Chapter 6: Branch Line Engines

It seemed that there were some advantages to the bizarre circumstances James found himself in. The trucks apparently had no memory of his existence and as a result had very little ammunition to use against him. They were surprisingly tame as he was coupled up and headed out of the yard, back on to the main line. There were no taunts about squeaky wheels, faulty brakes or tar tankers, and when the subject of his red livery came up, James was able to dismiss the jibes with ease. "Is that the best you've got? My paintwork is glorious and you know it."

"You seem to have cheered up," called Clarence from the back of the train and instantly James's confidence dissipated, leaving only the feeling of dread which had haunted him since his earlier encounter with Diesel. The strange game Clarence seemed to be playing with him had been a distraction, but it didn't alter the fact that he was in genuine trouble. The Fat Controller would catch up with him eventually and when he did, Sodor might have to adjust to a Jamesless railway for real.

By this point, James's thinking on his predicament was starting to head in a new direction. Earlier, with Henry and Rosie, he had been certain that both had been sincere when they insisted that they didn't know him. Pondering this, he now concluded that it had to be his own perception that had changed. James decided that this was the only plausible explanation for the missing branch lines and the vanishing trucks. As for the cause, perhaps he'd taken on some bad coal? Or could someone have tampered with one of the water towers?

Of course, this raised the possibility that everything he had gone through that morning had been a hallucination. It was entirely feasible that he had been stationary the whole time, resting in the shed or on a siding. Horrified, James pictured other engines rolling past and laughing at him as he babbled away, lost in a world of his own, and promptly tried to repress the thought. There was no point worrying about it right now.

Annoyed that Clarence had brought his fear back to the surface and trying to distract himself from the horrors of his own imagination, James raised the question that had been niggling at him ever since the brake van had declared his angelic nature. "You know what I don't understand, Clarence? If you're supposed to be a guardian angel, why didn't you just stop me from bashing into those trucks at Knapford? That would have saved everyone a lot of trouble."

"Oh, I'm not supposed to make decisions for you," Clarence replied amiably.

"That's my job," quipped his driver, leaning out of his cab.

James scowled. "For that matter, why not stop me from crashing into Tidmouth Sheds in the first place? If there are guardian angels rolling around all over the island, why do so many accidents happen on the North Western Railway? Where were you when Henry was wrecked on the Kipper run? Or when Thomas fell into a mine? Or when Percy demolished the chocolate factory, or when Gordon got stuck in the wall at Kirk Ronan? When it comes down to it," he wound up, at this stage absolutely furious, "if bad things keep happening, what use are you?"

"James," said Clarence quietly, and something in his tone commanded the engine's full attention despite his anger, "have you ever seen the aftermath of a crash on the Mainland? I hope you haven't, it's truly horrific. Engines crushed beyond repair and cut up for scrap on site. Engines whose boilers have exploded, leaving their tubes exposed and twisted in all directions, like ribbons in the wind. Burnt out carriages. Yet on Sodor, the worst any engine suffers after a crash or derailment is scratched paint and a few dents. Don't you think that's strange, eh?"

"Perhaps the engines on Sodor are just better at their jobs?" James challenged him.

"Hmm, perhaps. Or maybe there are greater forces at work," Clarence suggested. The trucks responded with cynical gasps of mock amazement and for once the engine felt that they were in agreement.

"Yeah, right," he grumbled. "You couldn't do anything that would actually help because you're too busy helping in ways that no one can see? Sounds like an excuse to me."

Clarence hummed to himself. "Are you sure, James?"

James snorted. "Oh, I'm not sure of anything any more."

The main line was just as quiet as it had been on the journey towards Vicarstown. James remained alert to the presence of other engines, hoping to avoid Gordon who appeared to have departed while he was at the yards, but it seemed there was little reason for him to worry. There was no sign of the big engine or any others until he reached Wellsworth, where he spotted one of the Scottish twins heading down the branch line. James wasn't able to identify which brother it was as the number on his tender looked wrong somehow and he sped off towards Brendam before the red engine had a clear view. It was funny, he thought, that earlier in the day all he'd wanted was to be left in peace and now he was rolling along an almost deserted line feeling dreadfully lonely.

It came as something of a relief when he arrived at Knapford Yard and promptly spotted Thomas dozing on a siding. Despite his anxiety, James found himself grinning. This was far too good an opportunity to miss. "Heeeere's James!" he cried at full volume, braking sharply as he pulled alongside the tank engine.

Thomas awoke with a start and blinked sleepily at him in confusion. "Who's James?" he mumbled.

James groaned. "Come on, Thomas, don't you start with all that rubbish! I need to get rid of these trucks. They're Henry's really but I offered to take them as he's ill and they were causing problems for Rosie."

"I didn't ask for your life story," said Thomas, grumpy with drowsiness. "Stick the trucks on that siding over there."

