HURRICANE
Part Seven
Time marched on. The days grew ever warmer and the list of jobs assigned to the engines on Sodor ever longer. Hurricane had by now earned a reputation for being an excellent choice to pull heavy trains over tricky routes and continued bringing many more trucks and flatbeds full of materials up to Ulfstead Castle over the next several weeks. The date for the official opening of Sir Robert Norramby's railway museum was fast approaching and the last piece of heavy work was the installation of a service area for engines on a special new siding set off the through lines running past the roundhouse. A broad new dirt road also needed to be laid and graded, which would allow trucks to easily access the service area and double as a pedestrian lane when visitors were about. It was Sir Robert Norramby's wish that railway enthusiasts be able to watch how his and other visiting engines were serviced on a routine daily basis in addition to being able to observe a working roundhouse and wash shed, plus which free ashes from the new fire pit to be were always coveted by the groundskeepers to fertilize plants.
Hurricane's crewmen, Lorne and Pat, also continued to do well by him and made sure he had the opportunity to socialize for a while whenever he made a new delivery. He soon got to know everyone up at Sir Robert's private estate railway, including the Earl himself. Meeting Stephen—the actual Stephenson's Rocket—was perhaps his greatest thrill. All steam engines felt a certain reverence for the old loco, the great granddaddy of them all, and Hurricane found himself feeling so reverential that he initially made the mistake of addressing the Rocket as 'sir'. This provoked immediate hilarity, especially from the other old engine who lived at the castle with him, Glynn, and Millie, the estate's on-site narrow gauge engine, succumbed to a fit of the giggles for a good two minutes. That was how Hurricane discovered that Stephen was not in the least bit stuck on himself except in occasional jest and that he was just as thrilled to meet a new engine descendent of his general design as Hurricane was to meet him.
To assist in erecting the two biggest structures in the new service area, the water tower and the coal hopper, Rocky, a large breakdown crane who normally worked at Sodor's search and rescue unit, was loaned out, and Hurricane brought him along one morning as soon as a full gang of workmen were available to have at it. It turned into an enjoyable, productive job for all concerned that day, including both intelligent machines. They shared the same work ethic and became friends almost immediately, and between that and their hard efforts, they'd soon helped the humans get the heaviest parts of the frameworks in place and put together. The rest of the work the men could finish using scaffolding and lifts, and Hurricane enjoyed watching the last big project come to fruition over the following week, checking in whenever he made a fresh delivery of additional lumber and later on the new ties and rail lengths. Lexi and Merlin were kept busy throughout as well, fetching such orders as the artfully made wooden benches and bright orange, free-standing temporary barriers intended for use throughout the outdoor part of Sir Robert's new railway museum. Last to be added were the planters and the hanging baskets adorning the lights on the platforms, and for the castle courtyard area, there were several additional tent pavilions and plenty of colourful flags and banners for that festive touch. Every time Hurricane came up to Ulfstead there was something new to look at, and he began to get quite excited, especially after Lorne told him that he was a definite go to take part on opening day and that Guy would be joining him on display as well.
And Ulfstead Castle wasn't the only place getting ready! Late one afternoon Hurricane came back to the Knapford sheds to find the sidings next to their roundhouse full of glistening dark blue and black coaches. The two excursion trains pulled by Francois and Justin had been pulled out of winter storage, freshly lubricated, and then carefully cleaned, inside and out, and left to dry off in the sunshine. The two Canadian engines would give them a test run the next day, they told the A55 happily, after which they'd be returned to their own long protective shed until needed on the day of the railway museum's opening, for that would be their first outing of the year too, their first excursion jobs of the new season.
"Not one seat left unbooked!" Justin gloated happily. "And Adi's coaches filled up even quicker. It's going to be a huge crowd and a great year, I just know it. Two of the cruise ships are even coming in early just so they can catch the museum's opening, that's what Salty said he overheard."
"That's great!" Hurricane enthused in turn. "Geeze, I didn't realize you got so many tourists coming here. I remember there were some nice little railways up north over on the Mainland, where fans liked to go just to ride the rails for fun, but this is a lot bigger, isn't it? I mean, those coaches are huge! Regular size passenger jobs, aren't they?"
"Oui, many seats for ze many visitors, even zough two of zhem are brake coaches," Francois said. "But zhat is our main job now, to please ze tourists. Ze ones who ride with us, zhey are almost always very big enthusiasts and zhey love ze steam locos most of all. Justin and I, we always try hard to show zhem ze best day possible and zis new working rail museum will be wonderful for zhem…we are already very excited to see ze finished new work for ourselves!"
"Oh yeah, wait'll you clap eyes on the new towers and other stuff they set up for us. There's even a sand house!"
They chattered on, and when the remaining two members of their shed came in later, they joined right in to express their own general anticipation. Almost everyone they knew seemed to be invested in the big day to come. Justin talked about meeting Edward at one of the station stops and how even he expected to be heading some special-interest local passenger trips.
"Not quite like pulling an excursion train," he said, "but I guess some people visiting just want to see the historic sights. That's what Edward thought, anyway."
"Nanu? Ve engines are not historisch enough for zem?" Adler quipped, and Justin laughed.
"Well, Edward's group'll likely wind up at Ulfstead even so, even if they are just history buffs," Justin continued on. "The Earl has a lot of great old Sudrian relics on display up in that castle of his. And even someone who's not real keen on locos has to acknowledge Stephen as a special relic all on his own. That has to count for something." The big U4 suddenly laughed again. "That Stephen… If we're excited, imagine how he feels right now. He must be in his element!"
Guy, who'd been listening in carefully, smiled too. "Oui. 'e like ze fete," he said. "Moi aussi."
"We all like festivals," Francois agreed, and if that didn't sum up the locos' prevailing opinion in a nutshell very well that evening, than nothing could.
The next day, Hurricane came home after his work was finished to yet another surprise. The blue and black coaches were gone again, shunted back into their own big carriage shed straddling two separate sidings. Instead, a different, smaller shed which had been built for rolling stock had been opened up and workmen were busy cleaning its windows and even planting up the flowerboxes beneath each aperture. It was such an unusual coach shed, with its four big dutch doors and windows set at regular intervals into the side facing the yard proper, that Hurricane had thought at first that it might be a row of big loose boxes for horses, but of course a horse stable wouldn't have a railway track running through it, let alone have its two ends left wide open with only big tarps securing the openings. Those tarps were gone now and the shelter was airing out nicely. Hurricane couldn't see anything inside, nor was there anything new to be seen on the sidings elsewhere in the yard. He wondered if one of his shed-mates who hadn't come in yet was out on the rails testing yet another string of excursion coaches.
Hurricane got too distracted by other topics later on that evening to find out any more about the unusual shed with the four dutch doors, but the subject grabbed his attention again in a big way the following day. He came home to find Adler already in his berth and the mystery shed full…and its new inhabitants were talking up a storm!
"Are those your coaches?" he blurted to the German engine as he began backing into his own berth. "I didn't know they'd be alive!"
Adler just smiled and the big tank engine went silent himself for a time while his crew tended to him. They'd overheard his surprised exclamation, though, and both men paused to give his buffer plate a last affectionate pat before they left him for the evening.
"And now y' know why they got them doors," Lorne remarked. "Don't think the Canucks' trains care too much about windows either."
"Or geraniums or whatever it is they planted in those boxes," added Pat. "Adi'll fill you in… See you tomorrow, big guy."
"Yes. Thank you. Good night, sirs," their engine replied automatically, although without taking his eyes off the coach shed absorbing his attention. A minute more and the locos were finally alone and Adler felt free at last to respond to Hurricane's earlier query.
"My coaches, yes, zey are alive and I picked zem up zis morning at Vicarstown," he said. "It is too bad zey are not more close to us vhen zey are in ze stable. Zey haf much personality and conversation to share."
"I'll bet… What are their names?"
