station master at Brendam had already taken stock of the situation and reported his findings to Sir Topham's secretary not long ago. Alan was amused to hear that Salty had been found sitting on a mooring bollard at the quayside, joining in with the maritime stories a group of trawler-men were telling each other, and it had taken quite some time for the dockers to persuade him to go and sit in the dock manager's office, where one of the dockers was currently teaching him how to tie useful knots with a short length of rope. Surprisingly, Salty was picking them up in no time at all.

It had taken even longer for the rest of the dock workers to round up all the youths that had been found playing hide-and-seek amongst the stacked containers that were waiting to be loaded onto the ships and lorries. Two of the youths had even been racing each other by climbing up the tall dockside cranes, which had really annoyed Cranky, and if it hadn't been for one of Sir Topham's phone call earlier that morning, they would have been locked up in a cell at the local police station instead of inside a secure compound with the rest of the troublesome teenagers. One of the dockers had thrown a football over the top of the wire fence for them to have a game of soccer with instead of shouting and yelling to be let out.

Bill and Ben and the few trucks at the clay works were fine after their initial early-morning shock, and were now amusing the workers there with their cheery chatter. It seemed that the transformed trucks, when not in a large group, behaved themselves quite well, as though it wasn't until they reached a certain 'critical mass' that they developed a mob-mentality and start to cause chaos.

Edward, Gordon knew, was still on the mainland, and he was rather concerned for his old friend as it was quite possible that what had happened overnight on Sodor had happened there as well. Alan told Brendam's station master that he'd let James know what they'd done and then they left to go the small fishing-port of Kirk Ronan and then, afterwards, up the road to Rolf's Castle, one of the oldest settlements on the island. The station at Kellsthorpe Road, being only a small hamlet, was empty of rolling stock, just like the previous two stations, and then it was on to Crovan's Gate, where Gordon found something that really upset him.

Alan, having been there before and knowing where the exterior door to the works manager's office was, led Gordon inside, and together, they walked into a cacophony of sound and confusion. Wondering why loud sirens were doing their best to waken the dead, he called out to the manager of the locomotive repair works, "WHAT'S GOING ON?"

The manager, looking like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, replied incredulously, "YOU HEAR THAT WAILING NOISE AND YOU ASK ME WHAT'S GOING ON?"

"YES," shouted Alan. "IS IT AN EMERGENCY OR WHAT?"

"I THINK I KNOW WHAT IT IS, SIR" called out a worried-looking Gordon. Then, to the manager, he asked, "PLEASE, SIR, WOULD YOU TAKE ME TO THEM?"

The manager, having already been on the phone three times that day trying to get in touch with Sir Topham, only to be repeatedly told by his secretary that he was out for the morning, yelled back, "YES, OF COURSE. FOLLOW ME."

He led Gordon and Alan out of his office and along a short corridor until they reached a closed door. He pushed open the door and walked into the actual repair shed itself and the ever-present up-and-down wailing that they could hear suddenly increased into an intense caterwauling of tormented pain and anguish as though someone was being slowly torn apart in every direction, only it wasn't just one someone that was undergoing such an ordeal, but two, two engines that both Gordon and Alan immediately recognised.

One had the black, square body of a SR Bulleid Q1 that was rippling in a ghostly manner, and the other had the bright yellow of a GER Claud Hamilton 4-4-0, and both of the engines' bodies were currently interspersed with roiling black whiffs of smoke erupting from fractures in their boilers. Instantly, Alan and Gordon ran towards the two engines. It was Neville and Molly, and they seemed to be suffering some sort of hideous torture that was half-killing them judging by the loud wailing they were making. They both looked like they had been caught mid-change between engine and human, and Alan wondered if the two engines had been suffering their current torture since some time during the night. They were the only two engines he knew of so far with any mechanical resemblance to how they should normally look, but that resemblance was both disturbing and horrifying, especially to the audience of concerned workers that had been striving all morning to attend to the two distressed engines. Seeing them both in the state they were, Gordon was torn between choosing which engine to run to first.

Neville, acquired by Sir Topham in 1964 when he'd been scheduled for scrapping, hadn't had a good start to his new life on Sodor, being undeservedly labelled as a troublemaker by the steamies due to his unusually square boiler that made them first think that he was a diesel. The mistake had been resolved in due course and the newcomer was found to be enthusiastic, friendly, and always ready to help out the other engines. Now, though, it was he that needed help, but Molly was suffering just as much as Neville.

Her arrival on the island wasn't well received, either, as she was mocked by Emily for being given the task of pulling empty wagons. Molly was an easily-upset engine, and Thomas, being an engine that always tried to do the right thing, decided to help her, and apparently succeeded once again by decorating the empty wagons to make them look like they were carrying important freight and making Molly feel better, but like so many of Thomas' ill-thought ideas, it ended in disaster when the tarpaulins he'd used were blown off by the wind and Molly had run off upset, causing confusion and delay when the other engines were left waiting for the trucks she was supposed to deliver to them. It was terrible, thought Gordon, that such a sensitive and delicately-minded engine like her should endure what she was going through right now.

