Foreign Exchange

by Heimchen

He's smart all right, perhaps the smartest locomotive ever made. But what could such a contentious engine be planning on doing with that? An EU story set in the CGI Thomasverse. Sequel to 'He's My Brother'.

2. The Tracks Less Taken

FOREIGN EXCHANGE

Chapter Two - The Tracks Less Taken

Adler was already asleep when Lammergeier got back after his surprise escapade with Denise and so had to wait all through the next day before he had any hope of hearing all the details. Or so he expected. Lammergeier was actually in a chatty mood that evening when all the engines were alone in the sheds, yet as it turned out, he never revealed a thing. He never said anything about it the next day either, nor the day after that, even though Adler had by then tried to swing their conversation onto the topic of Denise several times. Adler began to clue in that it hadn't gone well between his brother and the human. He stopped hinting around, for he already knew that it was useless to try and pry anything out of Lammergeier if he didn't want to talk about it.

A few days later, Lammergeier achieved another milestone of sorts. Their crews told both German engines that when Adler went up to Vicarstown to pick up his excursion train that Missus Beauchamp would be there to meet with Lammergeier in order to determine whether she'd approve him to pull her coaches. Of course Lammergeier was elated and entirely confident that Missus Beauchamp would think he was the most wonderful engine in the world. Adler was actually relieved to hear his brother boast and express such enthusiasm. It wasn't so long ago that he'd been so soured on doing anything for the humans that he hadn't wanted to do any passenger work at all ever again.

And so it was that both German engines and their crews soon found themselves en route up to Vicarstown one fine spring morning to collect their carriage partners for the tourist season to come. Everyone was in a jubilant mood that day and little wonder. It was a rare thing for the two 48s to be on the move together and they made for a splendid sight as they chuffed along, their scarlet and black liveries with their white trim and golden bands sparkling in the sunshine. Once at Vicarstown, Adler and Lammergeier were directed through the freight yard in order to more easily loop back around and enter the station proper from the eastern bridge side. Sure enough, Missus Beauchamp was waiting for them, and at the platform on the other side of their island, so were her coaches. They started yelling over their enthusiastic greetings, silly Beauregard even squealing a bit in his excitement, as soon as Adler started whistling preparatory to coming to a stop immediately across from them.

"There you are!"

"Oh, we're so glad to see you!"

"Hello! Bonjour! Hello!"

"Did you have a nice trip?"

Missus Beauchamp's own greeting was far more restrained, although her eyes glowed with an equal measure of pleasure as she approached Adler. She stroked him gently, favoured him with a smile of remarkable sweetness.

"All set to go, are we?" she murmured.

"Yes, ma'am. I am very much looking forward to zis year. And zank you for considerink my brother."

"You deserve it. Good boy…"

She paid her respects to Erich and Dieter next, who remained within Adler's cab, and then moved on to speak briefly with the crew inside the second 48. Lastly, she backed up again to regard Lammergeier himself, who swung instantly into fawning mode the moment she'd introduced herself.

"I am so, so happy zu meet you, gnaedige Frau! Adler has tell me so much about you, Missus Beauchamp, and your beautiful coaches and your—"

It went on for quite some time in a similar vein, and although Adler couldn't turn around and actually watch the circus, he was certainly able to hear what Lammergeier was spouting. The engine's spiel began to waver when he didn't receive any feedback from his audience of one. In fact, all she did was keep staring at him, fingers twitching as they smoothed over her elaborate furs, her own eyes as cold and inscrutable as the dead eyes on the full-pelt fox stole draped about her neck. Before long, Lammergeier stuttered to a sudden halt. A long, pained silence hung over the two of them, the woman and the locomotive.

"You're an impertinent one, aren't you?" Missus Beauchamp replied at last. She paused to look him up and down one final time. "Still, Charles and Adler do speak highly of you, so I suppose you'll do. But only if Adler and his crew agree. And my coaches! If I hear one complaint from my coaches, you're off the job!"

Adler almost lost it. He could not, of course, see his brother's face, but could well imagine it, his expression torn between shock and outrage. Mister Ray, the primary apprentice instructor for the North Western, had once dubbed Lammergeier as sullen and unfriendly, and he'd been quite furious then too, although not until the man had gone away. Wisely, he kept it together this time, was probably looking down at his own running board in submission. Missus Beauchamp spoke to Christophe and Surendra again, a lot more kindly than she'd addressed their engine, and they laughed about something that Adler couldn't quite make out. Adler's own crew also took it as their cue to move ahead, switch over to the coaches' track, and reverse to couple up to Pompey, the lead coach. Missus Beauchamp had moved again and was right there beside the track, watching everything. She nodded one final time to Erich and Dieter and then to Adler.

"Move them out," she ordered, "and take care of them down in Knapford. I'm sure I'll see all of you at least once during the summer."

"I hope it vill be soon, ma'am. Goodbye! And zank you again," Adler replied, and the station guard standing nearby waved his flag and blew his whistle and the big 48 whistled back his own warning before tugging his train into motion. They moved slowly off as commanded, the voices of the carriages raised in a momentary bedlam of farewells to their mistress before they settled into a happy, continuous, excited babble. Lammergeier fell in behind them as soon as they'd moved far enough ahead of him. Unlike everyone else in the procession, he was feeling resentful and was scowling, still miffed that he'd been unable to impress the owner of the four coaches now clickety-clacking along in front of him.

His mood improved once they reached Knapford and Adler had eased his coaches into their own special shelter. Christophe drove him onto the siding alongside the shed so the engine and the new residents could get better acquainted and Lammergeier perked right up when they began expressing their admiration for his heroic deeds. Beauregard and Richard positively gushed over him, in fact, and even though Lammergeier had never had much use for living rolling stock, still, their accolades pleased him. He backed into his berth alongside Adler a while later feeling better and was even happier after Surendra and Christophe got up on his running board together to administer a totally unnecessary yet soothing face wash. Adler's crew gave their engine a little extra grooming too, and the men chatted merrily back and forth about nothing at all as they worked, stretching the last of the morning out until their noontime break. On this day, their break also marked the end of their workday. The 48s soon found themselves left alone, the only two engines currently present in the Knapford roundhouse.

"That was nice of them," Adler commented. "I guess we'll be getting a lot of extra grooming from now on. So we look good for the tourists."

"You, maybe," said Lammergeier, getting a mite testy again. "That Beauchamp woman of yours didn't seem too enthused to meet me. I don't think she likes me."

"Well, you shouldn't have tried to suck up to her the way you did. She doesn't like being treated like that. And it's not as if she said you couldn't pull my train at all. The coaches like you. She'll come round and like you if her coaches like you."

"Great. My future working life determined by the goodwill of a bunch of silly carriages," Lammergeier said with disgust. "What an exciting proposition!"

Adler just chuckled in response. He was still stoked from the whole business of having retrieved his coaches and having them back in the yard and was in a jovial mood himself. "First Miz Denise and then Missus Beauchamp. You're not having much luck lately with human females," he quipped, expecting that Lammergeier would give him a dirty look at worst. Instead, his brother went almost scarlet in the face and looked stricken. Adler, appalled that his comment had had such a terrible unintended effect, began trying to apologise at once.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"

"She slapped me," Lammergeier blurted.

"What? Who?" Now Adler was just confused. "Who slapped you?"

"Denise."

"Denise slapped you?"

He had to be talking about the evening she'd taken him out, Adler thought. He couldn't imagine the woman climbing up on his brother's running board at any other time just to whack him one.

"This was after you had Mister Pelletier give her those flowers?" he asked.

"It was." Lammergeier still looked upset. Guilty, almost. "She said it was for all the times I behaved badly or gave her grief. And for-for almost k-killing Christophe and Surendra."

Adler's eyes almost popped out of his faceplate. Had he misheard? "What!" he gasped. "When did you do that?"

Lammergeier winced at the shock evident in Adler's voice. "A while ago. I ran away from them at Bluff's Cove."

The other 48 was rendered almost speechless. His brother had bolted on his crew. It was one of the worst sins an engine could commit. "You ran away… On that coastal line…"

"I didn't get far. They ran me into one of the buffer stops with all the sand dumped on the rails."

Adler again had to pause before he could speak. "Why would you do such a thing…" he breathed in disbelief.

Lammergeier sighed. "I don't know. Everything was closing in on me. I had to get away."

Neither of them spoke again for a long moment, each of them needing time to digest the other's words.

"I wish you would have said something to me," Adler eventually ventured. "Before it came to that."

"It wouldn't have done any good," Lammergeier replied. "What I needed to hear back then had to come from the humans."

"Oh."

The two 48s once more fell silent. Adler looked over at the other engine's face, to assess his mood. Not surprisingly, Lammergeier was starting to look relieved. It was always so when he dropped a real bombshell; first, the long period of refusing to talk, and then—this. Adler couldn't imagine keeping such a secret bottled up for so long. If he'd behaved like Lammergeier, it would have eaten him to the core.

"So they forgave you, I gather," Adler concluded at last. "And no one was hurt?"

"No one. I was shaken a little, when I hit the stop. But no damage done. I got home on my own well enough."

Now it was Adler who was sighing. "You're lucky. When did this all happen, exactly?"

"Several days, maybe half a week or so before I had my accident. I came back late that night."

"I think I remember now," said Adler slowly. "You had a weird expression on your face, but I didn't say anything. I hoped you'd talk about it the next day."

"I should have," Lammergeier admitted. He drew in a long breath, blew it out hard. His brief lapse into honest misery was lifting fast. "I don't know why I always keep things from you. I know you just want to help me."

"I do. Although what I could have even said to stop you…" Adler laughed shortly, without much mirth. "Don't run away from your crew, maybe?"

Lammergeier responded with a self-depreciating snort. The joke was on him all right.
"I know, I know. It was stupid and dangerous and bad of me. I deserved a slap, I guess."

"Denise really slapped you?" Adler marvelled, responding in kind to his brother's change in mood. "On the cheek, or…?"

"The cheek. It really hurt, too."

"Oh. Did it now."

He'd started to smirk. Lammergeier saw it and became instantly indignant.

"Don't laugh at me. It did hurt!"

"Lammergeier…"

"And it was humiliating! Have you ever been slapped by a human?"

"Even if it were Mister Pierre," retorted Adler, amused, "he'd just hurt his own hand long before he could hurt any of us. And Denise is such a little female…"

"She caught me by surprise! I had my safeguards down."

"You're just mad that she got you without your being able to anticipate it. And you're being a wuss about the rest of it. You deserve to have your tender rear-ended into your firebox for endangering your crew, you know."

"Oh, Christophe threatened to do a lot worse than that, believe you me."

"Well, good! At least it worked. I presume it worked. You should have confided all this to me long ago."

Lammergeier squirmed, back to his old self and willing to let himself be lovingly castigated by his brother.

"You're right. I should have. Please don't tell the others, though. About any of it."