"Pompey, Beauregard, Richard und Margaret—she is ze brake coach. Missus Beauchamp and her Mann, zey use zem for years as zere movink apartment and office and travelled many, many thousands of kilometers together all over ze United States. Vhen Mister Beauchamp die, Missus Beauchamp, she sold all her railvay stock zu his brothers and leave zu live in England. But she alvays keep her coaches mit her. I zink zey mean many happy memories for her and zey are her friends and maybe more. She keeps zem in a special place next to her own house vhen zey are not here, vorkink, and even zat stable zey are in now…she had it built ze vay she vant so zey vould be comfortable before she vould let zem come here in ze yard."
Hurricane was by now quite speechless. He'd never heard of anyone designing special sheds for living rolling stock and already shared Adler's regret that his coaches weren't close enough to readily talk to. He could hear them a little bit, though, as they chatted away together, and could see their faces peering out of their individual, wide-open dutch doors. They reminded him of Thomas's two coaches, Annie and Clarabel, and did indeed look like real characters. Too bad he couldn't wave or nod like a human could, Hurricane thought. He wanted to acknowledge them now that he knew they'd been important enough to their owner to warrant being shipped over an entire ocean and wished he could welcome them to the Knapford yards himself.
"I guess it'd be rude to just yell over at them, huh?" he mused aloud, and Adler chuckled.
"Don't vorry. You can say hallo to zem soon. Ask your driver to run past zem tomorrow vhen you come in—I know he is kind and vould do zat for you."
"Good idea!" Hurricane exclaimed and settled again, content now to wait, although he continued to glance over at the new yard inhabitants from time to time for the remainder of the evening.
The next day. Hurricane made his request as Adi had suggested and his crew was indeed happy to oblige him. In truth, they wanted to talk to the coaches themselves. Both men had already done so in the past and found them quite comical. They switched over to the siding running next to the special shed so Hurricane could get his front as close as possible and then Pat gradually eased the engine along as required. Lorne, who normally drove, hopped out instead and walked along with Hurricane to introduce him to the four coaches and it turned into quite a jolly affair as they moved from one door to the next in order to give everyone their due attention. When Pompey, the lead coach, learned the chestnut tank engine's name, he exclaimed, "Hurricane! Well, now I shall surely feel right at home whenever I look at you. We experienced so many tropical storms and hurricanes when we used to travel the coastal routes back in the USA every summer and fall. Our engines had to sometimes detour to avoid flooding on the tracks, but they always got us through!"
Hurricane returned to his berth soon after that last brief chat, happy to have made four new friends. He still didn't like trucks or any other rolling stock he considered insolent and uncooperative, but these American coaches…they were all right. He could understand why Adler seemed so fond of them and why humans would want to ride inside them.
Lorne and Pat came extra early for Hurricane the next morning, but not to work. They had an appointment with the day shift up at the Crovan's Gate Steamworks, they told him cheerfully, where he'd stay for the day and overnight to be primped and have all the little scrapes and dings he'd accumulated rasped down and painted over. It was one of the best and most appreciated indicators yet of the big tank engine's change in status. Although always kept well-maintained and clean enough to remain in good working order while he'd worked at the Mainland steelworks, his looks hadn't exactly been a matter of high priority while there. Now they were. Hurricane was well-pleased as he basked in all the attention showered upon him at the Works that day and was happy to have the rest.
To add to his pleasure, one of the narrow gauge engines from the Skarloey Railway, a gentle little loco named Luke, also soon arrived to undergo his own cosmetic makeover and overnight stay. Luke was quite leery of Hurricane at first. He'd only ever previously seen him from a distance, and his formidable appearance and the way he could frighten even the naughtiest truck into submission when he picked up trains at the Blue Mountain Quarry made him seem very intimidating. But then Luke also saw how kindly the big tank engine interacted with Victor and Kevin and how polite he was to the men tending to him, and his apprehension eased and he was able to respond to Hurricane's friendly overtures. Before long, all four machines were chatting together like old friends. The atmosphere in the shop was always quite relaxed when engines visited for easy routine maintenance and aesthetic jobs.
Most of the touch-ups Hurricane required were to his undercarriage and buffers. His front buffer plate in particular needed a whole new coat of bright red and his old number added again afterwards in yellow. The only real change made to his livery in the end was that the exterior of his coal bunker was repainted and the letters NWR added on either side, large black lettering outlined with yellow to indicate whom he now worked for. More lettering, smaller and a discreet black alone, was added further down beneath that…his GER A55 acknowledgement and confirmation for the trainspotters that he was indeed that A55, even if his driving wheels had been reconfigured. Hurricane had always been a smart-looking engine and now he looked even sharper.
When Hurricane's crew came to retrieve him the next morning, he got yet another surprise. They were hitching a ride aboard Guy, the Canadian Northern who was coming in for his own appointment that day, and besides the two extra humans, he brought with him his enormous driftbuster plow, which was due for its own repainting along with himself. Hurricane couldn't help goggling as the fitters attached the overhead chains needed to lift and remove the plow for a while. The thing looked as big as many a narrow gauge engine.
"Isn't that plow heavy?" he exclaimed.
"'eavy?" Guy pondered, then smiled. "Ah. Non. Not for me," he replied.
And once fired up, as Hurricane began to depart the Works a short time later, he was granted one last treat. He spotted one of the other narrow gauge engines from the Blue Mountain Quarry chuffing in along the branch of the little engines' own Skarloey Railway which connected them directly with the steamworks; in fact, it looked as though it might be Skarloey himself, the oldest of the quarry locos. Alas, Hurricane's crew turned him off onto the mainlines before the big steamer could be sure. The one thing he was certain of was that the approaching engine had his cab full, for Luke had told him the day before that one of his colleagues would be coming in the following morning for some routine maintenance of his own and that he'd be bringing along Luke's driver.
Hurricane reached the Knapford roundhouse in good order just before noon and there he spent the remainder of the day, with Adler, Justin and Francois to keep him company. The opening of Sir Robert Norramby's railway museum was only a few days away and no one wanted to risk any of the excursion engines incurring a last minute ding, let alone getting involved in an accident. Hurricane went out though, on one last job the very next day, pulling his own very first legitimate passenger train for his new railway. The two short coaches he was towing had been chartered by the Island's birdwatching society.
As passenger work went, it was some of the most leisurely Hurricane had ever experienced. They had to pick up their passengers in Vicarastown to accommodate a fair number of folks who were visiting from the Mainland, then pretty much just went wherever the spokesman for the group wanted them to for the remainder of the day. The best part was that Hurricane got to see some places which he hadn't yet, like Great Waterton. Birds apparently liked hanging around in the woods surrounding obscure towns. They also spent a lot of time parked in sidings close to forested areas next to fields—'edge habitat' Hurricane overheard the passengers call it whenever they'd disembark and start searching with their binoculars and cameras—and cruising the stations all along the Peel Godred branch line. The only time any of them really took any notice of the uncommon engine pulling their train was during their lunch stop at Kirk Machan. A couple meandered up while munching on a shared bagful of hot greasy chips, regarded Hurricane for a moment, then the man remarked, "That's odd. They usually drag around a load of coal with them. I wonder why this fellow doesn't?"
Luckily for the couple, the answer was only feet away. Lorne and Pat were sitting on one of the platform benches at the station and scarfing down a couple of bagfuls of chips of their own and perked up the instant they overheard the birdwatcher's comments.
"That engine there," Lorne said, "he's got coal, but it's in that bunker right behind our cab. He's a tank engine, y'see, not one of them tender engines wot carry the bigger loads yer thinkin' of."
"A tank engine! My word, I thought tank engines were much smaller."
"They are. Most of 'em are. This lad here, though, he's real special. He's the biggest tank engine England ever built and he'll be up at that railway museum opening at Ulfstead Castle this weekend. His name's Hurricane."
"Goodness," the female half of the couple added, "Well, we're pleased to meet you, Hurricane. You'll have to excuse our ignorance, but we're more used to having a large green engine join our field trips. That one is called Henry, I believe."