"ALAN," he called out loudly, looking the fitter in the eyes. "YOU'LL HAVE TO GO ON WITHOUT ME. I JUST CAN'T LEAVE THEM HERE LIKE THIS." Then, turning to the works manager, he asked, "DOES SIR TOPHAM KNOW ABOUT THEM?"

"HE'S OUT SOMEWHERE," the manager shouted back, "BUT I'VE LEFT ENOUGH MESSAGES FOR HIM. NOTHING WE DO SEEMS TO HELP! WE CAN'T TALK TO THEM, THEY JUST CARRY ON WAILING. DO YOU KNOW OF ANYTHING, GORDON? ANYTHING AT ALL THAT WE CAN DO FOR THEM?"

"NO, I DON'T," Gordon sadly replied, his concern quite apparent to the other men around him despite the loud cries from the two stricken engines. "ALL I CAN DO IS TO BE HERE FOR THEM. MAYBE THEY CAN HEAR OR SENSE THAT A FRIEND IS NEARBY. WHY DIDN'T THEY CHANGE LIKE THE REST OF US?"

"THE ONLY THING SIR TOPHAM'S SECRETARY TOLD ME WAS THAT SOMETHING HAS CAUSED YOU ALL TO CHANGE INTO HUMANS OVERNIGHT. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT COULD HAVE DONE THAT, OTHER THAN LADY'S MAGIC FAILING. IT RAISES OBVIOUS CONCERNS. I MEAN, WHAT'S HAPPENED TO ALL YOUR METALWORK? WHERE'S IT GONE, AND HOW CAN IT HAVE TURNED TO FLESH AND BLOOD, ANYWAY?"

"I DON'T KNOW," replied Gordon. "ALL I KNOW IS THAT I'M MORE AWARE OF THINGS AROUND ME AND INSIDE MY HEAD. I'M THINKING THINGS THAT SEEM NEW TO ME, BUT THERE'S SOMETHING ELSE AS WELL. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS YET, OR IF I EVEN KNOW WHAT IT'S CALLED, BUT IT SEEMS AS THOUGH SOMETHING IS TRYING TO CONNECT TO ME. A PART OF ME THAT'S MISSING. THAT'S ALL I CAN THINK OF HOW TO DESCRIBE IT."

"MAYBE IT'S YOUR MISSING BODY, HELD SOMEWHERE OR SOMEHOW BY THE RAILWAY MAGIC, BUT THAT STILL DOESN'T EXPLAIN WHY YOU'VE GOT A HUMAN BODY NOW."

"WHAT'S MORE," replied Gordon, "IS THAT NONE OF US CAN REMOVE THIS CLOTHING WE'VE GOT. LOOK..."

Gordon tried to remove his gloves, only to again acknowledge the fact that they were still stuck fast to his hands. He tried to undo the buttons of his coat but they still held fast as though they were merely ornamental.

"HERE, LET ME TRY," the manager called out, reaching for one of the lower buttons, only to find that it was like trying to pull a rivet out of a metal plate with just his fingers. "IT WON'T BUDGE!" he exclaimed in surprise.

He then knelt down in front of Gordon and tried to undo his shoe laces, only to find that it was like trying to rip apart wrought ironwork with his bare hands.

"IT'S NO GOOD," he admitted, shaking his head in defeat. "IT'S LIKE YOU'RE ALL IN ONE PIECE WITH EVERYTHING STUCK TOGETHER. I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY."

"ENOUGH ABOUT ME FOR NOW," shouted a worried Gordon. "IT'S THESE TWO WE NEED TO SEE TO."

Gordon, for no other reason than it seemed the right thing to do, went to stand in front of Molly, placing his hands on the edge of one of her buffers and look up at her terror-filled eyes as her face contorted in pain and despair, morphing every few seconds from soft flesh face to the hard metal of her smokebox door that corresponded to the quieter tone of her siren-like cry. Her eyes, when they were present, that is, spoke of indescribable agony accompanied by the increase in her screams. Gordon felt his eyes beginning to water and tears of sadness started running down his cheeks.

"MOLLY!" he shouted. "IT'S ME, GORDON! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

~GOR...GOR...GOR...DON...DON'T...TOUCH...ME...HUR...HURTS...SO...MUCH...CA...CA...CAN'T...CAN'T...AAAAAAAAHHHEEEEEE...~

Suddenly, Gordon felt the hard metal buffer under his hands vibrate as Molly's body started to tremble as the clouds of black smoke venting out from ruptures in her bodywork increased their pace, soon filling the air around the wailing engine. The workers standing near Molly started to back away in alarm, not knowing what the smoke would do to them if they breathed more of it in. Gordon held on as tightly as he could, concern for the engine giving him extra strength as the trembling and vibration increased even more. The black smoke was making his eyes sore and he blinked furiously to clear his vision. His chest started aching and he coughed violently, ignoring desperate calls from the works manager and the other men for him to come away from her. His vision blackened and, if he wasn't holding on to Molly's buffers as tight as he was, he'd have fallen to his knees in front of her as a wave of dizziness swept through him. He felt hands grabbing under his arms from behind, supporting him as he struggled to stand upright. The arms were trying to pull him away from the stricken Molly, but he resisted as much as he could, gripping tighter onto the edge of her buffer.