"What part of 'confide' do you not understand? Of course I won't say anything to the other engines or other humans. That's between you and them, if you want them to know. It's just us and your crew and our relief crew, Denise and Pierre, yes?" He suddenly went quiet, regarded his brother suspiciously. "I'm guessing Sir Topham Hatt doesn't know. Does he?"

"Actually…he does. I told him and the humans told him. He forgave me." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I don't think they told him about what Denise did, though."

"Lucky for you. Wuss." Actually, Adler was impressed that Lammergeier had confessed his crime to their owner. It was the sort of offense that could get an engine pulled out of service and even sent away for scrap. A wave of relief swept through Adler upon realizing that he'd just witnessed further evidence that their mutual human friends had somehow managed to straighten Lammergeier out to a large degree and get him into a better frame of mind. At least he seemed to feel some regret and shame now over his past bad behaviour instead of remaining oblivious.

Lammergeier's latest round of confessions might have left Adler feeling happier about their relationship, but his own improvement in mood was short-lived. There was a lot in his life which was looking up. It just wasn't happening fast enough or happening in the particular way he wanted and that bothered him. By the time the other engines began coming back to the roundhouse, Lammergeier was back to brooding and didn't have much to say to anyone for the remainder of the evening. It fell to Adler to spread the word that his brother had been approved to pull the Beauchamp coaches, and if their shed-mates wondered why that was, why it wasn't Lammergeier himself gloating about his new tasking, well, they were used to his moodiness and chose to say nothing much more in turn.

Everyone was kept busy for the next several days. The Canadian engines needed some extra maintenance and cosmetic touch-ups for the tourist season to come and their excursion coaches needed the same. Wheels were reground and trued and a few were replaced, one carriage needed a new axel, Guy's lights were rebuilt. The others were used for numerous freight deliveries and Hurricane took out a local passenger charter as well, a job for which he'd shown considerable aptitude in the past. None of the work was hard, it was just time-consuming. Most of the engines came home later than usual during their busy spell and conversation in the roundhouse in the evenings was therefore scarce for a while.

After one of those later-than-usual outings, Adler came back to the roundhouse in an exceptionally good mood. His crew had just told him that given the nice evening to come, Miz Denise would very likely soon be along to take him out for some personal time; they'd already arranged it in passing earlier in the week and agreed it would be weather-dependant. Since it was still positively balmy for a late spring day and the skies were still clear, the date was sure to be a go, the men reasoned cheerfully as they settled Adler into his berth to wait. They knew all about the special relationship between their big 48 and the human woman who'd once routinely driven him and were always happy to foster the friendship between them.

Most of the others were already present when Adler came in, and the only holdout, Francois, showed up as Adler's own crew was leaving the yard. It wasn't long before all the engines were on their own and free to talk over their day's events amongst themselves. Adler kept looking over towards the station proper even while he was chatting with his brother. Lammergeier noticed, of course, but said nothing. He already had an inkling as to why Adler was so distracted.

When Adler did finally see his human friend entering the roundhouse yard, her big poofy blanket wrapped about a thermos full of hot tea tucked under one arm, he dropped all attempts to converse and his handsome face went radiant with a brilliant smile. Denise was smiling too. She had the next day off and was feeling relaxed and was very much looking forward to visiting with one of her beloved engine friends.

She stopped first to greet Adler properly and stroke the edge of his stepped-down running board. "So? Feel like going for a drive?" she said to him in German.

Adler almost answered in the affirmative. He even got his mouth open, to say yes, but then he glanced over at Lammergeier and saw his quiet depression and his priorities changed.

"Actually…I was thinking… Lammergeier might like to get out for a while tonight too. Maybe more so than me," he replied with care.

"Really?" Denise asked softly. She turned her head to regard the other 48 in time to watch his eyes fly wide open with shock. "How about that, Lammergeier? Would you like to go out for a bit?"

"Yes," he blurted, still looking surprised. Adler's own expression shifted to one of approval and his human friend gave him a few more pats, her aspect now quite thoughtful.

"All right then," she concluded, and walked over to get into Lammergeier's cab instead.

Both engines remained quiet while the woman tended to the business of getting her loco fired back up and then drove him out of the yard. Within minutes, she brought him to a stop again in a siding off the mainlines and Lammergeier looked curiously about. They were still near the outskirts of Knapford and hadn't gone far at all.

"Is this where you go with Adler?" he asked.

"It's one of our usual spots." She finished heaving herself up over his front buffers and straightened up to stand on his front running board, gestured with one hand. "There's another siding we'll use closer to town over on the seaward side, but there's a walking trail there. Lots of people go by on a nice evening."

"Oh."

He looked wary. Denise couldn't help grinning.

"Don't worry. I didn't bring you to this more secluded side so people wouldn't see me slap you again. I meant it when I said we could start over. And hey! Christophe told me that Missus Beauchamp cleared you to pull her famous coaches. That's something to smile about, no?"

"She didn't like me," Lammergeier muttered darkly.

"Only because you were trying to be smarmy and phoney again, I'll bet. You don't need to be like that anymore. It's irritating."

"It worked with you," he shot back.

"True… But only because I felt sorry for you back then. I didn't realize how sneaky and calculating you really were…none of us did. But now…"

The locomotive said nothing. Denise began petting his cheek. The alloy surface beneath her palm seemed stiff at first, then started to soften. He'd decided to trust her. She stroked his forehead next and smoothed down his eyebrows, something that had once done nothing but annoy him. Lammergeier's eyes half-closed as he relaxed further. It was lucky for both of them that he actually enjoyed being fussed over, although he'd pretended otherwise for a long time. Denise knew that not all locomotives liked such attention and she'd always found it harder to get close to the stand-offish ones.

She paused to wave at a man walking a dog over on the other side of the tracks. His acknowledgement drifted over to them; "Evening, Denise…Adi," he called. Denise felt the alloy surface under her hand briefly tense up again.

"That man thought I was Adler," Lammergeier said, frowning.

"Hardly surprising. He's too far away to see your number or nameplate or make out your features. You and your brother are pretty much identical otherwise. It's an honest mistake."

But Lammergeier was now stuck on the subject of his sibling.

"That woman, Missus Beauchamp… Did she give Adler a hard time at first too?"

"A hard time? No, actually they clicked at once. I think it was because they were both coming off dealing with some personal issues at the time. Made for some shared kinship between them, I suppose."

"What issues?" Lammergeier demanded.

"Are you talking about Adi? Because if you are, you'll have to take it up with him directly. A lot of what he told me in the past, he told me in confidence."

"Was it about him working for the Russians or—"

"Hello! In confidence means you don't discuss it with other people. Ask your brother if you want to know more. He'll probably be thrilled if you express some actual concern for his feelings for a change."

Lammergeier stewed. Sometimes, he really did not like this new, less gullible version of Denise. His ability to play the pity card was all but gone now and it irked him.

"You love my brother, don't you?" he said at last.

"Yes. He's a lovable engine."

"But not me."

"You're a work in progress."

Lammergeier pouted again. Denise could tell that he was now angry as well as disappointed; his eyes glinted like fresh ice on a deep still treacherous pool. She wondered if he knew how much his expressive face betrayed his innermost feelings to those who knew what to look for.

And yet later, once she'd stroked his forehead a while longer to help mollify him while he got over his latest snit, he begged her to rub his special spot. Denise relented and began to scritch the base of his finely chiseled nose beneath his brows. The engine sighed and closed his eyes, happy again. The woman smirked.

"What," she said, "would Freud say about this?"

"Freud is an idiot," Lammergeier replied in a dreamy voice, without opening his eyes. "He claims we're a male symbol, yet uses die Lokomotive…die. Why did you humans do that? Decide that Lokomotive should be a feminine noun? It makes no sense."

His sometime driver's own face grew more thoughtful.

"Lammergeier…I actually have no idea. What I'd like to say is that maybe it's because you carry us around inside you, like a woman carrying a child, but then ships, autos and aeroplanes ought to use the feminine article too, and they don't."

"Huh!" he remarked, his tone triumphant. Denise kept rubbing his nose while she continued to ponder.

"If it makes you feel better, you're not the only one who's noticed the discrepancy," she went on. "Adi's commented on it too, during the very first real conversation I had with him. I remember apologizing to him because it was the first time I'd conversed in German for a long while and I was sure I was making little mistakes, and he said that yes, I'd been saying der Lok instead of using the more proper die, among other things. He thought it was a flattering mistake, though, once I explained that I found it hard to think of engines like him as anything but male and entirely masculine."

Lammergeier opened his eyes.

"He said that to you. Thought it was flattering."

"Yup. And he smiled too, for the first time. That was the first hint I had that he could be quite the charmer, your brother."

Now the big 48 looked annoyed. Denise gave the special spot between his eyes a last little tap with her fingertips and left off petting him. She didn't want to inadvertently reward any shows of jealousy on his part.

"Come on now. You do have your share of charm too, you know. It's why I said you were a work in progress, and not—"

"A hopeless jackass?" he swiftly interjected. To his pleasure, he saw Denise's cheeks flush a little and knew he'd scored a hit. It'd been a while since he'd been able to goad such a reaction out of the woman.

"Oh. You, er, remember that, do you?" she followed up, trying to stall for time while she quelled her embarrassment. That darn Lammergeier! She'd forgotten that his charm went hand in hand with a powerful capacity for obnoxiousness. Sighing, she tried to start over.

"What I said back then you deserved," she maintained, "but maybe not anymore." She paused to smile, her voice becoming more teasing. "I was going to say you were a work in progress and not without promise. And Christophe told me that you've been behaving yourself very well. Gives me hope!"

"Hope for what?"

"That you'll become lovable yourself someday."

Lammergeier stared at her. His expression, dubious and confrontational, began to slip into something more uncertain, laced with a trace of longing. "This is true? You mean it?" he asked.

Poor guy… Still anxious and needy, he can't hide it, Denise thought sadly. She was suddenly glad that she was about to answer him with complete honesty.

"Yes, Lammergeier. I do mean it," she said to him, and felt compelled to start stroking his face again. The alloy surface beneath her hand remained soft and yielding and strangely warm, an almost perfect metal mimicry of organic flesh. Even better, the softness was beginning to spread to his eyes. They no longer appeared as hard as before, their glassy surfaces a shield between himself and the rest of the world. It was good to see. Denise didn't think that Lammergeier was a bad engine or dangerous anymore, but the fine points of how he regarded humanity still needed a lot of nurturing and encouragement. She was starting to think that it would all be worth it in the end, though.

When it came time to watch the sun go down, she sat down on his running board close to his face just as she did with Adler, nursing a last cup of spearmint tea as the light diminished. The German 48 remained quiet and contemplative. Occasionally, the woman would reach her free hand over and idly rub his chin. It wasn't as good as having his special spot rubbed, but Lammergeier was content even so now that she seemed on her way back to being his friend again.