"Oh yeah, we know Henry! And he's a proper tender engine all right so it's no surprise y' got confused. There's not too much difference between 'em, size-wise, Henry and Hurricane."
"No, there certainly isn't…" the man agreed, and after that, the couple spread the word and most of the passengers glanced at Hurricane with greater interest whenever they walked past him on one of their remaining stops. A few even said hello to him, but not too many. He would have had to sprout feathers in order to fully engage their attention.
Their day's outing finished up in Vicarstown again just before sunset and their passengers poured out to continue on to their final destinations, all of them enthusing excitedly about having seen so many wonderful 'spring migrants' (whatever those were, Hurricane thought, listening in). As a result, the engine and his crew didn't get back to Knapford until after dark, but that was okay. He could sleep in the next morning all he wanted, Lorne told him, for the only thing left was to clean him up and take him up to Ulfstead; there'd be no more work until then, either for Hurricane or any of his shed-mates. Their humans would need to work, however. It was never an easy matter to get five big locos and three strings of excursion coaches so well spit and polished that they'd withstand the very closest scrutiny.
The Knapford engines enjoyed one more peaceful spell before their preparations began in earnest. As promised, aside from some yard workers opening the doors to their individual berths at dawn the next day, no one bothered them all morning and the locos were free to pass the time by idly chatting amongst themselves, listening to the sounds of work going on at the nearby station proper, or just dozing away in the sunshine. Now and then they'd hear the far-off whistle of a big steamer approaching and think that it might be Guy returning, but the tone was never quite right and sure enough the big Northern never did appear. They hoped that their missing shed-mate's paintjob had gone off as planned. Guy had already been advertised to be on display at the railway museum's opening and it would be embarrassing if he was late because someone had messed up his colours or because the paint itself wouldn't dry.
Just after noontime, everything changed. Philip, their own station's diesel shunter, suddenly whirred into the roundhouse yard. "I'm here!" he cried, his voice so eager and sickly-cheerful that it could induce a sugar coma. "Ready to shunt and I'll be here all day! Who wants to go first?"
Justin chuckled. He actually liked the little boxcab.
"You can take me out if your driver's willing to attach my chain. I haven't seen my own crew yet," he said.
"No problem, laddy," Philip's driver replied, hopping out. He sounded uncannily like his engine, enthusiastic to the max. Hurricane watched with interest as the man briefly entered Justin's own cab, then came back around carrying a thick length of chain partially padded with leather. Justin's front was fully streamlined and Hurricane had wondered in the past how such engines handled certain shunting situations. Now he saw for the first time that the big U4 did in fact have a curved buffer bar artfully installed to blend with his skirting and that the bar had an accessible back slot that was just wide enough to take the padded portion of the chain. A quick jump back into Philip's cab to ease the two disparate locos together, head to head, another hop out and a quick flip of the chain's bare end links over Philip's front coupling hook, and both machines were good to go. A yard worker came over to lend a hand with the turntable and some points to help direct Justin back into the wash shed after that. Hurricane was impressed by how easily Philip managed the tall steam engine's weight throughout. He was a deceptively strong little sucker!
"Dibs on gettin' in next after the Canuck!" someone yelled, and all the engines shifted their gazes en masse to behold the welcome sight of a number of their crews walking into the yard. Hurricane's driver, Lorne, was the one who'd yelled.
"Here at last," his fireman Pat added as both men came up to their engine. "Ready to roll?"
"Yes, sir!" Hurricane cast a glance at what he could still see of Justin. His crew too had arrived, both of them clad in heavy duty coveralls, and he could hear the men thanking Philip's driver for getting started without them. All three humans began spritzing Justin with the hoses, getting him nice and wet before soaping him up. Hurricane was already looking forward to his turn. He loved getting a hot wash with lots of suds.
More yard workers showed up at that point and then came a van full of older boys…apprentices who were hoping to someday become firemen and drivers. The pace picked up significantly and Hurricane soon found himself scrubbed within an inch of his life, rinsed, and shunted back onto the short piece of track directly in front of his berth. There, he—and Justin too—were primped some more once dry and carefully lubricated one last time to dispel any water that might have gotten in where it shouldn't. Lorne and Pat hauled out the scaffolding to give Hurricane's face some extra attention and his driver himself gave him a rubdown with a bit of light oil to give the malleable alloy surface that final finishing sheen. Pat, meanwhile, busied himself inside Hurricane's cab. The big tank engine was enjoying his grooming so much that he didn't notice at first that what Pat was doing was setting a fire.
Hurricane's eyes widened, although he didn't say anything. Well, this was odd! He was already perfectly placed for shunting back into his own berth, something he knew Philip could accomplish with ease. Why on Earth fire him up so he could move under his own power? Lorne got down, put the scaffolding away, then returned after a while with a polishing brush and rag to add a few last finishing touches. He'd also changed out of his coveralls and put on his crewman's uniform. The implication was too much for Hurricane to remain silent any longer.
"Mister Paulson? Are we going somewhere?"
Lorne grinned. "Of course we're going somewhere, you great silly toaster. Why d'you think we're gettin' you all dolled up?"
"Up to Ulfstead, you mean?"
"Bingo. Pat and I, we just thought it'd be nice to take you up early so y' can chat with your experimental buddies tonight. We'll be back up tomorrow afternoon, see the sights a bit, watch the fireworks, then take you home. Sound like a good deal, big guy?"
Pat stuck his head out of Hurricane's cab. "Actually, Lorne just wants to sleep in in the morning. He's got his own ideas about how to celebrate the museum's opening, and he's doing it a day early, if you catch my drift."
"Aw shuddup! Don't you have a firebox or summat to stick your head into?"
Hurricane smirked. He'd observed enough of human behaviour over the years to know exactly what Mister Greene was getting at.
True to their words, it wasn't much later that afternoon before his crew had Hurricane steaming up the long curving track hugging the highlands that supported the Ulfstead Castle estate grounds. He wasn't the only early arrival either. Hurricane had learned en route that Guy would be heading up too as soon as they'd finished polishing up his new livery some at the Sodor Steamworks, and sure enough found the big Northern engine already parked in his slot at one of the display platforms. Millie, who'd just finished shunting the freshly washed experimental engines into their roundhouse, was still present too, parked head to head with Guy so the two foreign engines could have a lively conversation in their native French.
Brief verbal pandemonium broke out as the other engines spotted the A55 chuffing into their midst. The resident experimentals were more than happy to share their sheds with their friend, and Hurricane was soon ensconced in one of the empty berths, the lot of them left alone to exchange all the latest engine gossip and get a good night's rest. Guy would remain at his current spot at the display platform. He was just too big to fit in the estate roundhouse and it would be too awkward for Millie to try moving him from behind, not to mention that he might be too heavy for her, given the considerable weight added by his plow. The big Northern wouldn't be alone, though. Millie stayed right where she was too, to keep him company. In fact, the last thing Hurricane heard before he later drifted off to sleep was Guy's deep bass voice and Millie's much higher, distinctive feminine tones rising and falling as they talked, the incomprehensible words softened almost into melody by distance. It was a pleasant backdrop indeed to accompany his slow slide into temporary oblivion.
When Hurricane's eyes next popped wide open, all he saw at first was orange. It was still very early, predawn at best, and it was going to be a colourful sunrise through layers of low fog and haze. If Hurricane had had a better grasp of popular weather lore, he might have been a tad alarmed by the prospect of a red sky in the morning, but he was blissfully ignorant of such things and merely watched Millie's crew start firing her up preparatory to moving the roundhouse engines out and into their display slots. His expectations that he was about to experience a fun and exciting day rose at about the same rate as the little narrow gauge engine's steam pressures.
When it was Hurricane's turn to be coupled up and towed out, he looked happily over past the wash shed to where there was a grand panoramic view of the landscape west of Ulfstead. Alas, what he managed to see of the far horizon as Millie began to pull him forward only horrified him.
"Oh no!"
"What?" Millie cried, equally alarmed.
"Everything's fogged in! Nobody'll be able to see a thing down there."
