Meanwhile, at the Blue Mountain Quarry, Duncan was in a worse mood than usual- for he had Ms. Mallard coming in today.
She was an eye doctor- Duncan could not remember the actual term- and she was an old friend of Mrs. Percival. Following the fire, and Victor's damning verdict at the Steamworks, the Thin Controller brought her in to see if there was anything that could be done.
And so, to that end, she had been monitoring his eye recovery progress for several weeks. Much to everyone's relief, she revealed Duncan's damage was healing; though he still had to wear eye bandages another week and then see how that was improving, as the eye activity was still very slow.
Poor Duncan couldn't help but complain, and his friends even offered to listen to him complain (not for long, of course, but enough to help him feel better.) and afterwards, he did feel a teensy bit better that at least his friends cared about his problems- then he complained about everything minor in significance and they left, causing him to complain more.
Anyway, the trucks in the quarry had been annoying him- again. They wouldn't stop teasing him about his lack of eyesight. A truck found out about a Scottish poet named Blind Harry, (how that was achieved, no one knew- Duncan swore up and down the line he knew nothing of the sort, and if he had, he wouldn't have told the trucks)
Now, said trucks would often joke if Duncan had composed any poetry about King Orry.
"Och, shut up!" He grumbled. "I'm nae one fer poetry! Ask Rusty- he kens a lot mair than I dae!"
"But it would be a funny coincidence!" A truck objected.
"Funny ma buffers! I'm blind!" Duncan snarled. "I'm just glad that ye are nae coaches, or else Mr Percival would nae hae business! But noo he'll nae hae trucks!" He roared, and charged at the train of silly trucks in front of him
"Whoa, Duncan, stop!" Sir Handel yelled. Fortunately, Duncan slowed, an annoyed look on his face.
"Och fit noo, Sir Handel? I'm busy!" The Scot snapped.
"I don't want you getting hurt, Duncan!" Sir Handel argued. "Besides, you'll get in trouble again!" He then glared at the trucks.
"You know, if you lot don't behave this instant and stop mocking the disabled, you'll find yourselves in make-up, pink frilly tarpaulins and at a finishing school in London!" He threatened. "I have connections that can make that happen!"
The trucks squealed like pigs in a slaughterhouse at this news. "Yuck, pink! We don't want to be girly!"
"Then shut up- and also quit the discrimination!" Sir Handel bellowed. The trucks fell into a discontented tittering.
"Och, thanks, Sir Handel," Duncan wheezed. "Nothing I can't handle, but still…also, finishing school? Where did you get that one, laddie?"
"Remember when I came home once, and I had a black eye, and refused to say where I got it from?" The blue tank engine whispered.
"Och, aye, and we joked that a scorned lady did it?" Duncan asked, chuckling at the memory.
"Very funny," Muttered Sir Handel, darkly. "But it actually was- Melody literally gave me a right hook because I suggested that she should go to finishing school after she swore at the foreman."
"Geez- sorry aboot that, pal," The Scottish engine apologised, remembering how feisty and bad tempered the GWR crane tank engine could get when wound up.
"Meh, at least my eye was fine after a few weeks- also; she did show some contrite, after I said sorry for insulting her tomboyish ways." His companion replied dismissively, before his face morphed to a sombre, concerned expression. "You know, I hope Luke's okay."
"Rheneas is worried sick to death, and Skarloey thinks that Rheneas will run himself ragged fashing aboot Luke so." Duncan replied.
The two engines could indeed see that poor, pale Rheneas was looking worn out and ready to sag onto the rails and pass out, but nonetheless, he rattled on past them at that very moment, oblivious to their conversation.
"This will kill him." Sir Handel muttered, once Rheneas had rattled out of earshot. "Especially if, somehow…."
"Luke manages to…"
Neither engine finished their statement; but yet, they had no need to, for the same fears had crossed their minds…
Blind Harry was a Scottish poet (who wasn't actually blind) who wrote a poem on William Wallace, for those not well versed in history or ancient Scottish literature. It became the basis of Braveheart.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the update!
