Chapter 5: Main Line Engines

The spur to Great Waterton wasn't there either.

James was becoming accustomed to these strange disappearances, but that didn't mean he was resigned to them. Each time he noticed that something had unexpectedly changed, it added to his rising anger. He had given the situation some thought as he pushed Henry along the main line and he was now absolutely convinced that a trick was being played on him. It was infuriating: not only that he was the victim but that he couldn't work out how the prankster had managed to execute such an elaborate scheme. Someone was making a fool out of him. James was determined not only to uncover the truth but to make the perpetrator pay and it seemed obvious that Clarence was part of the conspiracy.

He wasn't sure how best to tackle the brake van and decided to bide his time, turning his attention to Henry instead. "So, why hasn't the Fat Controller got your Welsh coal?"

"It's too expensive," said Henry glumly. "He can't afford to spend so much on just one engine."

"That doesn't seem fair on you."

"There isn't an awful lot I can do about it. The only option I have is to keep going as best I can and hope that the financial situation improves. If I can manage a few goods trains then at least we're taking some business away from the road haulage companies."

James glanced up at the unfamiliar bridge passing over the line ahead of them and noted that there was a heavily laden lorry crossing. Henry's words clearly carried some truth. "But why is the railway struggling? Road haulage hasn't really been much competition before."

"Do you remember what the NWR was like when you first arrived on Sodor, James?" interjected Clarence.

James glowered. "Mind your own business, Clarence. I didn't ask you."

"I have to help you so I can get my wings," the brake van reminded him gently. "If you want to understand why the island is so different, you'll need to listen."

James rolled his eyes. "Fine," he snapped. "It was… smaller. Less busy. Some of the branch lines hadn't been constructed and there weren't as many people around."

"And there were fewer engines, of course," Clarence added. "Those who had been inherited or borrowed by the North Western were gone by the time you were brought to Sodor. Do you know why the Fat Controller chose you, James?"

"He saw how splendid I was, of course. I was a special engine even with black paint and wooden brakeblocks, you know," huffed James.

Clarence smiled knowingly. "'Special', yes, that's the word. That's exactly the word."

"What do you mean by that?" James asked, suspicious. "Are you insulting me?"

"Oh no, not at all," said Clarence in a soothing tone. "But you did stand out rather amongst the other Class 28s on your original railway, didn't you?"

James looked down in realisation. "The pony truck?"

"You were an experimental design. Precisely the sort of engine the Fat Controller would be interested in." Clarence paused to allow James to absorb this information. "To put it simply, Sir Topham Hatt couldn't afford to purchase newly-built locomotives to run on his railway. Think about those who arrived before you. An aging model who remained on the island after his loan period came to an end because his previous owners no longer had a use for him. A prototype, unused to real service, who became surplus to requirements once his younger siblings began rolling out of the works at Doncaster. A complete wreck of an engine cobbled together from stolen plans-"

"I can hear you, you know!" growled the offended Henry.

"But it's true!" said Clarence, all wide-eyed innocence. "All of the engines in the North Western's fleet were bought at a knock-down price. Admittedly Thomas was a fairly standard design, but his arrival on Sodor is something of a mystery and he certainly wasn't purchased at market value. The Fat Controller made it known on the Mainland that he was on the lookout for a bargain. When the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway decided to sell you, he realised that you fitted the bill perfectly."

"Are you suggesting that he bought me because I was cheap?!" cried James in outrage.

"Come now, James," said the brake van mildly, "you are worth more than your monetary value. But yes, you were… within his budget. The fortunes of the railway began to improve rapidly with an additional mixed-traffic engine and, well, you know the rest."

"What does all of that have to do with road haulage?" demanded James.

"In this reality, you were never built," explained Clarence patiently. "You weren't available for the Fat Controller to buy and he couldn't find another suitable engine to add to his workforce. The railway couldn't keep up with demand and the road network spread across the island as a result."

James frowned. "That seems highly unlikely."

"Designers don't often share their inventions," remarked Henry, having recovered slightly from the affront to his pride. "Unsuccessful prototypes are usually rebuilt, successful ones go into service. I should know."

"Don't tell me you actually believe his nonsense?" James asked incredulously.

Henry grinned. "Of course not. It's been entertaining to listen to, though. I'd take a brake van everywhere I went too if they could all tell tales like that!"

"When we get to Vicarstown, you're welcome to him," grumbled James. Clarence's gentle smile didn't waver.

James began to feel surprisingly apprehensive as the final station came into view. Although the main line had been unusually quiet, he was bound to encounter other engines at Vicarstown and he was unsettled by the thought that they, like Henry, might not recognise him. His unease was heightened when Henry caught sight of another engine ahead of them at the station and failed to suppress a groan. Unable to see who it was, James awaited the customary whistle but, to his puzzlement, no whistle sounded. He was astonished when he pulled into the station and realised that the engine who had been so unsociable was Gordon, waiting at a platform with the express coaches behind him. His reaction to their arrival came as even more of a surprise. Noticing Henry's approach, a brief flicker of disdain crossed the larger engine's face and he looked away, disinterested. But as James rolled into his line of sight, his curiosity was piqued and he glanced towards them again. His gaze ran slowly along James's boiler, from his smokebox to his tender and back again, before he resumed his study of the passengers congregating on the platform. James had the distinct impression that he had been appraised and judged unworthy of Gordon's attention. This was not something he was prepared to tolerate and he defiantly whistled a loud greeting.