But the other engines, overhearing, didn't seem at all concerned that Ulfstead Castle currently seemed perched upon an island in a sea of white.
"Don't worry about that!" Lexi called over to him. "We've had a lot of early morning mist around this past month. It won't last."
"Yes. It's just shallow radioactive fog." Merlin added. "It'll burn off as soon as the sun gets a little higher."
"I hope so," Hurricane said. He hated the thought of Justin, Francois and Adi having to pull their special passengers through fog so dense that no one would see a thing, not to mention that thick enough fog could bring any train to a screeching halt. He remained silent while Millie completed the maneuvers needed to back him into place in front of Guy, still feeling a little concerned.
"Voila," the little narrow gauge engine exclaimed as her driver hopped briefly out to uncouple her. "Hurricane, you should not worry. It is still very, very early. Everything will dry up and it will soon be a perfect sunny day, you will see."
"Okay. I guess you've been on Sodor a lot longer than me and know best. I just don't want to see the Earl's special day ruined, y'know?"
That prompted a little laugh and earned him a charming smile. "I do know and you are very kind, Hurricane, to think of such things. But we will have luck with the weather this time. There is rain coming tomorrow, or maybe even tonight. But not today!"
"Thanks, Millie!"
The other experimental engines plus Guy added their own appreciation and farewells as the little French engine reversed and began scooting on back to the platforms up by the Castle. She would remain there for the remainder of the day, ready to troubleshoot if necessary and take some of the estate rail tours should Stephen and Glynn's presence be in especially high demand.
The bright orange dawn light abruptly lightened as the rising sun drew clear of the hazy radiation fog that had so alarmed Hurricane and which still lay in cottony patches in the hollows of the land below. A lorry and several cars used the service lane to drive up next to the new display area and a bunch of people hopped out and began unloading folding chairs and tables, coolers and sun umbrellas…all the little niceties that would ensure that the Friends Of Steam volunteers who'd be minding the display engines for the day would be comfortable while they interacted with the public. Hurricane already knew a lot of the volunteers from his days of bringing building materials up to Ulfstead and watched them with interest as they set up their stations. Every one of them had their special favourites, it seemed. They began separating themselves into little groups, one set of humans per locomotive, all of them talking about who was going where and for how long and when.
Eventually, some of the folks who'd exited the vehicles got back inside them and drove off. In the meantime, an older woman, shadowed by a much younger one, both of them wearing their bright yellow Friends Of Steam vests, came up to Hurricane's front and greeted him cheerfully. The big A55 was very happy to see her. He already recognized her from having had several pleasant encounters with her in the recent past and was delighted when she informed him that she'd be with him throughout the morning along with several other special fans of his.
"My granddaughter here, Eloise, is already quite taken with you," Missus Sullivan teased, patting the younger one on both shoulders. "Say hello to the nice engine, Eloise. He won't bite."
"Hi," the granddaughter said shyly. She was very slight, ginger-haired, freckle-faced, and blushed furiously when Hurricane replied and addressed her as 'Miss Eloise'. He wondered if she'd ever actually spoken to an engine before. Surprisingly large numbers of people never did, even those who were fond enough of locos to want to come right up and look at them.
The strengthening light being thrown by the rising sun was starting to feel warm on Hurricane's face. The fog on the lowlands was likely already dissipating, just as Merlin and Millie had said it would; he'd seen for himself how quickly the fog surrounding Knapford some nights could burn off come morning if the skies were clear. Hurricane heaved a huge sigh of relief. He hadn't realized until just now how truly invested he'd become in the whole business of the new museum's opening.
The big tank engine turned his attention onto the goings-on up by the Castle proper. From what he could see of the station platforms and rail lines there, the broad terraced expanse between them and the courtyard area itself, all had suddenly begun to bustle. Many new people were walking into view from the direction of the parking lot tucked in behind the Castle and its immediate outbuildings and the flaps on the temporary tent pavilions were being opened up. A crackle shot through the air, followed by an electronic whine. The temporary PA system which had been set up especially for this opening day had been turned on, and even the display engines could then hear the distinctive amplified voice of Sir Robert Norramby himself as he tested the system, then artlessly proclaimed "Oh jolly good! It works!" before signing off. Then they all saw the distinctive form of Stephenson's Rocket himself chuffing into view along one of the courtyard lines, closely followed by Glynn, the last of the vertical boiler engine fleet which had once worked on the North Western Railway. Both old engines would be kept fired up all day and kept next to one of the station's through platforms, where they'd alternate between serving as living displays and pulling the open-carriage train tour of the estate's extensive grounds. It was an incredibly rare opportunity for any rail fan to see such antiques at all, let alone witness them actually still functioning in a working environment.
Music began to waft through the air. Sodor's own Brass Band had evidently arrived and set up. Then the gates controlling public access must've been flung wide open for the numbers of people flooding into the Castle area suddenly swelled into bona fide crowds. From speaking with Sir Robert's resident engines over the past month, all the watching locos at the display platforms knew that the new railway museum proper was contained within the Castle itself and involved many, many railroading artifacts and displays to be looked at and studied and admired. But they too—all the engines present and their stabling and even their amenities—were a part of it as well…the practical part. Hurricane still felt a little weird to think of himself that way, that he too was a museum piece of sorts and an important footnote in England's record of innovative engine design. He'd always just considered himself an ordinary guy, maybe a little bigger than most for a tanker, but otherwise nothing special.
A number of visitors began drifting their way, using the new dirt roadway to reach them. Some of the people stopped to line the orange barriers between them and the new service siding to speak with several volunteers who were minding the area specifically to talk about the new structures and how they were used to keep steam engines running through their daily routines. Most, however, kept hurrying along, eager to see the display engines and visit the new parkland and paths that looped past the new roundhouse. Everyone coming over was familiar with railway stations and riding the trains, of course. Having a good look at what the engines pulling the trains called home during their off-duty hours, though...that would be a novelty for many fans who'd never managed a peek behind the scenes, as it were.
Missus Sullivan was already smiling with anticipation as she watched the oncoming happy horde. "Now we'll find out who's bothered to read their booklets," she remarked to Hurricane.
The engine knew just what she was referencing and smiled as well. Everyone visiting the museum opening was entitled to a free informative little full-colour booklet being handed out, which detailed all the major exhibits and engines they'd see on the premises that day. Lorne had already shown Hurricane his own advance copy and the big tank engine had been thrilled to see that he and all his attending friends each had their very own page, complete with an identifying picture, a little write-up, and the sorts of general specs about each individual's class which general fans and kids in particular liked to know, their length, height, weight, top speed and so forth. There were also sheets with more history and technical information available at the volunteers' tables, Hurricane knew—indeed, he had two sheets devoted to himself, one of them detailing the redesign of his drive mechanisms. Guy actually had the biggest entry in the booklet, just as befitted the biggest engine on site. He'd been splashed all over the center pages, including a marvelous action photo of him caught in mid-charge as he'd attacked the paralyzing snowdrifts over on the Mainland during the past winter.
And then, quite suddenly, their platform island was swarming with visitors. Hurricane eagerly looked them over. It was very different already from having a lot of people milling about at a big active station. There, the humans were typically either walking by after disembarking or to get to one specific platform, or they stood together near a still empty platform as they waited for their train to come in. A few rail fans might come up if an engine was sitting idle for a while and the odd passenger sometimes thanked an engine for providing a smooth ride, but mostly, humans who were travelling tended to ignore the locomotives who pulled their coaches. Not this time, though. This time all the humans present had come to see the engines and nothing but the engines, and a lot of them wanted snapshots of them to boot to keep as souvenirs!
The first people Hurricane talked to were a pair of older men who were obvious enthusiasts. "Here he is!" he overheard one of them exclaim as the pair walked forward into his field of vision. "The A55 Decapod. I saw him working up around Newcastle sometimes after the GER amalgamated years ago. God, he's still big! Even larger than I remember. Still the biggest bloomin' tank engine I've ever seen."