"All right, there's no need to be so moody," snapped James, rather taken aback. "Don't have a go at me for helping out a friend! I don't remember Rosie having difficulties like that with the trucks before. Do you know anything about it?"

"No. Never met her," said Thomas flatly.

"Of course you have!" James protested. "Rosie! She used to worship the rails you rolled on!"

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Didn't realise I had such an impressive reputation. Anyway, trucks over there. I'll see you next time you're passing through." He closed his eyes.

"He's telling the truth," Clarence chipped in. "Rosie was brought to Sodor directly from Southampton Docks. She went straight from being part of a team to managing the yards on her own and she didn't have Thomas around to train her and demonstrate how to deal with the trucks."

"Thanks," the tank engine murmured without opening his eyes.

"What are you doing?" James watched his friend carefully. He was slightly concerned at seeing Thomas so still, a stark contrast to usual busyness he associated with the smaller engine. His lack of curiosity in the apparent newcomer was also worryingly out of character.

Thomas yawned. "I thought I'd have a nap actually, not that it's any of your business."

"A nap?" James echoed, incredulous.

"I haven't got anything else to do." The blue engine's eyes remained shut. "Not until Gordon needs his coaches again."

"But what about your branch line?"

Thomas frowned. "Branch line? Ah!" he reopened his eyes as a realisation struck him, "I see what's going on. You want Toby, he's the one with the branch line. I'm Thomas. I'm the station pilot."

"No, you're not!" James grimaced in frustration. "You're Thomas, you run the Ffarquhar line with Toby and Percy. You work with two coaches called Annie and Clarabel. Stop messing about!"

"Look, I don't know who told you about our railway, but they've got it all wrong," Thomas regarded James thoughtfully and spoke slowly, having obviously decided that he must find it difficult to process information. "I'm the station pilot here at Knapford. Rosie is the station pilot at Vicarstown. I've never met her because we can't go charging along the main line whenever we feel like it. Toby does work on the Ffarquhar line but I've never heard of an engine called Percy. I remember Annie and Clarabel, they were Edward's old coaches. I haven't seen them since… well, I haven't seen them for a long time. Now," as James opened his mouth to speak, "are you going to move those trucks or are you going to sit there all day?"

Not trusting himself to say anything without getting tetchy, James slowly allowed his driver to move him away from the tank engine towards the siding that had been indicated. Thomas's hasty summary had left him feeling as though the world he knew had been completely dismantled and then reassembled using most of the correct parts but in the wrong places. None of it was true, of course, but Thomas had clearly put a lot of thought into the fiction and James couldn't grasp why anyone would make such an effort for the sake of a prank. Things were getting out of hand. He was so preoccupied as he contemplated the situation that he didn't notice Joseph, the guard, insisting to the shunter that Clarence should be coupled behind him again. Thomas was summoned to move the brake van and did so with an expression of deep disgust, evidently resenting the disruption to his rest.

James was knocked out of his reverie as Clarence's buffers clanged against his tender and he huffed in annoyance. "I suppose you put Thomas up to this, didn't you?"

"Up to what?" asked Thomas before Clarence could react.

"This whole 'station pilot' nonsense. The 'I-didn't-get-a-branch-line-because-you-weren't-here-with-your-wooden-brakeblocks' act. Ha ha, very funny. Now can we all go back to normal, please? Where are Stafford and the others, anyway?"

Thomas stared at him. "Trust me, if I had the chance to be anything other than a station pilot, I'd take it. My work is boring."

"If you're so bored, why don't you do something about it rather than sleeping the day away? Go off and have an adventure. See the world."

Thomas gave a mirthless laugh. "If you've come to Sodor in the hope of seeing the world you'll be sorely disappointed. I'm lucky if I get to see Wellsworth these days."

"Someone's coming," Clarence pointed out, and the two engines looked across to the line from Tidmouth to see a familiar tram engine and coach trundling into view.

James couldn't help but stare at the number painted on his side: a bright yellow '5', the twin of that on his own tender. It was an incongruous sight, but on closer examination, James could see that the paint wasn't fresh. In fact, Toby could do with a new coat of paint altogether in James's view. A cold feeling passed through his boiler as he realised that this prank must have been planned a frighteningly long time ago and he wondered how long Percy would manage to keep himself hidden away.

"This is Toby," Thomas declared. "Toby, this is…" the tank engine frowned in an attempt to recall the name, "… Jamie?"

"James," corrected James quietly. Somehow the fact that Thomas had already forgotten his name hurt more than the fact that he hadn't recognised him in the first instance.

Toby smiled at him and rang his bell by way of a greeting. Behind James, Clarence perked up. "Somebody's just made it," he said cheerfully.

James frowned. "Made what?"

"Every time you hear a bell ring, it means that some angel's just got his wings," the brake van explained.

Thomas sniggered at this and Toby shot him a curious look. Embarrassed, James muttered, "Look, I think maybe you shouldn't mention getting your wings around here."

"Why? Don't they believe in angels?" Once again Clarence wore an expression of almost impossible innocence and Thomas began to laugh as he caught sight of it.