"Whistling in the station," said Henry gloomily. "He won't like that."

Gordon rolled his eyes and sighed. "Important engines do not find it necessary to announce their arrival by doing something so vulgar as whistling in a station," he intoned with gravitas to all within earshot.

"Really important engines," retorted James immediately, "don't find it necessary to tell everyone how important they are all the time. It's just obvious."

Henry sniggered, making a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to control himself when Gordon glared at him. He then appeared to decide that it was beneath his dignity to admonish the green engine and switched his focus to James. "Just arrived on Sodor, I take it? You should be aware that newcomers on the North Western generally sing small and don't get ideas above their station."

"Maybe they aren't 'singing small'," James returned, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Maybe they're drowned out by the noise you make."

Henry's sniggers progressed to outright laughter at this and James struggled to maintain his own poise at the sight of Gordon's apoplectic expression. It was perhaps fortunate that they received the signal to move on and were able to leave their raging colleague behind them.

"That's Gordon, the express engine," Henry explained as they headed to the yard. "He's completely insufferable. Fortunately he doesn't lower himself to speak to the rest of us very often so we rarely have to put up with his superior airs for very long."

James mulled over this remark, suddenly feeling strangely saddened. The exchange with Gordon had reminded him of his early years on the railway, when the three big engines had communicated largely through mockery, although they had always acted in solidarity if they felt they had been disrespected by anyone outside of their group. He felt an odd sense of loss on behalf of his erstwhile friends who had apparently been deprived of those memories. At the same time, he was acutely aware that the old days were long gone. The three had changed as they had grown older, Henry in particular, and the friendship between them was no longer as close as it had been. For the first time, James acknowledged to himself how much he had missed it and wondered if the others did too. "Do you think Gordon's lonely?" he asked.

"If he is, I have very little sympathy for him," said Henry in a hard tone. "He's brought it upon himself with that condescending attitude. Look, James, he does tend to dominate the railway. You may have made an enemy for yourself back there."

"Oh, I can handle Gordon," James replied. He hoped the confidence in his voice masked the doubt that was beginning to creep into his mind.

Rosie was waiting for them as they rolled into the yard and James observed with some satisfaction that she appeared to have returned to her former lilacy-mauve livery. Less familiar was the glare with which she greeted their arrival and she groaned as she took in Henry's condition. "Not again, Henry! What am I supposed to do with your goods train now? There's a delivery of coal due from the Mainland any minute and the trucks are in the way."

"Your concern is duly noted," said Henry bitterly. "Get Donald to take it."

"If you paid attention to anything other than yourself, you'd have noticed that Donald isn't here," Rosie snapped. "The Fat Controller has finally sent him back to his own branch line. He's been doing so much of your work recently that there's a huge backlog at Brendam and Douglas threatened to go on strike unless he returned."

"Douglas's inability to manage the trucks is not my problem." Henry looked across the yard towards the waiting train and smirked. "I might have expected you to have a bit more sympathy for his situation, though."

James, who had been following the disagreement with a good deal of confusion, realised that the trucks were singing quietly. They increased their volume when they noticed that they had an audience.

Rosie thinks she runs the yard.

What a foolish notion.

She can't control us, not at all.

We'll cause a big commotion!

The engines know she's dull and slow,

She's stupid and she's dozy,

And when Sir Topham Hatt finds out,

Off for scrap goes Rosie!

Horrified, James found he couldn't drag his eyes away from Rosie's face. The tank engine flushed a vivid red and pressed her lips together firmly, struggling to hide her upset. James felt deeply uncomfortable at witnessing such humiliation and looked for a way out of the situation. Fortunately there was an obvious solution. "I'll take the train for you."

Rosie looked up at him and her expression contorted instantly into one of fury. "You think I need a big strong tender engine to save me from the mean trucks? Don't patronise me. I don't even know who you are."

Under any other circumstances James would have retaliated but he had enough sense to squash his annoyance. Lashing out to hide embarrassment and insecurity was a tactic he understood all too well. In any case, being berated by Rosie of all engines was an experience so startling that he didn't really know how to react. "I'm James," he said, in a deliberately calm tone which sounded like it didn't belong to him. "I don't mind doing you a favour. You need an engine to take Henry's trucks and I might as well make myself useful."

Rosie raised an eyebrow. "Do you know how to get to Knapford, James?"

"I know Sodor pretty well," answered James, hoping this wouldn't be questioned further. He hadn't yet decided how he was going to explain his presence to those who didn't recognise him, aware after his encounter with Henry that no one would be convinced by the truth.

Rosie regarded him thoughtfully, weighing up her options. "All right. Shunt Henry over there out of the way. You seem to have your own brake van so we'll couple him up at the rear."

"Oh, I was going to leave him-" James began, but Rosie moved off, preparing to pull Clarence into position. With a sigh, James started to push Henry forward again.

"Thank you," the green engine said quietly.

"That's all right. I couldn't just leave you there."

"Other engines would," Henry said solemnly. "You've been really decent. Such kindness is in pretty short supply around here. I hope you find what you're looking for, James."

"And I hope you're feeling much better soon," said James, suddenly embarrassed. He wished Henry luck and set off in the direction of the turntable, thinking over his friend's words and pondering just what it was he was really looking for.