"He's not really a decapod anymore, though…is he? Do his drivers all have to be connected for that or is he a…" The other man speaking paused as he quickly counted off the rods on Hurricane's wheels. "…6-4 now that he's got two driving arrays?"
"He'd be a 0-6-4-0, I guess. Huh. Sounds weird. Like he's one of those articulated Yank engines."
"What led to the redesign anyway? Not enough play for the curves or…?"
"It was work related," Missus Sullivan interjected at that point. "But you should ask Hurricane himself about that."
"Oh?"
The two men looked at each other as if majorly surprised, then the one who'd spoken first addressed the engine as suggested, albeit in an oddly hesitant manner.
"So, uh, Hurricane is it? You had this…different sort of job?"
"Hyuh, I did! I was bought to pull goods at this steelworks on the Mainland and they wanted me to be able to work inside the plant."
"Ah! Of course. A restricted worksite. That'd be hard on any ten-wheeler…impossible for one as long as you, I gather."
"It was, sir. But once my drives were changed, I could work inside just fine." He glanced over at Missus Sullivan, who was nodding with approval, and added, "There's a sheet all about my redesign available at the table by my cab. And another with lots more technical stuff about me too, if you want to know more."
Both enthusiasts perked up upon hearing that.
"Thanks," one said. "We'll get them right now." And off the two went towards Hurricane's cab, not even bothering to acknowledge the engine any further or his two minders either. Missus Sullivan just shook her head, chuckling a little to herself.
"Typical," she said to her granddaughter and the locomotive in their wake. "I'm sure they love engines in their own way, but some fans, the very earnest ones, do tend to forget that there's a living personality inside some of their favourites. But we'll help them remember, won't we, Eloise? And you too, Hurricane. What you said to them was just right, by the way. You're a very good boy."
Hurricane beamed as the woman followed up with an affectionate pat on his buffer plate. He just knew that the rest of the day was going to be splendid.
The morning soon turned into a whirl of social activity. It wasn't long before the display engines had already been admired by hundreds of visitors and been photographed up the ying-yang—the opening of Sir Robert Norramby's railway museum was already a hit! Hurricane found himself liking his interactions with the kids the most. It was easy to make them laugh. He'd just make eye contact with the bold, confident ones and say "Hullo. My name is Hurricane, like the storm, whoosh!" and they'd giggle and sometimes jump up and down with excitement, which in turn would very much please their parents. He also especially liked it when someone who worked for the railway, a yard worker or station guard perhaps, would stop by to introduce him to their family. It was just nice to see the hard-working men choosing to spend their precious time off visiting with the very engines they supported and wanting to share them with their spouses and children. And it made Hurricane feel a stronger connection with all the people who cared for and made use of him, a better sense of being part of the entire railway community, both human and machine. It was a pleasant bonus to being on display, Hurricane decided early on. He hadn't expected that the experience would make him feel so good about himself.
About midway through the morning hours, when the sun was shining high in the still cloudless sky though still rising towards its zenith, a shriek of excitement from Lexi suddenly cut through all the background noise and arrested almost everyone present. "Look look look!" she cried. "Look who came in! Up by the Castle!"
Of course everyone looked. And while Hurricane was a little slow to clue in as to the reason for all the screaming, his minder, Missus Sullivan, was not. She grabbed for her granddaughter's arm with one hand and pointed with the other.
"Oh my! So that's who they meant by 'a very special guest'!" she exclaimed happily. "Do you know who that is, Eloise?"
Her granddaughter peered closely at a new engine that had just arrived and was easing to a stop at one of the through platforms near Stephen and Glynn, a sleek streamlined loco pulling a single coach, both of them painted a striking mid-blue. They could already hear a spontaneous cheer erupting from the Castle crowds.
"It looks like Mallard," Eloise breathed.
"Exactly right." Missus Sullivan let go of her arm, gave her bottom a little swat instead. "Go scoot on up and have a look at him while you can. You'll never have a better opportunity to see him while he's on an actual job!"
Eloise, encouraged, hurried off along with a fair number of the visitors on the display platform and nearby; as her grandmother had intimated, there was no telling how long the famous A4 speedster was planning on staying. Hurricane, meanwhile, was busy sorting out what he knew about the named engine in his own mind. He'd likewise recognized Mallard at once, or at least had recognized his class and typical livery, and was trying to remember why.
"So, um, he's that record holder, right, ma'am?" he asked Missus Sullivan. "The fastest steam engine?"
The woman patted him, beaming.
"That's right, Hurricane. The fastest steam engine in the world. I heard rumours that he'd be bringing some visitors in from the Mainland, but they didn't want to advertise it, just in case the timing didn't work out and they had to send someone else. I'm so glad he made it, though. Hopefully, Eloise can find out if he and his passengers are staying for the rest of the day."
"Oh, so that's why you sent her over."
"Yes." She patted the A55's slick red buffer plate again, then laughed aloud. "I'm afraid we'll have to settle for secondary status for a while, my dear. Everyone will want to see Mallard."
Hurricane didn't mind. He was even kind of glad to have a breather. Meeting and greeting so many rail fans in so short a time was turning out to be great fun for him, but it was also a little exhausting!
Eloise soon came scampering back. "Well?" Missus Sullivan asked. "Is he staying awhile?"
"Until teatime," Eloise reported, a little breathlessly. "That's when they all have to go back, so they can get home in time to work tomorrow."
"Splendid! Did you see anything of the people Mallard brought over? Recognize anyone?"
This time her granddaughter started to squirm.
"Ummmmmm…I dunno! They went in the Castle. With the Earl and Sir Topham Hatt."
"Well, I'm sure they'll be over this way eventually." She stared over at the Castle, its platforms now dominated by the handsome blue A4 Pacific. "You know, I think I'll go over and have a look myself right now, maybe do a little snooping. You'll be all right on your own, yes, dear? Just keep your tech sheet handy in case any of the enthusiasts ask you for some numbers and make sure no one bangs around too hard on Hurricane's undercarriage."
"Oh! Um."
"That's a good girl. You be good too, Hurricane. Toodle-loo!"
And with a last gleeful little wave, off Missus Sullivan strode to take in Mallard's locomotive splendors for herself. Eloise, left behind, looked stricken. When she glanced up at Hurricane, he tried to smile reassuringly at her, which only made her blush again and start gnawing on her fingernails.
To her credit, though, she stuck it out. And when another kid came bouncing up a few minutes later and asked her how old Hurricane was, she was able to answer that he'd been built in 1902 in a breathy little voice.
"Wow!" the boy exclaimed, then turned to a woman who was just pushing a stroller with a much smaller child in it past the tank engine's cab, "Mom! Mom! They made this one in 1902!"
"That's nice. I think that little yellow one up by the Castle was a lot older, though," the mom said.
"I like this one better. He's cool!" the boy insisted. He started to reach, remembered his manners, looked towards Eloise. "Can I touch him?" he asked.
"Uh, sure. They like to be petted."
And as the eager little hand began patting over his foremost great driving wheel, Hurricane too added his permission and approval, wordlessly, as he gazed serenely down at the little family and his very youthful guardian. It just felt good to be admired and appreciated for no other reason than for being exactly who and what he was—a big powerful locomotive built for hard work.
When Missus Sullivan finally returned from swooning over Mallard, Eloise was still standing by Hurricane's front, still chewing on her nails from time to time, but with her other hand now firmly planted on the engine's slick buffer plate. Missus Sullivan was glad. She could see that the two of them had become friends.
It was good that the older woman had come back for a pair of wailing whistles soon announced the arrival of the two excursion trains pulled by the Canadian engines, Justin and Francois. On this occasion, both let their passengers off at the Castle platforms before chuffing round again to temporarily park their coaches in the siding area before easing into place themselves at the unused display platform next to the roundhouse.