The rents in Molly's boiler were repeatedly closing up and re-opening like mouths silently shouting in anger, and her once bright-yellow paintwork was now beginning to fade to a dirty grey, and her eyes were rolling around as though she was trying to see in more than one direction at once, making her look cross-eyed. Neville was wailing and screaming in concert with Molly as though as the two engines had previously decided to perform a duet of nightmarish proportions more suitable to some Lovecraftian horror film. The rents in his bodywork, though, were much harder to see against his black paintwork, and it took several seconds before anyone noticed a new torture starting its affliction upon him as several more lacerations appeared on his boiler, which made more than one of the despairing workers think that the engine was being slashed by an invisible demon wielding a knife of demonic strength and sharpness. The two engines' ordeal seemed to be never-ending, when suddenly, Molly fell silent.

"GORDON!" the works manager suddenly shouted. "SHE'S DYING! COME AWAY NOW!

"NO! I CAN HELP HER" cried Gordon, desperately. "MOLLY! LISTEN TO ME. FIGHT IT, MOLLY, FIGHT IT!"

"IT'S TOO LATE, GORDON!" the manager again cried. "LOOK AT HER FACE!"

Gordon, already staring at Molly's face in its impermanent transition, could only watch in anguish as her eyes ceased their rolling about and slowly turned to look downwards, loosing their whiteness and fading to the grey of her skin, and he thought that she was looking at him, but then her eyelids closed, and stayed shut as a sudden, loud whoosh startled the crowd of engineers and workmen. Clouds of what looked like black steam erupted from all of her vents at once, surrounding everyone in a cloud of dark wetness that, for a few seconds, pushed away the black smoke that was hanging above them like foreboding thunderheads of doom.

"NOOOoooo..." cried Gordon, letting go of Molly's buffer as he staggered back a few feet, but there was nothing he or anyone else could do as they watched Molly's grey face relaxed in death before fading away to be replaced by the smokebox door of her boiler. Her all-over yellow paintwork that had made her stand out so spectacularly as she speedily travelled across the green pastures of Sodor, what remained of it, was now marred by a random patchwork of black and grey blotches, and her brutal passing away only marked by even louder wailing from Neville as he, too, began to shake and tremble.

Amidst the deafening sound of Neville's wailing, Gordon sank with a loud cry onto his hands and knees.

"I-I-I'm b-b-burning up...inside me," he quietly moaned. Sweat was dripping off his forehead and onto the concrete floor below him. "I'm so hot...Thirsty! I-I need water..." then he fell onto his side and started shaking as though he was having an epileptic seizure. More out of reflex than anything else, the works manager quickly knelt over him and, turning to one of the engineers that he knew had taken a regular first-aid course to comply with safety regulations, called out, "DENNIS! HELP ME HERE, QUICK!"

Dennis almost leapt to where Gordon was lying on the factory floor. Knowing of the tall man's former status, but not knowing how his body truly worked now that he was human, all he could think to do was to force Gordon onto his back and unbutton his coat to help him cool down. The works manager was panicking slightly as he, too, had no idea what was happening to Gordon, and the memory of his earlier failed attempt to open his coat buttons only returned when he saw a grey undergarment being revealed as, one by one, the buttons of Gordon's long leather coat came undone as a result of Dennis' deft handiwork.

"I TRIED THAT JUST NOW AND I COULDN'T DO IT," he shouted, puzzled with this sudden change.

"WELL, THEY'RE COMING LOOSE NOW," Dennis loudly replied, then to one of his workmates, he shouted, "GET ME SOME WATER! QUICKLY!"

With Gordon's blue coat now fully open, they could all see that the grey undergarment completely covering the top part of his body. Dennis started undoing the buttons that ran along the front of it and, once the buttons from under Gordon's chin down to his navel were open, he looked over to the two workers still standing nearby and, remembering from when he'd helped support Gordon when he nearly fainted, yelled, "PUT YOUR ARMS UNDERNEATH HIS SHOULDERS AND SIT HIM UP. WATCH OUT, THOUGH, HE WEIGHS A TON!"

The two men did as ordered and Dennis began to pull Gordon's coat and undergarment down over shoulders when, all of a sudden, he stopped. Leaning back slightly to get a better look, he cried out, "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THAT?"

On every bit of skin that had been made visible by Dennis pulling back the garments covering Gordon's chest, and looking as though they had been burnt onto his body with a branding iron, were a multitude of strange and weird-looking sigils and symbols that each of the shocked men assumed had something to do with the occult, and several of the raised scars were leaking something that was too dark to be blood. The works manager stepped backwards in alarm. Never in his life had he ever seen anything like that before. If anything like that had been done to a normal human being, he thought, it would have killed him, but this wasn't a normal human being, though. Mouth open in horror at what he was seeing, he turned and ran to his office. He had to speak with Sir Topham straight away, wherever he was.

ooOOoo