Even Adler noticed the difference later on as soon as Lammergeier had returned and finished backing into his berth. Instead of disembarking and marching off without a word, his driver this time came forward and paused to administer a last pat on the edge of his running board.

"Good night, Lammergeier," Adler overheard Denise murmur. "You keep on behaving yourself, okay?"

"I will," he replied, his voice equally soft. "Good night…"

One more pat and off she went. Adler heard his brother sigh.

"A better session?" Adler remarked as soon as the human had passed beyond earshot. "You look happier than last time."

"I am, I guess." He sighed again. "At least she didn't slap me again. That's promising, yes?"

The other 48 chuckled. "Only you would think that not being slapped was promising. But yes, you'll win her over in time, I believe. Just follow her advice and don't do anything stupid again. For a human, she has a big heart."

"I'll mind my manners," Lammergeier promised. "And thank you for encouraging her to take me out at all. It should have been you."

"Well, as I said, I thought you needed her company more than I did. It sounds like I was right."

"You were. Thank you again, brother. I won't forget this."

"You'd better not," Adler warned with mock severity, then both engines settled down to sleep. In truth, Adler was delighted that his impulsive act of generosity had yielded such positive results. He wanted to see his brother and Denise become friends again too.

The very next day, while checking in at Knapford's dispatch office to pick up their job orders, Lammergeier was intrigued to see Sir Topham come out of his office and intercept Christophe as he was walking back to his engine. The two men then retreated into the Fat Controller's own office for a while, after which Christophe emerged wearing a big grin. But for what reason, he would not say. Not at first. It wasn't until the engine and his crew were sitting idle and resting over the noon hour later on in a siding near Crovan's Gate that Christophe and Surendra climbed up on his running board to have an important chat with him. What they wanted to talk about was their employment over the coming tourist season.

In a nutshell, Lammergeier's presence was in demand! Sir Topham had been fielding numerous requests ever since the 48 had successfully returned to the rails after his heroic exploits and had finally settled on some interesting possibilities. He would get to pull Missus Beauchamp's coaches, yes, and probably do a stint or two serving as a display engine up at Ulfstead over the summer. But there were also some big railway exhibitions over on the Mainland coming up whose organizers were awaiting a decision, and what's more, Sir Topham thought that his Lambchop himself ought to have a say. The engine felt a peculiar emotion build up within him as Christophe continued to lay out their options, a feeling so odd and unusual that he couldn't quite identify it, yet he knew it was there. It faded after a while, leaving him merely enthused. He wound up telling Christophe that he would definitely like to go to some shows on the Mainland, any shows, as long as he could also pull at least one of the excursion tours on Sodor; it was what he and his brother were looking forward to the most, after all. As for the Mainland shows, Lammergeier was already thinking that it'd be like attending some of the festivals serviced by the railways back in his old Berlin days. Those days when he hadn't been terrified and soured yet into thinking too much and had still been a happy engine.

And then, quite suddenly, it was early summer and with it came the first real flush of tourists. Several cruise ships arrived, two of them expected, but one not. The passengers aboard the unexpected ship immediately snapped up the few remaining seats left aboard the Canadian engines' excursion trains and clamoured for more, and Sir Topham Hatt, not wanting to disappoint them, hurriedly pulled Hurricane off his formerly scheduled job and sent him down to Brendam Docks along with the two nicest coaches available and instructions to his crew to follow along behind Justin and do their best. As it turned out, their best was just fine. The rail fans amongst the group aboard the new impromptu tour were actually thrilled to be riding behind such a true rarity of a locomotive and the coaches were posh enough to satisfy even the pickiest of them. The only individual who wound up unhappy was Lammergeier. He was already up at Ulfstead Castle that day, doing a stint as a display engine, and when he saw Hurricane come in right alongside Justin and Francois, his eyes narrowed and he began complaining to his faithful attendant, Christophe. His driver pointed out, quite reasonably, that he was already being advertised as one of the big tender engines that pulled the more expensive Beauchamp coaches and that he therefore shouldn't be used for what amounted to an additional charter—it had to have been either Hurricane or Guy. Lammergeier accepted the man's explanation, but grudgingly so. Using a tank engine for an excursion tour just didn't seem…grand enough to him, Hurricane's unique status be darned!

Lammergeier got his chance only two weeks later, though. As previously agreed upon, he was slated to head the second Beauchamp excursion tour of the year while his brother Adler took his turn being the display 48 at Ulfstead. Somewhat as expected, he performed splendidly. There'd been no question about Lammergeier's ability to pull such a prestigious train to perfection, but his solicitous, almost gracious attitude towards his passengers turned out to be quite the surprise, albeit one that was very welcome. Christophe and Surendra were delighted with their engine's improving manners. It seemed as though he was going to take his new duties very seriously and they never heard a single smart aleck remark or off comment out of him all day. It was a good bit of work… The two of them said as much to Sir Topham Hatt when they saw him the next morning to report on how Lammergeier had made out, and after that it became routine for the two 48s to alternate taking out the Beauchamp coaches while the other went up to the Ulfstead grounds on exhibit.

Sir Topham had also entered Lammergeier in two Mainland shows and the first of them was at a one-day exhibition of locomotives in the York area. The railway people up at York had actually been collecting important engines for years, the Fat Controller told Lammergeier's crew when he handed over their packet of information and vouchers before sending them over the morning before. The locos were everywhere, stashed wherever they could be sheltered until properly preserved, and it was Sir Topham's opinion that the main York depot would one day become the site of an important railway museum. In the meantime, he advised them cheerfully, things were still a bit rustic so they ought not to be surprised if their show-going experience had something of the atmosphere of a country carnival about it. Christophe and Surendra promised that they'd accept whatever role was handed to them with good humour and off they went.

York was not that far away and Lammergeier and his crew made good time once over on the Mainland, even with several stops for fuel and water and a human lunch. They arrived on the outskirts of the region by midafternoon at which point things started to get dicey. There were just so many rail lines, passenger and freight tracks all intermingled, and the signage wasn't terribly helpful. Then they came up on a little station where the guard began madly waving his red flag at them the second he spotted them coming. Lammergeier eased to a halt as ordered and Christophe and Surendra both leaned out of their cab window hopefully. Sure enough, a dapper gentleman wearing civilian clothes and carrying a clipboard at once hurried up to them.

"Mister Pelletier and Mister Thakur, I presume?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"Welcome to York! I'm here to guide you the rest of the way to the museum grounds."

The two Sudrians welcomed the Mainlander into their cab with alacrity, expressing their relief given the complexity of the track layout they were starting to encounter. Their guest, who introduced himself as one Norman McDonald, laughed and agreed that York did have a great abundance of lines and had suspected that they might be getting concerned, hence his decision to meet them partway. Oh, and their engine was beautiful, as impressive as he'd hoped for, and the show organizers had something really special in store for them.

Mister McDonald guided them well. Before long, they came up behind a huge industrial building under renovation that looked as though it could have once been a locomotive works. A number of lines led inside, but instead Lammergeier was turned aside over several sets of points until he found himself slowly chuffing down a spur sited next to the building proper. The spur had a buffer stop and ended right in the middle of a pleasant park. Lammergeier looked curiously about, intrigued. There was a big parking lot right in front of them that extended past the old building and off to their right they could see a bit of a greenbelt area bordering a major highway and overpass. There was a lot of traffic on the highway, not surprising given that it was Saturday and not even teatime yet.

Their guide hopped down out of Lammergeier's cab while Christophe and Surendra damped the engine's fire and began preparing him for an extended stop. They were just as intrigued as the 48 as to where they'd wound up and Mister McDonald was quick to explain that it was the museum staff's hope that having such a bright and highly visible engine such as Lammergeier out on the spur would help draw visitors to the show the following day.

"Our local paper did a big story on your engine earlier this year," he went on. "Got a lot of positive public response and we're frankly hoping to capitalize on it. I hope you're all right with that. We could still bring him indoors and find a spot for him, if you prefer."

"No no, this is fine," Christophe replied. He glanced up at Lammergeier's face as he spoke; there was doubt there, but not too much. The engine would have already been protesting if he were truly upset. "This looks pretty new, this park."

"It is new. We own the land and always had a few picnic tables out here for our staff to use. Once opening the museum was a go, we thought investing in a proper little railway park with one of our engines out on display would help pull in the traffic. A lot of locals already come by to use the greenbelt and that bit of undeveloped land out past the parking lot there to walk their dogs and such, so…they're happy. We've done some work on the front entrance too. Looks a little more inviting now. We've been taking small groups of visitors through by appointment only for some time now—school tours and such—but tomorrow will actually be the first time we'll be open to the general public all day long."

"Oh, we didn't realize! And if you get the numbers tomorrow, the ones you're hoping for, you'll stay open I presume?"

"Weekends only, at first. We'll see how that goes and take it from there," Mister McDonald concluded, and both Christophe and Surendra nodded thoughtfully. Sir Topham hadn't said anything about the show they were attending being a grand opening or that their participation would be so important.

A little cluster of people from the museum came over to greet them in turn at that point and Mister McDonald was kept busy for a few minutes to make the introductions. Everyone seemed enthused to meet Lammergeier.

"What a handsome lad!" one man exclaimed. "So glad to see you got him repaired so well and looking brand new again. Splendid livery too. The tourists must just love him."

"Yes, excellent job by your works. I still remember that photo of him lying at the bottom of the bank right after the crash," said another. "Just a brutal image. Quite upsetting, really. Our paper had to print a few follow-up stories to reassure all the folks who were writing in to express their concern back then, that's how bad it looked. He lost his tender, didn't he?"

"Yes he did," Surendra answered. "Luckily, we were able to import a proper replacement for him in short order, the same sort of tub tender he was pulling in Germany."

"I remember seeing them overseas behind all those ten-wheelers they built during the War," the first man added. He paused to again regard Lammergeier with critical eyes, studied his array. "Lambchop here, he looks a lot like them, the 50s and 52s, but…taller? Wider? Or am I misremembering?"

"No, he's taller all right," Christophe confirmed. "It's the bigger wheels. And the broader running board all around plus the extra leading axel. He's sort of the souped-up version of the more standard ten-wheelers they churned out back then. Check out his firebox when you go aboard. The grate's enormous! A heftier high-pressure boiler too."

"Must be faster than the standards then, is he?"

"By a fair bit, yes. Scoots right along. Thank goodness!"

Christophe went suddenly silent and reached out and began patting the locomotive under discussion. Everyone present knew that the driver was referencing the incident during which his engine's speed had literally saved lives and the mood turned briefly sober and reflective. "Yes, it's a good thing our dear engines don't play politics or hold grudges the way we humans do," Mister McDonald opined slowly (not realizing that Lammergeier was in truth not a very good example to hang such a comment on), and joined Christophe in stroking the 48 with a gentle hand.