"Having fun?" Justin called to his friends. He had to almost shout to be heard over an announcement being concluded on the PA system, one extolling his own virtues and those of Francois and urging everyone present to be sure and visit with them before they left again at noon. Some of the Friends Of Steam volunteers began to go over to mind the new locos' cabs so their crews could take a break and do some rail sightseeing of their own. "Anyone know who that blue joker is up by the Castle?" Justin added in jest, and the other engines laughed. The big streamlined U4 was evidently in an excellent mood. He and Francois settled down after that to focus on the humans flocking around them. The size of the Canadian locomotives alone drew a lot of attention, although neither of them stood out quite as much as their shed-mate Guy and his amazing oversized driftbuster plow.
The next hour passed in another pleasant blur for Hurricane. With Missus Sullivan's urging, he spoke with many more visitors, young and old, and continued to comport himself very well. The estate grounds became so busy that the day took on a carnival atmosphere, and any time Hurricane had a moment to himself and thought to look up towards the Castle platforms, it seemed as though someone new had come in. Once it was the little narrow gauge engine, Luke, dropping off his own railway's controller Mister Percival. Another time he glanced over and saw the two Mainland express engines, Caitlin and Conner, ease to a stop and begin disgorging their passengers. The oddest arrival was what at first seemed a duplicate of Mallard, except wrapped all in silver. And just like the first A4, he or she was pulling a single coach. Then a fresh rush of visitors who'd earlier disembarked from the Mainland engines came over and Hurricane became far too distracted to give the puzzle of the duplicate engine any more thought. There were just so many nice people who wanted to talk to him and so many photos they wanted to take. Hurricane's face soon became almost numb from all the smiling he did.
A flash of movement caught his eye and he looked over at the other platform in time to see a big new tender engine slide into place opposite the two resting Canadian locos. It was the silver Mallard lookalike! And also like him, a male engine and just as streamlined and slick. Hurricane was quite excited to see him up close and felt compelled to greet him.
"Hullo," he offered in a cheerful tone, then found out why no one else had volunteered to be the first to welcome the new guy into their midst.
"Oh-h, is this really necessary?" the stranger moaned, totally ignoring Hurricane's greeting. "Why can' t I stay up at the other platforms?"
His disembarking crew, who had a look of long-standing exasperation about them, sighed right along with their engine.
"You know perfectly well why," his driver said to him. "The Duke and Duchess plan to stay for the rest of the day and want you to remain right here until they're ready to leave after the fireworks. There's too much traffic running in and out by the Castle right now. You'd just be in the way."
"Mallard's in the way too." Now the silver stranger sounded like a petulant teen. The two men who'd gotten out of his cab and who were now pausing by his front to regard him, just rolled their eyes.
"Mallard is an invited special guest. You just served as private transport for several visitors and now you're going to serve as a bonus display engine for a while. We'll be back before sunset to fire you up again. Till then, all these good folks volunteering to mind you today are in charge, okay? So behave yourself for them. And have a nice day."
And then, off the two men walked, although not before exchanging grins and head nods with several Friends Of Steam people who'd already sidled closer to the new engine in the meantime. Hurricane, too fascinated by the little drama he was witnessing to feel rebuffed by the silver loco's earlier rudeness, couldn't help starting to grin right along with the humans. Evidently there was some longstanding personal history at play here…
…history which even his own shed-mates were privy to. Justin suddenly spoke up.
"Cheer up, Spencer," he called. "This is where the real rail enthusiasts come anyway, not just your everyday tourists. Some of them might even recognize you."
"All the more reason I should be up there alongside Mallard," the silver engine named Spencer grumbled on. "How did they get him to come here in the first place? Doesn't he have work to do over on the Mainland?"
"I am sure he have friends to fill in and spare him while he visit," Francois the other Canadian parked across from Spencer added. "It is a good zing, what he do for ze Earl. How often do ze humans open up a railway museum?"
"Exactly!" chirped Lexi. "And you're a part of it now. And you get to spend the afternoon with us!"
Spencer just groaned again, pitifully. One of the volunteers patted him as if in sympathy. But he was smiling too, as he did it, grinning just as much as his own crewmen had grinned, and Hurricane began to understand that this was one engine whose words shouldn't be taken too seriously; trying to jolly him out of his griping was the best way to handle him, it seemed. And what had Justin meant about people recognizing him? Who was this Spencer, anyhow? Hurricane had recognized him instantly as another A4, a class that was somewhat related to their main express engine, Gordon, but didn't really know much about such types and their history beyond that…oh, except that they were fast, of course.
A little sibling rivalry, Hurricane guessed, although he had to rather sadly acknowledge that he'd never have any firsthand experience with such things…that's what's got him upset. Still didn't excuse him being so friggin' rude, though…
On the plus side, despite his whining, Spencer's presence did make for an even better display for all the visitors and he did offer up an excellent example of modern streamlining once the two Canadian engines gathered up their coaches and passengers again and left shortly after his arrival. And he did already have a surprising number of fans who were willing to walk over and climb up on his platform just to get closer to him. Several times Hurricane overheard kids yelling some variant of "Look, Dad, it's Spencer! Spencer's here!", after which over they'd go to say hello. Spencer was always decent to the fans, too. It went a long way towards making up for his brief self-absorbed pity party in Hurricane's mind, and he eventually tried again to make nice with the silver A4 during a lull.
"Hey, ah, Spencer? So I gather you're a private engine, right? You're not attached to any sort of company anymore?"
It turned out to be the perfect thing to ask.
"Yes. I gave up working for the railways years ago. I belong to the Duke and Duchess of Boxford now and I take them wherever they need to go," he replied, preening a little. "And you, you're that giant tank engine they built to prove that steam could compete with the electrics at the time, aren't you?"
"Hyuh, I am," Hurricane said, surprised. Well, he wasn't entirely dumb… "I used to be ten-coupled, too. The first one."
"I overheard the Duke talk about you when you were first purchased by Sir Topham Hatt. Our owners are good friends, you know. Good show upholding the value of steam power, by the way. I suppose none of us would be here now had you failed."
"Uh, thanks…I guess. I just tried to do my job, though."
"That's all any of us can do," Merlin abruptly interjected. "Try."
"With variable end results, of course. That's a-a whole different department," Theo concluded, and then all of them were chuckling together, even Guy and even the volunteers who'd been listening in on their chat. Hurricane got the distinct impression that the humans were glad that he and his friends were including Spencer in their banter. The silver engine was probably his own worst enemy much of the time.
It went quite well after that. Several times, Spencer gazed longingly over at the Castle platforms where Stephen, Glynn and Mallard were holding court and sighed, but for the most part he seemed content enough to just sit and tend to his own occasional visitors. Before long, the noon hour lull passed and the foot traffic picked up again. People started hanging around, filling up the numerous bench seats on their platform islands and sited along the expansive walkway past the experimentals' roundhouse and then began just standing together in little groups, everyone chatting happily together. Hurricane looked about curiously, wondering what was going on.
"Why so many visitors all of a sudden?" he asked Lexi. "Is someone else joining us?"
"No idea. This is my first display party too!" she shot back excitedly. "Oh! Maybe it's that other shed-mate of yours they're waiting on. The one with the special excursion train. He's supposed to be all dressed up, with flags and everything."
"You mean Adi? Aw sludge, I didn't know that! He was still just getting cleaned up when I left the yard yesterday. I never saw any decorations."
"Millie told us they put a display sign on his forward running board too," Theo said. He paused and trembled hard, almost bouncing, as excited as Lexi. "He's going to come in just across from Spencer, I just know it!"
Spencer, overhearing, rolled his eyes. "Great," he muttered, envisioning even more unfair competition.
As it turned out, Spencer had every reason to fear the competition for Adler came in with his train mere minutes later and he and his crew were doing all they could to make his entrance a spectacular one. His deep whistle wailed an announcement before he even reached the estate grounds and added several follow-up blasts once he had. The waiting crowd yelled back and clapped, and scores of people started snapping madly away with their cameras. Hurricane wasn't able to actually see Adler until the German engine began easing to a halt far forward on his platform, but when he did…amazing! His long, forward-jutting running board was sporting a metal welcome sign and the railings bordering the body of his boiler were all gussied up with rosettes and connecting banners. Most impressive of all were his two flags, both huge and offset just past his face, where they could furl out and stream backward unimpeded in the slightest breeze. Hurricane just had to grin. His friend looked the very picture of a tourist engine.
