Chapter 2: Duck and the Diesel Engine
James was still in disgrace as a result of the Tidmouth Sheds incident. The Fat Controller had been brutally frank as he reprimanded him. "It is one thing to have such blatant disregard for your own safety," he had said gravely, "but with faulty brakes, you were a terrible risk to the safety of others. If you had been pulling coaches when they failed, your recklessness might have caused horrific injuries and even fatalities. I don't believe you want that on your conscience, James. Even so, you will only be allocated to take trucks for the foreseeable future. I can't allow you to take passengers until I am certain that you fully understand how awful the consequences of your actions might have been."
James had accepted this without argument, well aware that he had no defence whatsoever for his carelessness. Still, he wasn't happy at the prospect of the slow goods train which awaited him at Knapford.
"Hello James!" Philip greeted him with his usual exuberance, his cheerful outlook unaffected by the dreary weather. "Your trucks for Vicarstown are on the siding over there. Mavis delivered them last night. Oh, you don't have a brake van! I'll fetch one for you." And he rushed away again.
James regarded the covered trucks gloomily. The trucks stared back at him, looking distinctly unimpressed. "Oh well. Better get on with it, I suppose," he muttered.
He was just backing down onto the train, ready to be coupled up, when a familiar and unwelcome whistle drew his attention and a green pannier tank pulled up alongside him.
"Duck," said James without enthusiasm.
"Beg pardon, James, but you appear to have my trucks there," Duck looked harassed. "I've been delayed due to the rain and I need to take them as soon as possible."
"These are my trucks," said James firmly. "They're from the quarry. Philip told me they were to go to Vicarstown."
"The yard manager told me they were the roof tiles for the new houses they're building up at Arlesburgh," Duck frowned. "I suppose we'd better find someone who can clear things up." Looking towards the train, he addressed the leading truck. "Hello there! What are you carrying?"
"I don't know but it's heavy!" wailed the truck.
James rolled his eyes. The opportunity to get one over on the Great Western engine was not something he could let pass. "Oh, that was a really clever idea, Duck! Asking the trucks, what a stroke of genius! We all know how much they love to help an engine out!"
"There's no need for sarcasm," Duck remarked, maintaining his composure much to James's annoyance. "Ah, Philip!" as the boxcab reappeared with a battered old brake van, "any idea whose train this is?"
Philip took in the sight of the two dissatisfied steam engines and his face fell as he realised his error. "Er, it could be yours, Duck. But it could be the quarry train for James. I think I might have got a bit mixed up, I'll go and -"
"So you don't actually know?" James huffed in exasperation.
"Well, the trucks were covered because of the rain, and Stafford was -"
"Oh, shut up, Philip!" growled James, his temper rising again. "It's bad enough having to put up with your incompetence without listening to you constantly wittering on. I just want to get my trucks and get out of here, I don't want to have to deal with annoying shunters making stupid mistakes any longer than is absolutely necessary!"
Philip stared at him in silence for a few seconds, his face uncharacteristically solemn, exhibiting a degree of dignity few would have suspected to be within his capability. "You know, James," he said quietly. "I sometimes wonder if I did the right thing when I saved you from falling off that bridge."
"And I wish you hadn't bothered!" yelled James furiously as his patience snapped completely. "You should have let me fall! It would have saved me from listening to you going on about it all of the time!"
Alerted by the shouting, several workers began making their way across the yard towards the sidings. Philip looked down at the rails and moved away without a word. James, feeling rather shocked at his outburst, closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. His crew were murmuring urgently in his cab but he couldn't make out what was said. He knew that word of this would get back to the Fat Controller and he had done himself no favours by treating the little diesel so harshly. When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted by Duck's reproachful expression.
"That was uncalled for," the green engine said sternly. "Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, James. You ought to know that better than most."
James chose to lash out again rather than address the jibe. "If you're going to tell me that it would never happen on the Great Western, don't bother. I'm not in the mood."
"History's repeating itself, James," said Duck coolly. "As I recall, you had a similar attitude towards Percy when I arrived on Sodor. And for all you mock me, you should know that on the Great Western, it was unacceptable for larger engines to treat their smaller colleagues with such contempt. Our standards were higher than you seem to understand."
James sneered. "Get over it, Duck, you're not on the Great Western these days. They didn't want you any more, remember? They sold you to the Fat Controller." It was a deliberately hurtful thing to mention and he knew it. He just wanted Duck to leave him alone so he could gather his thoughts.
"Allow me to give you some advice," Duck said, keeping his tone level despite the anger flashing in his eyes. "You'll never get the admiration you want from others if you can't move past your self-obsession. Think about things from someone else's point of view for once. Acquire some perspective and you'll find that you gain more respect."
"Perspective? What are you on about?"