Everyone cheered up again once Mister McDonald made the offer to give the visiting crew their own private tour of what his museum would be offering the next day and the little group who remained with Lammergeier were left with only the engine to question further.

"Ich spreche Deutsch, ein wenig," the man who'd talked about being overseas offered.

"Und I speak English, a lot," Lammergeier fired right back, a response which instigated a little ripple of surprised laughter. Christophe had assured everyone before he'd left with Mister McDonald that his engine's English was quite good plus which he spoke fluent French, and to therefore feel free to ask him anything they wanted. Yet aside from an initial 'hallo' and an assurance that he was 'pleez to meet you', Lammergeier hadn't said anything; he'd only watched them, intently, which had suggested that he had to concentrate very hard to comprehend the meaning of their words. The museum workers had been a little reluctant to speak to the engine directly as a result, and to discover that he understood them just fine, plus even seemed to have a sense of humour, was relieving for them.

When the two Sudrians returned with Mister McDonald over an hour later, a couple of the staff workers were still there talking to Lammergeier and so were some startled dog walkers. One of the men from the museum was up on Lammergeier's running board and idly rubbing his face. They'd just finished inspecting Lammergeier from bow to stern as it were, and the 48 was indeed one impressive piece of locomotive engineering, he related cheerfully. Lammergeier had also been very helpful in providing technical information about himself and had told them some interesting stories about his early days and the works where he'd been built. Christophe and Surendra exchanged glances and grins. They knew that Lammergeier was full of stories all right as well as just full of it, but at least it sounded as though he'd managed to restrain himself during their absence this time.

His crew eventually left again with Mister McDonald, who drove them to their hotel, and when dusk came, even the dog walkers drifted away. A floodlight, sited behind Lammergeier, came on, throwing a warm yellow pool of illumination over most of the park and the locomotive dominating it. The light was mercifully rather weak, almost like twilight, and just bright enough to reveal any nefarious goings-on. Lammergeier had earlier overheard the museum boss assuring his crew that someone would watch the 48 all night, and sure enough, there was only one car left in the parking lot, parked directly in front of the engine. He could just make out that there was a man inside the vehicle and could occasionally hear a vague snatch of music or voices; the security guard was listening to a radio. Thus reassured in turn, Lammergeier allowed himself to relax and began watching the passing cars on the nearby highway. The moving streaks of the headlights were strangely mesmerizing. He was also far more tired than he knew and soon nodded off, and slumbered throughout the remainder of the night, content and at peace and dreaming of the things only locomotives dream of.

Lammergeier slept so well that the dawn sun had already risen well clear of the horizon by the time he woke up. He scanned the skies. Not a cloud in sight and it was very clear and warm without being oppressive—good. With luck, the fine summer weather would hold. The guard and his car were gone, but there were already other cars parked further away and Lammergeier could see a few people moving about near the museum entrance, close enough to hear him if he chose to yell. Not that he had any intention of yelling at any humans, he thought, still it was nice to have that option, that he could attract attention if he needed it. To pass the time, he began watching the activity next door and watched for Christophe and Surendra to arrive. He was curious about who and what they'd seen inside the display building during their private tour and whether there were any other visiting engines besides himself on the premises.

When his crew did finally show up, they were delivered via van right in front of him, complete with comfortable folding chairs, their own cooler full of drinks, and their own personal museum representative to help out and spell them, the same young man who'd been taken enough by Lammergeier the day before to want to climb up on his running board. Several of the same dog walkers from before also showed up as the trio got settled, to cater to their respective dogs' morning constitutionals. Lammergeier eyed one short-legged hairy mop of a mutt in particular when it began sniffing around him a little too closely for comfort. Luckily, its owner noticed too and called the animal away before it disgraced itself. More cars showed up, some containing additional walkers, a few disgorging the first people intending to visit the railway show and could they meet Lambchop in the meantime while they waited for the doors to open, please. It was a promising start. And what really sealed it in the participants' minds, just minutes later, was the arrival of several mobile food vendors who promptly set up shop in the parking lot in between the museum building and the park. Not only were they clearly very organized, but their offerings even complemented each other; besides the ubiquitous fish and chips wagon, there was a second one which specialized in sandwiches, rolls and soups, and the third lorry sold ice cream, snacks and drinks. All the culinary comforts of home by the side of the road, in short. Christophe, looking at them, found himself wondering if the owners of the three wagons mightn't be related.

By midmorning, it was obvious that the railway show was going to be a complete success. The lot was so full all day that many visitors parked along the sides of the road leading to the museum grounds and were happy to walk in. Everyone loved the engines displayed inside and Lammergeier proved to be such a hit that any residual disappointment he might have felt over not seeing the other locomotives for himself vanished entirely. It was the first time he'd ever been displayed as the sole exhibit in a park setting and he soon relished being the center of attention. It was also quite novel to him to have admiring crowds spread out all around him and to feel so many unseen hands touching him all over. And he was looking down at everybody for once…far down… He probably appeared even more impressive and imposing when viewed from a ground perspective than he did when people looked at him at a platform, he thought, a notion which pleased him. A lot of the humans who came over to see him seemed to be well aware of his heroics already and were very complimentary. Again and again he could hear Christophe and Surendra being asked to expand on what had happened that day on Sodor and was it really true that their engine had charged off all on his own to intercept that lorry. His crew would of course say yes, absolutely—he could easily have been fatally damaged by the impact, yet had done it even so—after which the adults would look at him more admiringly than ever and any kids with them would usually yell some variant of "Thanks, Lambchop!" and then want to pet him. Yes, one could get used to a little hero worship from total strangers, Lammergeier concluded smugly as his day wore on. It was impossible to calculate how many Sunday drivers and passers-by his simple presence on the spur in the museum park snagged into coming back to pay him a visit in the end, but Christophe and Surendra were sure the numbers were considerable.

The show organizers were thrilled by Lammergeier's contribution too and a couple of them said as much when they came over later once the show was officially over for the day and the exhibition hall had closed its doors. They hung about, chatting happily with Christophe and Surendra while the two men began readying Lammergeier for travel, and so did a number of residual heavy-duty rail enthusiasts; the park was always open for use to the public and museum staff and workers alike and they wanted to watch the visiting German engine get fired up. Christophe wound up letting all of them climb up into the 48's cab in turn to view his huge firebox in action and admire his luxurious appointments first hand. One of the organizers was a former driver himself and especially thrilled to briefly sit in the foreign locomotive's operator's seat. It was sobering, he related, to think that the view he had from sitting in the seat had once encompassed many of the people he'd been sent overseas to fight barely a decade ago.

Once free to leave, Lammergeier and his crew found their way back out of the track tangle servicing the York area without too much trouble and were cruising along at a good clip on one of the homeward bound mainlines by the time darkness fell. Christophe again felt obliged to apologize for their unusual participation in the show they'd just attended. Nobody on Sodor had known that they'd be parked out on a spur by themselves instead of being inside with the other display engines.

"Is okay," Lammergeier's disembodied voice replied within his cab. "I zink I like ze…chained?...captured audience better."

"Captive audience," Christophe corrected, smiling. "Well, I have to admit, I rather liked it too. And—you, Surendra?"

"Yes. Enjoyable," the fireman confirmed. "And I daresay you did much good today, Lammergeier. A lot of the cars that pulled in directly off the highway, I don't think the families inside had any intention of going to a railway show today. They just saw you while out for a nice drive and came back to visit with you. Then many of them went on to look at the other engines, but only after we told them about the show."

"Some of the families who came in around lunchtime didn't even do that," said Christophe. "I was watching them. After meeting you, they'd buy lunches and treats at the trucks, picnic at one of the park tables, let the kids burn off some energy on the playground, then pile right back into their cars and off they went." He chuckled and ran a hand fondly over the cab wall in front of him. "I guess you were enough locomotive for them all by yourself, Lammergeier."

"Ja. Zhey zink I am ze best Lok so vhy look at more? Smart humans, very smart," his engine said, a note of sly teasing so obvious beneath his words that both men were left grinning and shaking their heads. This was Lammergeier as they liked to see him, happy to have done what they'd asked of him and enjoying his time spent with them. The fun, social side of Lammergeier in a good mood, in short, when he could be very enjoyable to work with in turn.

Sir Topham Hatt was also quite surprised by what had happened at the York show when Christophe and Surendra stopped by his office the next afternoon to make their report.

"Oh dear, I had no idea," he said with concern. "I hope you weren't too disappointed that they left you outside like that."

"Actually, it turned out just fine even so, sir. Surendra and I, we got a preview look at all the other engines in the exhibition hall the evening before—quite an impressive collection, by the way—and Lambchop wound up rather enjoying being the center of attention. Not a bit of trouble with him. Lots of recognition, too. I'd say virtually every adult that came to see him already knew that he'd saved those kids and that it happened here on Sodor."

"Ah, good to hear. Very good," Sir Topham remarked, sounding more chipper again. "So our Lambchop's finally gotten over his problems with us, has he?"

"I think so, sir. I think he's getting back to what he was like before, back in Berlin. He and Adi had to have been taught to be exceptionally well-mannered and good with crowds back then. Adi never lost that, and Lambchop…well, I do believe he liked having lots of people around him again. The odd circumstances didn't faze him a bit, either. He did miss seeing the other engines and maybe talking to some of them, but being on his own to meet and greet…no problem."

The Fat Controller had begun to nod his head in silent affirmation of his own conclusions.

"In that case, he should find Birmingham entertaining. You haven't told him yet that it's a trade show we're going to, not an exhibition, have you?"

"Not yet," said Surendra. "He's mentioned it, but it's obvious that he assumes it'll be a regular railway show."

"Let him keep thinking that then," Sir Topham said. "It'll be fun to see his reaction when you stop to pick me up and we tell him otherwise!"

The two railway crewmen were more than happy to help maintain the little subterfuge regarding the Birmingham show to come. In the meantime, Lammergeier took out another excursion tour with great success, was exhibited twice for the day up at Ulfstead Castle, and helped deliver many, many tons of stone and other freight in between his tourist jobs. He only became suspicious about his next Mainland outing on the very morning that Christophe and Surendra began prepping him for travel and some yard workers came by to help start dressing him up with his flags, signage and railing banners, as though he were about to take out the Beauchamp coaches or do holiday work again.

"Vhy ze decorations?" he asked, quite reasonably. "Ve are take ze train also?"

"Nope," Christophe replied. "We just want you to look extra spiffy this time. To make the North Western look good."

Lammergeier remained dubious. He never wore decorations when being exhibited at the Island's own railway museum grounds so why start now? His suspicions grew the instant they made a stop at Knapford Station and some more workmen rolled out a trolley filled with what looked like folding furniture, small boxes, and other items, which they then began loading into his cab. Sir Topham Hatt stepped out of his office, perhaps to oversee what was going on. One of his aides was with him and holding several suitcases. The Fat Controller's own luggage as it turned out.