Adler's cheeks were flushed. His driver had cranked his pressures up way past what he really needed before they'd begun their climb up to Ulfstead, just so he'd have lots of surplus steam to expel during his arrival. The excess was still escaping and wafting up about his undercarriage. It made him look as though he were perched upon a earthbound cloud and very picturesque.
"Hallo! I hope everyzing is goink good," he called over to his friends on the other platform before his passengers began the business of disembarking. "Hallo, Spencer. Zis is a surprise, to see you here."
Lexi laughed. "Spencer's part of our bonus display!" she called back. "Two A4s for the price of one!"
"Oh?" Adler looked about, spotted the other Pacific parked up by the Castle. "Ach, das ist ja Stockente! Ze Mallard, yes?"
"That's him! He brought a bunch of very important railway people, bigwigs, grand pooh-bahs, from the Mainland," Lexi replied merrily. "We'll see them eventually, I hope, now that you're here."
The other engines added their own welcomes at that point, hastily so, because they knew they'd shortly have all sorts of new visitors to cater to. Except for Spencer, who said nothing at all. He just scowled.
Adler's crew soon hopped out and went back to help with the emerging passengers. Hurricane was instantly pleased when he saw that Missus Doyon had been in the German engine's cab, no doubt assisting his old/new crew with the excursion route and duties, but she was too busy for the moment to acknowledge him or any of the other display engines…maybe later. The new folks began to spread out into little clusters, some of them strolling over to Spencer, far enough forward so the A55 could see and overhear them. Alas, none of them were speaking English. Hurricane didn't know why he felt so surprised by that. The cruise ships came in from all over, including the Continent, after all. After listening in awhile, Hurricane was pretty sure that the humans were speaking German (he'd developed a bit of an ear for the language from hearing Adi and his crew and Missus Doyon use it, although he still couldn't understand a word of it) and his analytical machine mind began isolating certain specific repetitious words. Dampflok was the one he could identify most often, but there were also two more he wondered about…Stockente and something like Silberglied. Of course none of it meant anything to him and he forgot all three words as soon as the foreign group finally moved on. Oh well, at least they'd paid attention to Spencer. It had wiped the frown off the silver engine's face and had kept him from whining…at least for a while.
Incomprehensible foreign voices soon prevailed around Hurricane too. Hurricane was actually on his own and without his minders now—had been on his own since noon, when he'd been assessed as trustworthy and well-behaved enough to socialize with visitors by himself for the rest of the day—and he did his best, smiling invitingly at all and saying hello to the friendliest-looking people. More often than not he got a hello back and some of the humans would speak to him then, trying out their English on him. Trying to communicate with the foreign rail fans became quite entertaining. He learned that his name in German was Hurrikan, for one thing, and from the way some of them ran their hands over his coupling rods and wheels, they seemed well aware and appreciative of how he'd been redesigned. There was something else he could feel in their touch—there was love there, a love for locomotives which transcended any language barriers. The big tank engine's eyes, which could spark into righteous anger in a heartbeat as readily as they betrayed his inner kindness, were soon as soft as a warm summer rain in the dead of night, the velvety black apertures seeming almost organic in the intensity of the emotion they radiated.
Once the latest little rush was done with him, Hurricane found himself with time enough to heave a sigh and look about again. And there, making their way along the new lane next to the service siding, was a little knot of walkers whose distinctive appearance put him instantly on alert. The group stood out primarily because they were dressed in much more sober garb than most of the other visitors so far, a group of men, mostly, wearing proper semiformal suits and hats. The tank engine kept his eyes on them as they came closer. He'd seen plenty of folk like them in the past. They had to be the people who'd come in from the Mainland and were undoubtedly railway officials, owners, maybe even some designers, all of them here to celebrate and support the Earl of Sodor's achievement.
There was only one woman walking along with the group and she was also dressed in a rather workmanlike fashion in a matching tweed skirt and jacket over an orange blouse, the whole topped off by a cloche hat sporting a jaunty sickle feather. Hurricane peered closely at her, thinking that there was something familiar about her. Whoever she was, she was older and lean, as lean and graceful as a cheetah, and her dark hair was cut as short as a man's and she wore a slash of startling red lipstick. Then Hurricane suddenly recognized her. Missus Beauchamp! The stranger who'd accompanied Sir Topham Hatt on that foggy night when they'd first brought Adler's crew to see him in the Knapford roundhouse! Only, she wasn't wearing any furs. It was far too warm that afternoon for fur coats or stoles. Hurricane started to smile. Adler and his coaches would surely be glad to see her.
Somewhat to Hurricane's surprise, the little party of officials didn't go straight over to Adler's platform after all; they came to look at the official display engines instead. Hurricane's experimental friends came in for their share of attention first and then it was Hurricane's turn, his and Guy's. The special visitors stood together for a while right next to Hurricane just within his field of vision so they could take in both engines at the same time. In fact, it was the only way to really look at Guy if one wanted to see all of him at once, to stand a little distance away from him.
"My Lord, that engine is huge," one of the men exclaimed. "Seeing him must make you feel right at home, Gisele."
"What? This little thing?" Missus Beauchamp replied. "He's just medium-sized. You should try standing next to one of our articulated steamers. Now those are large."
"That's an amazing plow too," a different man said. "I saw him use it, you know, on one of the big drifts our own engines couldn't get through. They just backed him up some first, so he could gather a little momentum, and he just blasted through. The snow flew off to either side as though it exploded. Really remarkable to watch. It's no wonder their engines are so heavy over there. Can you imagine having to clear hundreds of kilometers' worth of lines of the sort of snowfalls we got this past winter on a regular basis?"
"We get some heavy falls in parts of the States too," said Missus Beauchamp. "The northern parts of our prairies… The wind there sometimes whips the snow up into these huge long combers across the tracks, yet in between them the rails will be almost clear. The locos and men, I think they always quite enjoyed clearing snowfalls like that. They could run at speed, you see. Long stretches of barely covered tracks and then these walls of snow." She suddenly grinned, showing fine white teeth. "It was fun."
"I'll remain happy with the pitifully scant amounts we get here by comparison," the man who'd commented on Guy's plow remarked, and everyone else chuckled. Guy smiled too. He'd understood just fine that the visitors had been talking about his exploits over on the Mainland during the big blizzard and agreed with Missus Beauchamp's assertion that snowplowing could indeed be fun.
When the group turned their collective attention onto Hurricane, there was momentary confusion as to his ownership. "So this is…Sir Topham's engine now, is that right?" one of them asked.
"Must be. He's got NWR written on his bunker."
"Sir Robert did initially consider buying him along with the other experimentals he was working with," Missus Beauchamp explained, "but yes, he's officially a North Western engine. Charles and Sir Robert have a handshake agreement about sharing his services, I believe."
"Ah. Makes sense. He should be displayed. Still one of a kind, after all."
"I remember him from when he was still working for the GER. Lord, now I feel old."
"You are old, Gerald."
"Exactly. And weren't you just telling the Rocket how exciting it was to watch him win at the Rainhill trials? In person, I mean?"
The man being teased retorted with a collection of imaginative curses wished upon his so-called friends, most of them involving bad coal and buckled tracks. Everyone who'd been listening in on the banter, humans and engines alike, got a kick out of it. Hurricane was perhaps the most appreciative eavesdropper of all. He liked it when railroad officials looked and sounded happy and joked amongst themselves when they gathered around him. What he'd learned to fear was when such people stood solemn and grim-faced for long periods of time, saying very little as they regarded him in a critical way. Encounters like that had often been followed by Hurricane's being sold on to new owners in the past. But today…today he was safe.