Duck smirked. "I heard you destroyed the sheds and your immediate reaction was to ask about your appearance. It's safe to say your outlook on life is fairly limited."
"That was a joke!" In hindsight, James recognised that it had been a mistake to mention his paintwork as he sat amongst the rubble, but at the time he'd been so frightened by Rosie's horrified expression that he'd wanted to make light of things to reassure her. Unfortunately, Rosie had misunderstood his intention and before he'd known it, everyone on Sodor had heard what a silly, vain engine he had been. Duck raised a sceptical eyebrow but before he could respond, an oilskin-clad yard worker strode onto the ballast in front of them.
"When you gents have quite finished bickering, we've decided to check what's in the trucks and get things moving." He turned to a much younger man standing nearby. "Off you go, mate. Have a shufti for us."
"Right you are, sir!" The worker scrambled up the side of the protesting truck, heaving the canvas out of the way before reporting back. "Roof tiles!"
The trucks immediately began to jeer and Duck looked over in triumph at James, who felt like screaming at the unfairness of it all. Motion inside his cab warned him that his driver was preparing to move him forward to allow Duck to take his place at the head of the train. Without really thinking, James readied himself and as he felt his brakes release, he used every ounce of control he had to propel his frame sharply backwards, his tender colliding forcefully with the buffers of the leading truck. The satisfaction this gave him was wiped out almost instantly as the unmistakable cry of a human in pain rang out across the yard. Duck's eyes widened in shock and he reversed out of James's line of sight as the yard workers raced to provide assistance to their injured colleague.
James himself couldn't have moved now even if he'd wanted to. His brakes had been reapplied and his driver was standing on the track in front of him. "You idiot!" he raged, fists clenched at his sides, "you absolute, utter idiot of an engine! What the hell were you thinking? We're already in enough trouble as it is after the crash at the sheds!"
His fireman leaned out of the cab. "All right, mate, that isn't helpful," he said firmly.
"What…what happened?" James whispered, almost frozen with dread. He could hear Duck moving trucks behind him.
"The young lad who checked the trucks hadn't managed to climb down before you moved," the fireman replied. "He was knocked to the ground. I'm not sure how badly hurt he is."
By this point his driver had returned to his cab and, muttering curses under his breath, steered him away from the scene and onto another siding to await instructions. James gazed ahead at the rails with unseeing eyes, completely humiliated and terrified by the consequences of his foolishness. There could be no coming back from this, he was certain to be sent away this time. He'd hurt a human in a stupid fit of rage and that was surely the worst thing any engine could possibly do, the very thing that the Fat Controller had warned him against.
He was so consumed by his thoughts that he didn't detect another engine approaching until a black shape materialised next to him.
"Oh dear, oh dear," Diesel's half-hearted attempt to look sympathetic failed as his mouth twisted into mocking smile. "Having a bad day?"
James tried to summon up the energy to scowl at him.
"You know, I'm worried for you," Diesel said, his voice oozing faux concern. "Running a railway is a pricey business. The Fat Controller will have had to part with a sizeable amount of money to get Tidmouth Sheds rebuilt, and that's without factoring in the cost of your repairs. And this incident today: there will be an inquiry and they might decide that the railway should pay compensation to that poor boy and his family. You're becoming expensive, James. At some point, the Fat Controller may well start wondering whether you're worth more to him as scrap than as a working engine."
This was a possibility which hadn't occurred to James. The engines were vaguely aware of the concept of money and they understood that people took financial matters very seriously. The enormity of Diesel's suggestion stunned him completely.
"Oh look, here he comes now," Diesel pointed out as a figure, easily recognisable despite being partially obscured by an enormous umbrella, moved carefully over the wet tracks towards them. "I'd better be off. I'm sure you'd like some privacy for this conversation. See you later, James. Or not, as the case may be." He grinned maliciously and purred away.
The umbrella tilted backwards, and James, confronted by his owner's furious expression, suddenly rediscovered his voice. "Sir, I'm sorry, please-"
Sir Topham Hatt raised a hand to silence him. "I don't want to hear it," he snapped. "I have a duty of care to everyone on this railway and right now, my priority is that boy. I'm beyond disappointed with you, James, and I really don't know…" He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, before appearing to reach a decision. "This is what is going to happen. You are going to take the quarry train to Vicarstown as scheduled. It's already been delayed and I'm not prepared to let clients down. Leave it with Rosie at the yard and then run light straight back to Tidmouth Sheds where you can wait until I am ready to speak to you. The rest of your jobs will be redistributed to other engines. Is that understood?"
James mumbled a reply automatically, one that was apparently adequate as the Fat Controller lowered his umbrella again and walked away. His crew attempted to speak with him as they waited for the trucks to be delivered but he ignored them, watching the incessant fall of the rain and wondering exactly how things had gone so drastically wrong.