"Excellent! Very nice turnout," he exclaimed, pausing to admire his engine while his aide handed off his suitcases to be loaded in turn. Lammergeier was so surprised by his owner's actions that he couldn't remain silent.

"You are come mit us?" he blurted. "Sir?"

"Yes, Lambchop, I am indeed coming along. Birmingham is a rail industry trade show, you see. Do you know what a trade show is?"

"Yes! Natuerlich!" His surprise was already sliding over into curiosity and enthusiasm. "But vhat ve sell zere? You are comink to make new customers, na?"

"Well, to be frank, I'm selling you, Lambchop. Or rather, rides on your trains. I'm hoping to promote our rail tourism here on Sodor."

"Ach! And so ze flags. I understand now."

"Good boy. This will be your chance to really show off and look your best, Lambchop. Don't disappoint me!"

"I von't!" he promised, after which his master boarded, full of equal enthusiasm and well pleased by the engine's instant acceptance of his part in their little business venture. Christophe and Surendra were even more pleased. They knew that it wasn't so long ago that Lammergeier would have met such a revelation with reluctance and irritation.

Their trip over to Birmingham went off without the slightest hitch after that. One of the reasons that Sir Topham had wanted to leave so early was to ensure that they'd arrive at the show in time to partake of the evening reception and presentations being offered throughout the weekend. It'd been a long time since he'd had the opportunity to renew his friendships with so many other railway executives all at once and to meet and connect with new acquaintances. And this time they probably wouldn't even need the help of a guide picked up en route to complete their journey. Since they were bringing their own locomotive to the show, whoever had prepared their information packet had seen fit to send them an excellent detailed map and instructions on how to approach and enter the trade show portion of Birmingham Station and so far everything was panning out. They would have to back in when they arrived, to ensure that they remained at the front of their line so they could leave a little early on Sunday as per their request, the handwritten instructions read, which seemed rather odd, but they were sure it would all make sense when they got there. Soon, all the landmarks they were supposed to see had come and fallen away behind them and then the high clear-canopied roof of the main station proper appeared off in the distance in front of them, gleaming under the late afternoon sun. Sir Topham, who'd been in Birmingham before, recognized it, he told his employees happily, pleased that they'd made such good time. Just one more half hour and they should be inside and parked and collecting their show badges, he advised them further, and when it came time to blow their whistle to announce their approach, he was in such a jovial mood that he insisted on taking hold of the control and cranking out the deep wailing blasts himself.

Sure enough, the reason they needed to reverse into place became crystal clear the instant they found the correct line to use and discovered that Birmingham Station housed both numerous passenger lines and a pair of dedicated goods lines that looped right through the structure from end to end. The goods lines were sited way over against one side of the station and encased somewhat by a separate additional lower ceiling studded with artificial lights and exhaust fans, and a high wrought iron fence of vertical bars lined the station side of the second line, the one they were meant to use. Lammergeier examined his surroundings, intrigued, while his crew directed his slow chuffing. The overall effect was almost as though he were backing through a tunnel, one whose one side abutted a busy working passenger station. He couldn't remember ever delivering freight indoors before in a similar setting, only people.

The ceiling suddenly lifted up into bright light and spaciousness. Lammergeier was backing through one side of what appeared to be a broad hall covered by an extension of the canopy roof sheltering the station. And there was a station guard waiting for them on the platform island between the two single rail lines, motioning for them to continue backing, but slowly now. "Easy," he called. "Right up even with the other engine please." The 48 looked eagerly over as Christophe began easing him to a stop, wanting to see what sort of neighbour he'd have parked across from him. Alas, it was a lifeless loco, a little tank engine. Then he saw its paint job.

It was the most bizarre design he'd ever seen on any locomotive, nothing but squares of contrasting colours and bands over its boiler section, as if a rainbow assembled by a tasteless lunatic had fallen on the poor machine. He was so absorbed by the aesthetic outrage of it all that he totally missed the Fat Controller's disembarking his cab and the arrival of several show officials who greeted him. Hearing his name brought him back, though. The strangers were enthusing about him in addition to welcoming his owner.

"Here he is! Lambchop flying all his flags, what a grand sight! So this is what he looks like when he takes out the excursion trains, is that right, sir?" one of the men asked.

"Yes, he and my other 48 both. They alternate pulling their tours and being on display and we do like dressing up whichever engine is running the rails on the day."

"Well, he'll make for a fine display here too. You and the chaps from Dolan Paints are the only ones who brought actual engines to the show. Thought you'd both enjoy being at the head of your lines and across from one another to welcome visitors to the platform vendors."

"Heh heh, yes, thank you, that would be most appropriate." He paused to look about, smiling happily all the while. "This is quite the site! I don't believe I've ever seen another station with dedicated goods lines running right through it alongside the passenger lines. And this lovely annex with its own canopy…"

"Our multipurpose area," a different man replied proudly. "Usually, we use it to store the goods we unload off the trains that come in until the shipments are picked up for further distribution. Or we can clear all or part of it for special events like this weekend's."

Lammergeier's attention meandered again as the humans yakked on. He could see a fair portion of the far side of the annex hall and it was certainly bustling with activity. Free-standing dividers had been set up all along the wall and many of the spaces between them were being filled to capacity with tables and chairs, shelving, all sorts of displays and samples to examine. A headlight directly in front of him on his line caught his eye next. A small diesel was rolling towards him, pushing what looked to be a very short flatbed in front of it. He couldn't make out what type of engine it was exactly, only that it was female and appeared friendly.

"Hi," the diesel said softly as it was brought to a stop not far from him and Lammergeier said back, "Hallo." It was all they had time for. Two men jumped down on the tracks out of the diesel engine right after that to approach the flatbed and start…unfolding it. Within a minute, its neat purpose had been revealed. The men flipped over two leaves of planks which finished spanning the open spaces between the flatbed and the platform edges on either side, turning the whole into another sturdy bridge similar to the one already spanning the other rail line cutting through the annex. Several sections of metal railings were then attached, the diesel pulled the whole unit back a little to align it perfectly with the other one, and the temporary walkway between the annex, goods platform, and a gate in the fence separating the goods and passenger lines was then complete. Lammergeier was quite impressed by the simple ingenuity of it all. The gate in the fence was still locked for the moment, but he was sure it would be opened to allow additional access in the morning.

The 48's crew disembarked themselves at that point and Lammergeier watched another official come up to greet his humans, tick them off a list, and present them with badges. Sir Topham was eager to get going to the trade show's main hotel and get settled into his room before attending the evening's events. Christophe and Surendra felt less hurried. The world they lived in was a little less rarified than the one occupied by their boss and they had no real interest in presentations aimed at the rail industry's leaders. Finding a good restaurant and then a congenial pub once they'd claimed their own hotel room was ambitious enough for both of them.

Lammergeier was on his own by the time the natural light began to fade. The annex area remained no less busy, however. A number of vendors were arriving late and still had their booths to set up, and there were guards providing security and monitoring access, who'd be on duty all night. One of them, a young fellow, stopped to stare at Lammergeier when he first came over to patrol the platform island where all the rail stock and the two engines were parked, but then moved on down the line. When he came back, though, he couldn't take it any longer and stopped again.

"What are you?" he exclaimed, mightily puzzled.

Lammergeier was ready for him. "I am a Raubvogel class 48 und my name is Lammergeier. Pleez to meet you."

"You're German!"

"Jawohl!"

He added a smile to make it a joke and the human smiled back. Of course he also wanted to know after that what a German engine was doing at a trade show catering to the UK rail industry, but they couldn't talk for long. The young man took his duties seriously and knew he wasn't being paid to chat with the show attendees. But gradually, as the hours wore down and the annex emptied of people and even the furthest passenger lines in the station went silent for the night, Lammergeier was able to relate his story bit by bit whenever the guard swung by on his rounds. In turn, the young man told the engine that he was studying to become a medic and worked security shifts on the weekends to make extra money. Lammergeier was quite thoughtful as he mulled over the guard's words. He'd never really thought much about the private lives of the humans he saw all around him or considered that their everyday existence could be hard or demanding.

The trip to Birmingham had tired him out enough that he slept easily and well later on throughout the night, and he didn't wake until the early morning passenger traffic picked up enough to create considerable bustle and noise. Indeed, he almost missed the arrival of his own crew. Both men were dressed in their working overalls and wanted to give him a quick once-over.

"Sleep okay?" Christophe asked him as he climbed onto his running board, beginning his check on the condition of his sign, flags and banners without even waiting for an answer. Surendra, meanwhile, was lifting up buckets full of utensils and the suds and water they needed to clean and polish him up. Not that there was much grooming to do, really. Lammergeier had been designed to be an exceptionally clean-running engine, one who always expelled his smoke and excess steam extra high.

"I think he had a late night," Surendra remarked when their engine failed to respond to Christophe's query. "How about that, Lambchop? Maybe that cute diesel shunter came back, kept you company?"

"I talk to vun of ze guards," Lammergeier mumbled and suppressed a huge yawn.

"Good," said Christophe. "You'll have lots of other people to talk to all weekend."

He began wiping down the metal cladding over his boiler with a brush and polishing rag while Surendra started cleaning the engine's face. Lammergeier closed his eyes, still feeling a little sleepy, enjoying the sensations. He'd become an engine who—yes, he had to admit it—liked being fussed over, never mind that he'd once criticized other locos who enjoyed being similarly indulged. Plus which, he had to look good this time. To uphold the good reputation of his railroad and human masters, of course! (Or so he told himself.)

Once satisfied with his condition, the two men began hauling out the materials they'd loaded into Lammergeier's cab back on Sodor. The table they set up next to their engine's leading axels, then covered it with a blue and white cloth, a row of small standing posters featuring the engines of the Island's foreign fleet, binders full of additional photos, and leaflets and brochures galore. Christophe showed the poster of Lammergeier to its namesake, who smiled with satisfaction until he noticed that there were actually six posters adorning the table. Frowning a little, he asked if Hurricane was also being featured.

"Nope. His picture's in the binder about the NWR engines. We only got you six tourist locos posterized. Turned out nice, didn't it?" replied Christophe.

"Six? Zere are five only, ja?"

"You're forgetting Wikus."

"Vikus! Vikus is Arlesdale, not vun of us!"

"Wrong. He may work for the other railway, but he's actually part of our foreign lineup and advertised as such. Why do you think he's painted up in that two-tone livery with the stripe and emblem?"

Lammergeier had no comeback for that one. He'd had it in his head that the little loco had come that way, just as gaudy as his coach string, as befitted a former carnival attraction. Christophe grinned, wondering if his engine realized who truly owned Wikus. Nah… Best save that bombshell for a more opportune moment… It wasn't often that he could render Lammergeier speechless with anything he said nowadays.