He watched the group move on to the neighbouring platform once they were done with him and Guy, where they chose to visit with Spencer next. And then something quite remarkable occurred. Whereas the men looking at the streamlined A4 were fine with standing back as they regarded him, Missus Beauchamp was not. She stepped forward to stroke her hand over the sleek silver skirting above the engine's foremost leading wheels, over and over.
"I've always liked this locomotive," she said as she patted him. "He was the first. And if they'd bothered to upgrade him with the same improvements they built into Mallard, I daresay he'd still be the record holder."
Several of the gentlemen in her party chuckled at that.
"You may be right, Gisele," one of them said. "It's never entirely fair to expect the same performance from the individuals built over the course of a popular class's production lifespan. Each time one comes out of the shop, we tweak the next one, trying to make them even better. New equipment, materials, designs…it's never-ending. Imagine if we built just one more A4 using today's technology. He'd push 140, I think, if you could find safe rails to run him on."
Missus Beauchamp smiled. "Yes. A shame we don't have dedicated testing grounds for locomotives. My husband and I, we always had this shared fantasy of running a pair of our Big Boys on two endless level salt flat lines, just to see what they could really do. Alas…"
All the gentlemen were smiling by then, captivated by the enchanting image Missus Beauchamp's words had generated in their minds. The monstrous metal juggernauts charging wild and free over the limitless white-tan expanse, a burning sun in the hazy pale sky above, heat shimmers obscuring the far horizon… Whether horses or iron horses, the urge to race them against one another simmered in every passionate lover of either or both. It was just human nature. And in some cases, in the nature of the horses and the engines themselves.
"Well, enough fantasizing," the woman concluded, stepping back herself at last. "I'm glad to see that the Duke and Duchess are still doing well by you, Spencer. And if ever they don't, you'll always have a home with me. Remember that."
"Yes, ma'am. I will. And thank you, ma'am." The silver A4's reply was so uncharacteristically soft that the other locos, who'd been captivated in turn by the conversation they'd just overheard, could barely make out what he'd said. And he looked funny, his face almost glowing. They didn't realize that they were looking at a Spencer who was for once utterly happy.
The VIPs moved on over to Adler next after that and the entire party eventually passed out of Hurricane's field of vision. In fact, he didn't see them again until they reappeared already far away up by the Castle platforms; they'd all taken the new scenic parkland trail back after admiring the Ulfstead engines' new roundhouse. Hurricane was glad that the Mainlanders had come by to see him and the others. He understood now why Adler spoke so highly of Missus Beauchamp and seemed so attached to her and her coaches.
A steady stream of new visitors kept the A55 busy and focused again on his meet and greet duties for the remainder of the afternoon. The most notable event was when Adler departed with his tourist train, offering yet another grand photo op for all the shutterbugs hanging around, wreathed again with clouds of blown-off excess steam and all his banners flying high and aflutter as he chuffed forward. Mallard left too, although with far less pomp. The most important development was that it began to cloud over, had already clouded over enough to muffle out the sun completely by the time Mallard began his journey home. Sir Robert and some of his estate workers began eyeing the skies repeatedly as the day's activities began to wind down. The thickening cloud deck would help bring on the darkness they needed to set off the concluding fireworks display early, but cloud that dipped too low would cancel them entirely.
Hurricane's crew suddenly showed up, and right behind them were those belonging to Guy and Spencer. Lorne stayed with his engine to praise him for a few minutes while fireman Pat got busy inside Hurricane's cab. "I met that old gal who wuz lookin' after you all morning," Lorne said, "and she told me you did great, a real natural. Proud of ya, big guy. I guess maybe they'll invite us back sometime, huh?"
"I hope so, sir. I enjoyed it."
"Good!" his driver concluded, gave him a manly slap of a pat, then moved back to help the Friends Of Steam volunteers who'd been manning the table in front of Hurricane's cab start packing it in. Night was suddenly coming on all in a rush and the entire western horizon had gone very dark. Everyone was glancing at the sky by now. But, with luck, the forecast would hold. There'd be rain, yes. But later.
As it was, the weather gods decided to smile on the people at Ulfstead that evening and allowed them their fireworks. Hurricane's steam came up as the first fiery bursts began splintering the sky and he watched in awe. It was the best fireworks show he'd even seen, a veritable kaleidoscope of red, blue and green showers and streaks above, and below, the warm pools of amber thrown by the platform and courtyard lights, accented by the colourful lanterns strung between the pavilion tents. Towards the end, Sir Robert Norramby's voice crackled over the PA system one last time, thanking one and all for their wonderful support and expressing his hope that they'd come back again now and then in the future. Or at least that was what Hurricane thought he said. Lorne got him underway during the announcement and Guy followed so close behind that their combined chuffing drowned out most of the remaining crowd's roaring response and cheers of approval. Moments later, both Knapford engines were already winding their way back down off the highlands and steaming for home. Their crews had earlier decided to take the longer main line route back through Maron rather than use the more westerly branchlines. It would be, they thought, speedier in the long run to avoid the trickier, winding Ffarquhar branchline in particular.
When they topped Gordon's Hill on the main line, Lorne suddenly let out a yell.
"Crap! That's lightning! I just saw lightning!"
"What? Are you sure? Maybe they just fired off a few last fireworks," Pat said.
"Naw, it was almost right in front of us, but way off. Bloody hell."
Hurricane felt his driver's hand on his throttle squeeze hard a few times, the way he did when he was worked up about something. Then he addressed Pat again.
"Fire him up," he told him. "I don't wanna get wet."
"Why, you going to melt or something? You should've brought your brolly if you're so delicate."
"Shuddup and shovel. I'm going to get this sucker home safe and dry if I can."
And sure enough, Hurricane felt his throttle being opened up as the two men in his cab continued to amiably bicker. He was soon running fast, a lot faster than he probably should have been running, Hurricane thought, but the pure sensations involved—the whipping wind on his face, the urgent pound of his pistons, the flaring hot fire in his iron belly—were far too exhilarating to resist. He sped through the dark countryside, elated, and Guy thundered along just as fast in his wake, close enough that Hurricane could feel the rails thrum from the big freighter's weight. It was a great run…
And also a dry one right to its end. Since they'd managed to beat the rain, once back at Knapford the men decided to get Guy's snowplow off while he still had steam enough to move about before settling him in for the night. Lorne helped Guy's crew with lifting the plow and setting it down again on its storage pad at the back of Guy's berth and Pat worked the turntable to get the Northern pointed in the right direction to reverse back into the roundhouse afterwards. They'd cut it close. The first big drops began to ping off the turntable controls and Pat's head the instant Guy got fully under cover and the fireman had to make a run for it. But still the task was done and Guy could now rest more comfortably. The other resident engines, who'd all been still awake when Hurricane and Guy came in, watched it all with silent approval. By the time Guy's driver brought his car around to give the others a lift home, it was raining in earnest. It seemed the perfect capper to their collective day, that even the weather had seen fit to hold off until Ulfstead's grand railway museum opening was well and truly over.
"Think Spencer'll beat the rain?" Justin remarked.
"Zink anyvun here cares?" Adler said back, and both locos chortled a little. Even Hurricane grinned. True, it was a little mean of them, but he understood their sentiments. Spencer might have been civil with him during their own interactions, yet Hurricane had also noticed how cool the silver Pacific had been towards Knapford's excursion engines, even though they'd been parked right across from him. He sensed that some unpleasantness had gone on in the past.
The rain got heavier and began to drone on the roof of their sheds. There was no wind to speak of and their berth doors had been left open, allowing them to stare out at the wet night and watch puddles form on the hard ground between their individual tracks. Listening to the rhythm of the falling rain was putting them all to sleep and nobody was inclined to speak further, even Hurricane, the newbie who'd had such a wonderful day and who had so much he wanted to talk about. Tomorrow, though…there'd be time tomorrow. They could exchange and compare all their experiences tomorrow…
As he began to happily drift off to sleep, a stray memory popped Hurricane's eyes wide open again, but only for a few brief seconds.
Aw sludge! he thought. I should've asked who Spencer really is!
to be continued...