James looked uncomfortably at Toby. "He has these strange ideas. I think he's been in a few too many crashes, if you know what I mean."

"I see," Toby replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. James was mortified to realise that the tables had turned completely and the old tram, so often the target of his own mockery in the past, was laughing at him. It wasn't the first time that this had happened but it was still uncommon enough for James to be disconcerted by the feeling. He resisted the urge to glare, just in case it made him appear sillier.

"Henrietta, do you know what happened to Annie and Clarabel?" Thomas asked. "James here was just asking about them."

"Annie and Clarabel!" the coach murmured with a smile. "They were such dear friends to me back when they worked on the branch line. I'm sorry, I don't know where they are now but if you find out, please let me know. I'd love to see them both again."

"I suppose you could try asking-" began Toby.

Thomas cut him off sharply. "I'm not speaking to her."

"Gordon's words," observed Toby sternly, as James looked on in puzzlement.

"I can think for myself, Toby," argued the blue engine. "I don't want to agree with that pompous idiot, but on this he's got it completely right. We can't let her sort get their wheels on the rails round here or it'll be the beginning of the end for all of us."

"That argument might have carried some weight when she first arrived, but she's been here for years, Thomas! You all need to move past this silly prejudice and stop letting Gordon have his way."

"Very brave," said Thomas coldly. "That worked out really well for Duck, didn't it?"

Toby glanced at James, worried. "I don't think you should bring that up in front of a newcomer."

"What happened to Duck?" James asked, giving in to curiosity. "He seemed fine when I saw him this morning. Well, sort of," he added, recalling the disagreement and his own shameful behaviour.

The others seized on his words with an eagerness which took James completely by surprise. "This morning?" Thomas gasped, but he was cut off before he could get any further by a cry of delight from Toby.

"He's all right? Oh, thank goodness! Knowing how things are on the Mainland, it's impossible not to worry when an engine is sent back there. I'd almost convinced myself he'd be scrapped by now."

"I miss Duck," said Henrietta sadly. "He really understood how to treat coaches."

Toby's face fell. "Henrietta? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Of course not, dear, don't be silly," the coach reassured him. " But I know you agree that he was treated badly."

"He was sent away?" James asked. He was starting to worry that he might have accidentally given the three false hope but Duck truly hadn't been in any danger when they had last spoken.

"That's what happens when you get on the wrong side of Gordon," explained Thomas with a pointed look at Toby. "He managed to persuade the Fat Controller that Duck was a disruptive influence and the next thing we knew, he was gone."

"But it wasn't Duck," James murmured, confused. "It was Diesel all along."

"What?" Thomas was staring at him again. "What diesel? There aren't any diesels here."

"Except Mavis," Henrietta reminded him.

James closed his eyes, reluctant to ask but unable to resist temptation. "Clarence?"

"Ah yes, no diesels on the North Western," Clarence supplied. "Revolutionary technology like that is far too expensive for the Fat Controller. He was only able to purchase Duck because the Great Western was modernising and their steam engines were being sold off cheaply. Same with the Scottish twins and Rosie."

"Well, there's a silver lining, I suppose," remarked James, recalling Diesel's sarcastic smile.

Frowning at the unexpected turn taken by the discussion, Toby attempted to shunt it back on track. "Anyway, if you want my advice, James, it's best to keep out of Gordon's way. If he tolerates you, he'll try to bully you around to his way of thinking. If he doesn't, your life won't be worth living. It's better to stay out of it."

"But he's only an engine like the rest of us," protested James, with Henry's warning echoing through his mind. "How can he have so much control over things?"

"Oh, he's the pride of the line," declared Thomas, sarcasm laying thick over his words, "the poster engine for the North Western Railway! Somebody has to be the Fat Controller's favourite and unfortunately for all of us, it's him."

"The Fat Controller doesn't want to risk aggravating him," said Toby, rather more calmly. "The railway would suffer greatly if the express service were to become unreliable."

"Toby," Henrietta interrupted, "it's time to go. The quarry workers will be late for the afternoon shift if we don't get a move on."

Toby sighed. "Quite right, dear. Good to meet you, James. Thomas," he paused, examining the tank engine's defiant expression, "please think about what I said." He began to move slowly away, ringing his bell in farewell, then stopped again, chuckling at the sound. "Get me, Henrietta! I'm giving out wings!"

"Oh, Toby!" the coach chided gently. "Don't tease them like that!" But as the two departed, she gave James a shrewd look. He recalled suddenly that Henrietta had brakes and wondered whether she was also an angel before the rational part of his mind intervened to remind him that angels didn't really exist. Bad coal, he told himself firmly. Get your firebox cleaned out and you'll feel a lot better.

Thomas yawned. "Duty calls. The Great and Mighty Gordon will be wanting his coaches. See you later, Jimmy!"

"It's James," the red engine called after him, but it was too late. Thomas was gone.