With their setup done, Christophe helped Surendra gather up the last of the cleanup gear and off the two men went, back to their nearby hotel to grab breakfast and change into their uniforms for the day. Lammergeier sulked in their wake, still ticked off about what he'd just learned about Wikus. He'd never considered that the little Dutch engine had any sort of genuine connection with himself, only that they both worked at similar jobs.

In the meantime, he had some of the other vendors who'd come in early to finish with their own setups or booths to watch and the whole of the rest of the station, where the morning rail traffic was turning positively brisk. Announcements, the stuttering squeal of brakes, people muttering and shouting, the chuffing of the steamers, the whines of the diesels, and all of it punctuated with a vast array of whistles and blaring horns. Birmingham was a much busier station than the ones Lammergeier now routinely serviced back on Sodor and its working symphony was one he remembered well. Occasionally, a train would go by on one of the lines closest to his own with a whoosh and a gust of air would blow in and ruffle one of his flags, otherwise the passenger and freight sections of the station remained well segregated.

More people started to show up on his platform and some of them stayed. The stupid-looking tank engine across from him belonged to a paint dealer, he knew, and he evidently had his own table to tend further back. It wasn't long before a lively conversation started up between several men who were nearby but just out of Lammergeier's field of vision, and sure enough, the snatches of talk he overheard dealt with the subject of engine liveries. Then, to his surprise, everyone came over to his table. One of the humans, a small, wizened, older sort, wanted the others to look at Lammergeier and also the posters.

"This big fellow here, he's wearing four of my basic colours, the same as the samples on me tanker," he was saying. "But I kin also make up some custom hues if you like. This mini in the poster here, all that bright orange? That's custom. They painted up the train he pulls the same way."

The others leaned in eagerly to study the poster of Wikus.

"Oh, that's nice. Very striking," one said.

Striking? Lammergeier thought. Only if you're using the word as a synonym for wanting to gouge your eyes out! He wanted to say it aloud, bit it back just in time. Humans couldn't help it if they had lousy taste in how they wanted their engines to look sometimes.

The voices from the men crowding around his table suddenly elevated into happy exclamations of greeting. His crew plus Sir Topham Hatt had returned. There followed a long interval of hand-shaking and well-wishing from all involved, during which Lammergeier learned that the older man was indeed the paint dealer and that his name was Rory Dolan. "I see you've brought your mobile billboard," Sir Topham quipped to Mister Dolan, who laughed and said back that he hoped Sir Topham wouldn't mind his using Lammergeier to serve as an example of how well Saturated Scarlet and Basic Black could combine, accented by Basic White and Rhinegold 17.

Reduced to the offerings in a paint dealer's catalog, Lammergeier stewed, but again kept his mouth shut. Christophe had warned him before about being too sarcastic or clever in front of human strangers. He'd have to save the snark for when he was alone with his own humans, the ones in the know.

Sir Topham Hatt moved off further down the platform and out of sight after that, trailed after by his little entourage. Lammergeier could still hear them, though, discussing something coach-related. Christophe stepped up to fill him in and told his engine that there was a whole string of rolling stock on the tracks behind him, different classes of passenger carriages, mostly, whereas the other line offered the representative stock built for goods work by several different companies.

"Sir Topham's still looking for another short train of coaches for excursion work," Christophe added. "He did have one good lead earlier, in Europe, but it fell through. He'll probably at least price putting in an order on some local stock if he has to."

"I like that green coach right behind us," said Surendra. "A couple of those would look quite smart once painted up in the right colours."

"Yes. We'll have to get one of them trimmed with some Rhinegold 17, just for the 48s," Christophe said, laughing. "I didn't know that colour even had that name. Talk about appropriate!" He looked up over his shoulder at his engine. "Did you know that, Lammergeier? That you and Adler are wearing some paint called Rhinegold?"

Lammergeier scowled. "Better zhan zat awful colour on Vikus. Vhat do zey call zat, vhat ze painted on him? Circus Tent? And zat other vun who vork mit him, too. Like ze yellow inside an egg. Smashed Egg!"

"Ho ho! Listen to that. You're just jealous because you don't look as bright and cheerful as our little friends up at Arlesdale."

"Zhey look like toys. Baby toys."

"Maybe so, but they sure are popular with—" And at that point Christophe held up his hand in warning because some more people were coming up to their table and within earshot. Lammergeier zipped it as ordered, satisfied now that he'd been able to express his true feelings on the paint situation.

A lot more people suddenly seemed to be about. Many of them were coming from the annex, where there had to be some entrances which Lammergeier couldn't see, and a few others used the now-open gate in the fence between the goods and passenger platforms. The big 48 could see at once that their exposition was attracting a different sort of clientele than the usual railway show. Almost all the visitors were men, not families, men wearing typical office garb. A minority had gone for even fancier attire—the owners, controllers, and designers, no doubt. Most of them seemed to know one another and Sir Topham Hatt, who was proving to be quite the social butterfly, had a grand time walking about and tracking down his peers. Christophe and Surendra, by contrast, were content to man their table and let the visitors come to them. Eventually, Christophe meant to visit some of the vendors in the annex himself—he was still an engineer in addition to being a driver and wanted to see whatever was new in the steamworks department—yet for now just sitting with his friends, both man and machine, and promoting his railway seemed a fine way to pass the time.

People-watching was fun too. It became easy to pick out the master engineers. They were the ones who would stand back at first, coolly assessing Lammergeier's build and condition and overall impression before they'd come closer. The 48 always bore such scrutiny proudly. He considered himself the equal of any steam loco on the rails and knew that he looked good.

One such gentleman was of particular note. He came in through the passenger gate by himself and stopped as soon as he stepped off the temporary bridge and onto their platform. His gaze, keen and piercing, examined Lammergeier for several long minutes, then he came closer, close enough to lay a hand on the loco, and afforded him a nod. Lammergeier offered back a slow blink and a faint smile in acknowledgement. His crew watched the exchange with interest. Many adults avoided making eye contact with living locomotives, even the ones who liked to look at them.

"And you're his crew, I presume, yes?" the gentleman inquired of the two men sitting at the table next to the locomotive's front axels. "Were you with him when he intercepted that lorry?"

"Yessir, we were," Christophe replied at once. "I'd just climbed aboard and was about to take up his controls when he bolted on us. We thought he was bolting."

"He yelled at us to get out of his cab next," said Surendra. "That was the first time I saw the lorry coming down. We bailed right after that."

"Sounds terrifying. Hurt much?"

"Not too bad. We both sat up in time to watch him finish his charge. The worst part was thinking he might have overshot for a few seconds, but no. He timed it perfectly."

"Yes. Vectors and speed. They all seem able to calculate it instantly. It's an innate quality, I think," the gentleman remarked, and gave Lammergeier a little pat and another nod. "Is Sir Topham Hatt about?"

"He's in the annex, I believe."

"Ah. Good." And with that, their visitor spun about and left. Christophe looked after him, smiling.

"That has got to be an engineer," he said to Surendra.

Later on, the gentleman came back, this time accompanied by the Fat Controller, and they learned that he was indeed what they'd thought he was and that he worked at Doncaster. He expressed his admiration for all the foreign engines Sir Topham had brought in and became very enthused and even friendlier when he learned in turn that Lammergeier's crew were such great lovers of steam that they'd emigrated to work with their favoured locos and that Christophe was also a fellow engineer, who'd learned his trade in Canada. Lammergeier arched an eyebrow when he overheard his crew and the gentleman making dinner plans—or should that be pub plans?—so they could talk some more and compare notes later that evening. He suspected that he was going to be one of their foremost topics of conversation.

It went on like that for the remainder of that first morning. Many of the people attending the trade show recognized Lammergeier on sight or would ask if he was the 48 who'd saved all those school kids and he continued to prove a popular draw as the hours wore on. Sir Topham, who hovered nearby for the most part, was of course delighted, and so was the paint dealer, Rory Dolan. Mister Dolan didn't often have such a good ambassador for his products sitting right there across from his sampler tanker, and the sight of both engines just plain made people smile and put them in a good mood, one which hopefully included an inclination to buy.

Near noontime, Sir Topham sent his employees off to relax, look around, and get themselves fed, and for a while it was just him and his Lambchop manning the North Western Railway table. Lammergeier secretly studied the Fat Controller whenever the man was engaged in conversation with a visitor or was too busy looking about at the other humans nearby to pay much attention to his engine. The 48's opinion of him had changed a good deal, especially after their illuminating private talk, and he was starting to feel some odd emotions whenever he regarded his owner nowadays…vague, fuzzy affection, a small degree of shame in having deceived and played him in the past, even a twinge of pride in belonging to a person who championed steam engines with such artless, heartfelt enthusiasm. Yes, there were far worse situations he could have wound up in, Lammergeier thought. A lot of other potential owners would have only cared about the bottom line and disregarded his feelings, and that could have proven disastrous for him.

The Fat Controller cared, though. And he'd been discussing some very interesting things with the people who stopped to talk with him, things which interested Lammergeier as well. It was maybe time to cultivate a more honest relationship…

"Sir Topham Hatt, sir?" he ventured, his tone properly deferent.

"Yes, Lampchop?"

"Vhat you said to zat last man, about only vantink live engines, not machines… You mean zat?"

The Fat Controller smiled. "Of course I meant it! And you're my prize example as to why I feel that way, don't you think?"

"Am I?"

"Yes, Lambchop, you are. If your crew had been driving a nonliving engine that day you had your accident, do you really think they would have had time to prevent the potential tragedy you averted?"

"No."

"Well, there you go. The perfect reason for why I and my entire family have always preferred working with living engines, despite the disadvantages. At your best, you engines become the third crewmember who just might catch what the other two miss. It's a simple safety issue, really, or it should be, for those who insist on leaving the emotion out of it. I'll never understand why the railway owners or controllers who maintain lifeless fleets can't see that or appreciate it. If I have to, I'll always promote you living engines on that one issue alone, even though we both know there's far more to it, yes?"

Lammergeier had become quite thoughtful.

"Ja," he said. "Ve can help zat vay. If you let us."

"And I always will. I encourage my crews to form good working relationships with all my engines. I want you to care about one another. After all, as I always say, there's a crew for every engine—"

"—and an engine for every crew, ja, I agree mit zat now," Lammergeier interjected. And Sir Topham Hatt, far from being annoyed by the interruption, just smiled again.

"Exactly. And I'd like to think that you too have the best, most suitable crew available right now. I suspect you'd let me know if it were otherwise, wouldn't you, Lampchop?"

"Yes, I vould," the engine admitted, and again realized that he'd just engaged in something unusual, a rare shared moment during which he'd been utterly genuine with his master and garnered nothing but understanding and approval in return. It felt…good.

When Christophe and Surendra returned, it was Sir Topham's turn to look after himself and he toodled off back to the hotel to have a working lunch with some of his business pals. Lammergeier's fireman sank down in one of the comfy padded folding chairs next to their table to relax, but his driver stayed on his feet. He walked the engine's length, inspecting for the slightest hint of dirt, then returned to Lammergeier's front to fiddle with the left-hand light on the stepped-down portion of his running board. The 48 could see that the little engineer was pleased, pleased with how his day was going and pleased with him.

"By the way, you're making a great impression," he told his engine only seconds later, confirming Lammergeier's observation. "I overheard a couple of guys earlier—suits from some railway—talking about all the profits you and the others were bringing in for Sir Topham and speculating about how it might be worth getting an excursion train of their own up and running. One said it'd have to be pulled by a special steamer, that's what people wanted, and the other just laughed and said there were plenty of good-looking British steam engines still around sitting idle, some of them already rare. So, there you go. You may have inspired someone to save yet another fellow locomotive and put them back to work rather than leave them to their fate. Hope that makes you feel good."

"Zhey just vant to make more money," Lammergeier pointed out, just to be contrary, and Christophe shrugged in response.

"Of course they do. But it's a start, don't you think? After all, you can't love what you don't know."

Irritatingly, Lammergeier found himself all at once thinking about his relationship with one Denise Doyon. Was that the problem? That she didn't know him? She'd become friendlier, true, and was always kind, but she never really bantered with him the way she did with the other engines. Even that big dumb tanker, Hurricane… If his crew was present when she came around to visit, he'd wink at her sometimes after which she'd feign outrage and would accuse the men of doing a rotten, messed-up job of maintaining their engine's manners. "Hey! Did you just wink at Denise here?" Lorne the driver would then yell, and Hurricane would reply that of course he hadn't, then they'd all smirk and snicker while Denise planted her hands on her hips and pretended to chew them out. It was all in good fun… Lammergeier's eyes hardened and his expression became more sullen as he continued to muse about how Denise interacted with his shed-mates. He, Lammergeier, had used to be the one who could get a real rise out of the woman with a simple wink. But that was back when he'd had her number. Now she was like Christophe and was the one who had his number.

He emerged from his inner reflections to find that Christophe was just in the process of sitting back down behind their brochure table along with Surendra. Lammergeier wondered if the two men had overindulged during their own versions of refueling. Now that both were resting and no one required their attention for the moment, they'd adopted that dull-eyed, sluggish, almost expanded look which humans got when their inner tenders were overflowing.

When Sir Topham came back later, in the early afternoon, he brought with him a change of weather. Swollen, black-based rainclouds crept in over the station, muffling the sun out of sight, restricting the natural light streaming through the canopy roof so much so that the artificial lighting within came on. Many of the people inside looked up at the roiling darkness overhead, uneasy yet exhilarated. They listened with that peculiar intensity of wanting something exciting to happen while at the same time dreading it, and when the rain started to drum and then lash over the canopy roof, they sighed with satisfaction. It was easy to play the smug observer when one was safe and protected while the elements raged.

A flash of white and a great dull roar rolled over Birmingham station, reverberating for long seconds, the sound of the thunder mingling with the noise from the passenger traffic and the constant mutter of the trade show crowds. A sharper crash, demanding attention, and the muttering ceased somewhat as more of the show attendees began watching the lightning. Lammergeier watched too; he liked thunderstorms. He was, however, glad that this one was happening at this Birmingham show and that he hadn't had to put up with something similar while he'd been up at York.

The storm didn't last long and once past, the skies cleared up and never did cloud over again. By teatime, the sun was once more shining as if nothing had ever happened. Sir Topham Hatt cheerfully opined that it was a good thing that the thunderstorm had come through when it did. It had probably chased some people in the vicinity indoors, increasing the trade show's attendance,

Business shut down quite early that evening and Lammergeier again found himself left alone to watch the station's activity gradually grind down to a brief halt. The friendly guard from before never came—evidently he'd been assigned elsewhere—and the humans who were working security that night stuck mostly to the annex area so the big 48 turned to sleep to pass the time. He found himself thinking that he'd quite enjoyed his day as he drifted off. He'd liked being admired so openly by so many and he'd liked being able to listen in on so many conversations between Sir Topham and his crew and the people who came to their table, much of it about aspects of railroading which he'd never been privy to before.

The second day of the weekend trade show revved up even earlier and soon proved even busier, with more visitors coming in off the passenger trains. Some of them were clearly connected to the running of other railways and one of the first things they'd typically ask about when they spoke with Sir Topham was whether his excursion sideline was making him any money. He'd always answer that it most certainly did, that rail tourism was good and getting more popular, and he'd then talk about how he'd gotten into it at just the right time and how his lovely engines had already paid off all that he'd invested in them and their splendid new roundhouse too. Several of the visitors became quite enthused then and would want to hear more, and the Fat Controller always obliged them. Such talk always seemed a little odd to Lammergeier. He thought that they'd come to the show in order to promote the North Western Railway's excursion tours first and foremost, and maybe the offerings up at Arlesdale and Sir Robert Norramby's railway museum in Ulfstead. Encouraging other railway owners or controllers to start up similar operations seemed counterproductive to the engine.

The man with whom the Fat Controller spoke the longest even took a little book out of one pocket and started jotting down notes. Lammergeier couldn't eavesdrop as well on their conversation as he had the others; there were other visitors at their table talking to his crew at the same time. But he heard enough to know it had to do with establishing tourist tours on the rails. It all left him feeling puzzled enough to want to inquire further.

"You are helpink zat man, alzough he is competition?" Lammergeier said as soon as the man in question plus the others had left , his rising inflection making it a query. Sir Topham smiled, pleased by the engine's comment.

"Oh, well, he'd be competition if he were using our lines and picking up tours at Brendam, true. But he's not doing that. His railway is on the Mainland and narrow gauge. It sounded as though he's in a good position to take advantage of an already established customer base using some nearby recreational parkland and restaurants, and I like that he's thinking of offering excursion rides in part so he can semi-retire one of his older engines. Once he does the homework I suggested and decides whether the idea's feasible, I'm hoping he'll get back to me so I can help him find another narrow gauge engine to slot into his working fleet. He's got his eye on a replacement already, but it's one of the non-living ones and he's like me. He'd prefer purchasing another living engine if the price is right."

"Living Loks cost more?" the 48 asked, surprised.

"Not necessarily. More often they're less, if they belong to an owner more interested in seeing them moved on to a good home rather than making a last bit of money sending them for scrap." The Fat Controller paused, chuckled a little. "Your shed-mates, Justin, Francois and Guy, fell into that category. Mister Pelletier here, he knew they were all available or would be soon and brokered an excellent deal for me on the three of them. I'd enjoy doing the same for another railway owner, if I can."

Christophe, who'd been noting the intense curiosity expressed by his engine, said at that point, "It's more than just wanting to help out another fellow railroader, too. We're trying to guarantee a future of sorts for you steam engines. Humans can be a little funny when it comes to what we like or which causes we choose to get behind. Catch someone at just the right moment, get them aboard an excursion train behind a nice friendly memorable engine on a lovely summer morning through beautiful countryside, and they just may become hooked. That's why we're trying to help encourage lots of competition as you put it for the tourist trade right now. Those people are the ones who'll support the heritage lines later on, which is where I unfortunately suspect a lot of surviving steam engines will wind up once they've been supplanted by diesels on many of the working railways. But if steam engines still have value, even of a different sort, if they remain employable for heritage purposes and could be profitably sold on…well, it'll keep them out of the scrapyards a little longer, at least."

Lammergeier mulled over what his driver and owner had just revealed. "I do not like zis, vhat you say," he replied slowly, "but I understand. Ve are too expensive now…"

"Expensive to run and expensive to maintain compared to the newer diesels, yes, alas that's true" Sir Topham admitted. "Luckily, our North Western and the other railways on Sodor are all profitable enough that we can well afford to keep all you steamers in operation, and the residents and all our customers appreciate your more esoteric qualities as well. There's no need for you or any of your friends to ever worry about your own futures in this regard, Lambchop. I want to be clear about that. But I do worry about the futures of many engines on the Mainland and elsewhere. Almost everyone who works for me worries about such things. So we all do what we can, within reason. Not to mention that singing your praises can be quite…gratifying."

The Fat Controller's cheerful concluding statement lifted the slight gloom that had fallen over the men and their engine, and they all grew more chipper again just in time to accommodate a few new visitors to their table. Lammergeier watched the humans go about their business, still feeling quite thoughtful. He appreciated that he'd been spoken to so frankly, as though he were a true partner and equal participant, even if all that he'd heard wasn't pleasant. Yet there was a thread of optimism underlying their words—he'd heard that too. Steam engines were acquiring a value that had never been intended and which would escalate the older they became, of that the men seemed sure. The value of nostalgia.

Lammergeier was so inspired by his conclusions that he became very conscientious and paid especial attention to everyone who visited with them for the remainder of the day. One man even commented on his diligence.

"My goodness, that engine of yours is attentive," he said. "It's no wonder he spotted that runaway lorry in time. Seems very intelligent too."

"You have no idea," Sir Topham Hatt responded, and winked at Lammergeier's crew behind the man's back.

When the show officially closed a while later, the three men hastily packed everything up and loaded it back into Lammergeier's cab, then left to get a head start on their journey home before any of the other trade show attendees snagged them to further socialize. An hour later, they stopped at a large station that Sir Topham was familiar with and he steered his employees to a nearby restaurant where he treated them to a late supper of delicious roast beef, a full dinner's worth. As they'd hoped, they seemed to be the only railway people present and were able to thus relax and concentrate on their food in peace. Still, their attire did rather give it away.

"Coming back from that trade show, are you, luvs?" the woman serving them had remarked when she first handed out the menus. "And taking the train back, I imagine? Why am I not surprised?"

"Actually, it's just our own engine," Surendra had replied, flashing her a brilliant, charming smile. "He's waiting for us at the station."

"Ah! So that explains the uniforms! I was thinking that you must be very dedicated indeed to want to promote your railway that way. Well, I'll leave you be then. I'm sure you're tired after your long day. Just give me a little wave when you're ready to order, dearies, and we'll take it from there."

And that was the last attempt she made at any real conversation, and for her thoughtfulness, Sir Topham later left her a very generous tip. Lammergeier stepped up and proved understanding too once they'd reboarded. He wasn't tired at all and quite willing to drive himself, and he was proud when the humans decided to allow him to do so. Christophe wound up still sitting in the driver's seat for pure appearance's sake while Surendra and Sir Topham chilled in a couple of folding chairs they set up at the back of Lammergeier's cab. Occasionally, one of the three would get up to toss some more coal into the engine's firebox and check his water levels, otherwise he was left alone to tend to everything else on his own, from regulating his speed to deciding when to blow his whistle and respond to the signals. Night came on as they travelled and his crew began to doze and Sir Topham fell asleep, yet still Lammergeier chuffed on, unerringly. It was the strangest and best journey he'd ever undertaken, even though his people's trust in him weighed on him all throughout the remainder of the time it took him to ferry them home, safe and sound.

Attending the trade show did Lammergeier a world of good. When Christophe came to visit with him the next morning, even though man and machine both had the day off, he made a point of thanking the human for having brought him along before he would say anything else. Christophe accepted his engine's thanks happily, thrilled to have won his gratitude.

"You're very welcome," the man said, "but honestly, it was Sir Topham Hatt's decision to take you to the show. He just thought you'd enjoy getting a taste of what it took to run a railway, experience the business end of things. Plus, he enjoyed showing you off. He's very proud of you, you know."

"He wanted to make use of me also," Lammergeier said, switching to French in order to better express himself. "To promote his railway and our tourist excursions."

Christophe grinned, switched languages in turn to reply. "Well, of course that's part of it, but is that so bad? To help ensure that we're all successful? And now that you got to observe some of his wheeling and dealing firsthand, you know that it's all in aid of something even bigger than ourselves too. Our boss cares about all engines, everywhere, and would like nothing better than to see every last one of you properly cared for and treasured forever. I feel the same way, but he's the one with the money and the connections to do something about it. Keep that in mind the next time he makes a request of you. We're both very, very lucky to work for someone like him. You couldn't ask for a better friend and advocate for you locomotives."

His driver's words made a strong impression. Lammergeier was reminded of how he'd once been told that he owed the humans, yet the words didn't instigate the resentment he might have once felt upon hearing them. He had a better sense now of how he fit into the larger scheme of things, knew that he was appreciated and—dare he hope it?—loved. It was maybe worth giving up some of his independent ways, to have this feeling of belonging in both worlds, his own and that of his masters.

Lammergeier focused back on the human standing before him now. He had a sudden desire to do something for him and asked him if they were going out later in the afternoon, on a job. Christophe gave the edge of his running board a pat.

"Nope. Today's a rest day for both of us. Surendra too. Why, are you bored already, being here on your own? Would you rather work?"

"Tomorrow I would like to, yes. I'll be rested enough by then."

"Hmm… Well, Sir Topham won't be his office till this afternoon, I think. Want me to swing by and check the schedule? I'm sure I can rustle something up."

"I would like that, yes."

"Okay then. I'll check in again later if I get something. And if Surendra agrees—he might like another day off, you know!"

"Surendra likes to work, the same as me," his engine insisted. "He won't want a second day off."

"Just trying to spare you," said Christophe, smiled, and gave him another pat in farewell. "Till later then." And off he went. Lammergeier watched him leave, satisfied. It was good to have a crew who understood him.

The big 48 dozed peacefully after that for the rest of the morning and on into the afternoon. As usual, Henry came back first and early, before teatime, and Lammergeier watched his crew fuss over the green Stanier as they settled him in for the day. Denise's routine this time included climbing back up on the engine's running board once she'd finished with his grooming and setting up her little camp stool next to his face before cracking open a big picture book she'd carried up tucked under one arm. Story time… Lammergeier sighed. He couldn't even summon up any resentment or envy about it anymore because he'd finally made one nasty crack too many about what he perceived as Henry's numerous flaws to Adler, who'd angrily retorted that Lammergeier ought to be ashamed of himself for thinking Henry a coward and who'd then proceeded to tell him all about how their shed-mate had once saved Sir Topham's granddaughter's life one terrible stormy night.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Lammergeier had said in weak defense, and Adler had said back that well, now he did know, and that he didn't want to hear any more about the other engine's jumpiness or lack of courage ever again. Lammergeier hadn't ridiculed Henry once since then. It also helped explain in the 48's own mind why Denise, and Pierre too, seemed so taken with their chosen locomotive, a loco he'd often thought inadequate and unworthy. It seemed that Henry had hidden strengths…

To Lammergeier's pleasure, once done with Henry, Denise at least did finally remember him and came over to exchange a few words.

"I haven't talked to any of the others yet," she said as she came up to him. "So did you have a good time? You got home okay?"

"I did. And the show was…illuminating."

"Oh, great! That's what I was hoping to hear." She placed a hand on the edge of his running board, just left it there as she smiled up at him. "I'm strapped for time this evening, but let's get out sometime in the next week. We can have a good talk about it then."

"I would like that, yes," he replied, trying hard not to sound too eager.

"All right then. I'll coordinate with Christophe as to the best night."

"Yes please."

"Okay then. Till later. Tschuess." And off she scampered after giving his running board an odd squeeze, to hook up again with Pierre. Lammergeier was still thinking about how she'd just said farewell to him. It was the same way she sometimes said good bye to Adler.

He looked over at Henry, who was currently still parked partially out of his berth. The Stanier still had a little steam left and would soon reverse fully back into the roundhouse before his energy was spent, but for now he wanted to enjoy the last of the late afternoon sunshine as long as he could. As usual, he didn't say anything to Lammergeier or try to make eye contact. Lammergeier knew (with some discomfort) that it was because he'd been cool and sometimes surly with Henry in the past.

"Hallo, Henry," he tried now. "You are vell tonight, I hope."

The Stanier's eyes flew wide open, his brows arching upward.

"Oh! Um. Sure." He snuck a surprised glance at his shed-mate. "I hope you're okay too. I guess you, um, liked that show you were just at."

"I did. But it vas a little bit different…"

He began telling Henry about the trade show and how it had been both fun and strange to have Sir Topham Hatt with him all day long. Henry was both enthralled and relieved. He'd always been a touch intimidated by the big German engine, yet here he was, willing to have a nice conversation with him at last. Maybe he'd just been waiting until his English was better before he felt comfortable saying much, Henry thought with typical generosity.

When the other engines began returning to the roundhouse, both of them were laughing about the engine who'd been painted with all the colour samples and Henry was agreeing with Lammergeier that it was just as well that the poor loco was nonliving and thus unable to be embarrassed over resembling a tacky lunatic rainbow. Like Henry, the others were surprised yet pleased by the 48's friendlier behaviour.

It went better than anyone could have anticipated for the remainder of the evening. All the engines were curious about the trade show Lammergeier had attended in Birmingham and happy to listen to everything he had to say about it. He repeated his story about the engine representing the paint dealer by serving as his mobile billboard and sampler, and talked about all the other vendors and their products which he thought might interest them. Occasionally, he'd fall silent for a few seconds and the others would patiently wait, thinking that their foreign shed-mate must be searching through his still limited English vocabulary for the best way to express himself. What he was really doing, though, was sorting through his show experiences and searching for the purely descriptive and entertaining parts to relate. Lammergeier just wasn't sure how they'd react to hearing about some of the more practical aspects of running a railroad.

Towards the end, on impulse, he did tell them what Sir Topham Hatt had said about their joint profitability, paraphrasing it somewhat to make it sound even better.

"He say ve are all such good hard vorkers zat his railvay makes very much money und he vill keep us all a long, long time. Zhere iz no need to vorry for our future at all, zat is vhat he say to me," Lammergeier concluded, and the other engines all beamed in response.

"That's great to know," Justin said, "and reassuring. I know my own crew tells me that we're all doing well quite often, but there's nothing like hearing it from the boss himself. Thanks, Lambchop!"

His shed-mates all added their own appreciation and Lammergeier again felt that same nebulous, elusive emotion which he'd experienced only once before. He still couldn't quite identify it, nor could he decide whether it was something he welcomed. It was simply there one minute and gone the next. Odd…

He fell asleep a little later having forgotten all about it, his mind instead already full of anticipation for his next tourist job—it would be his turn to pull the excursion train—and the promised outing with Denise. He hoped it would be a long one and that she'd let him pick the route. Steaming along the western coastline and then over to Tidmouth Bay on Toby's branch line, for instance…that would be scenic and pleasant…

When he woke up the next morning, he soon found out that Christophe had indeed gotten him a job for the day, a pretty easy one resupplying a number of hoppers on the branch lines with fresh coal. He'd get dirty, but Lammergeier didn't mind. It just meant that he'd get a good thorough cleansing at the end of it and that the men would get up on his running board to wash his face. He'd grown to like such grooming a lot, especially when Surendra did it. His fireman had such kind hands and he was no longer wary of the little oddities the man was given to, such as climbing up and leaning in close to listen to his boiler heat up after he'd fired in the first load of coal or humming and singing soft little hymns to himself in his native language while he polished Lammergeier's lustrous coat. The engine now knew that he did such things because he was happy working on him and loved him and held him in considerable reverence. Lammergeier suspected that Christophe loved him too, he was just more practical in how he expressed it. His driver was the one who always tried to get him the jobs he liked to do best and who took great pains to keep him perfectly maintained every day, so that all his moving parts meshed and slipped past one another like frictionless silk.

The coal job went off well. Lammergeier got to see and exchange a few words with quite a few of the engines he normally didn't see much, Oliver and Duck among them, and then Toby and Edward. James went by at one point too, pulling a local short passenger train, and as usual his face crinkled up into an expression of smug superiority and disdain when he saw that the 48 was pulling filthy coal trucks; Lammergeier ignored him beyond exchanging the obligatory whistles. He knew that James had never much cared for him if only because they were both painted the exact same shade of red and was always looking for any excuse to look down on him as a consequence—and seeing someone pull freight instead of passengers seemed to be more than enough reason for the silly Class 28 to start sneering. Personally, Lammergeier thought that James needed to get over himself and obtain a better work ethic, but…whatever.

When they finally finished up in the midafternoon, Christophe steered Lammergeier into the big washdown just outside Knapford for some help in getting the first and worst layer of coal dust off his engine before they went home. Lammergeier closed his eyes and relaxed while the washdown workers sudsed him up, then rinsed him. He knew there'd be more cleaning once back in his roundhouse and was looking forward to a little additional pampering from his crew. Once done, they carried on to Knapford Station proper for one last stop so Christophe could get out and check with dispatch on their scheduled jobs for the following day. Sir Topham Hatt came out onto the platform to again waylay Christophe as the driver was on his way back, and Lammergeier watched with keen interest as the two men vanished into the Fat Controller's office. The last time he'd witnessed anything similar was just before Christophe had told him that they'd be going to some Mainland shows. He hoped that there'd soon be more good news to share.

As it turned out, Lammergeier knew that his wish had been granted as soon as his driver emerged again. The little human was beaming, absolutely beaming, and hurried over to his engine at once. Lammergeier didn't even wait for him to say anything as he came up. Christophe's obvious excitement was that contagious.

"Ve are go to more shows?" he asked. "He just tell you zat, yes? Sir Topham Hatt?"

"No! Not more shows. Better than that!"

His driver came closer, began wringing his hands together. He looked almost beside himself with joy and rocked up and down on his feet as he regarded his engine.

"Lammergeier!" he exclaimmed. "You're going to Berlin!"

to be continued...