25 - Mallard and Flying Scotsman
Mallard ignored the shouts and cries of the people around the Sodor Steamworks. The lowly insects screamed and shouted at him to keep away, that there was some kind of monster residing within the Steamworks. A dark and foreboding monster that threatened to take engine's souls and turn humans into shells of their former selves.
Mallard cared not for the mumbling and hysterical of insignificant people and engines. He instead made his way into the Steamworks and found the object of his desire hidden in the back corner of the Steamworks, shrouded in an all too familiar black substance that danced in the air, moving like neither a liquid nor a gas.
The entire workshop was empty, not a human nor an engine remained within the walls of the Steamworks.
He stared at the empty engine, its green turned wartime black, and its appearance almost degraded. It looked like oil was dripping down the boiler and rust was wearing into parts that should have been silver and greased. The smoke box door stood out most of all, blank save for Scotsman's number. No detail stood out making it appear as if the engine's 'face' was a dark portal to an endless abyss.
The Black Smoke however shrunk and his newfound soul's presence, it seemed to recognise the soul that had attacked it and shrunk back away from him. It hiss and arched like a cat that had been cornered. Mallard knew the Black Smoke, he knew that it was aware that his gold dust would destroy it.
A sadistic grin appeared over Mallard's face and he rolled forward towards the engine, malicious intent deep in his gaze. He rolled right up to the empty engine so that he was mere inches from it. With a vicious smirk, Mallard slammed his weight into the empty engine, sending it backwards with a loud ear-splitting crunch and a shriek of crunching metal.
The Scotsman's back two wheels derailed with the sound of crunching wood and lashing of concrete as they ground into the floor. The empty engine's back driving wheels followed and the valve gear groaned under the stress. The Black smoke wailed and shrieked like a frightened beast, the empty engine's steel creaked and groaned as the black smoke tried to hide inside, fearful of Mallard who approached it laughing.
"Ah that's a real shame, they just replaced all those wheels you know? Fresh nicely smithed wheels," a female voice suddenly spoke out, echoing in the empty Steamworks. "I bet they would have been nice to have a good run in don't you think Mallard?"
Mallard froze and his eyes darted around rapidly before catching sight of Lady Olivia Gresley leaning on one of the workbenches almost lazily. He glanced back at the Scotsman's engine and at the black smoke that had retreated inside it.
How had the Black smoke not consumed her, turned her into a mindless zombie or even made her sick?
Mallard stared at her warily.
"Lady Gresley," he acknowledged and the tall lady grinned at him and gave him an almost dismissive wave of her hand.
He'd only met the woman personally a few times, but he always saw her up and around the museum and knew her demeanour. She was always postured highly and held herself with grace and authority, never causal or flippant even when off the job or speaking to engines on friendly terms. Something was very off about her.
She was an intense, stoic and commanding woman, holding the same air of authority as her grandfather even among friends. However here she was relaxed, acting as if Mallard had just come around for dinner or tea.
"Hello, Mallard!" She greeted him brightly. "You know, we've never really had a chat and gotten to know each other. You're one of the jewels in my grandfather's legacy and I hardly know you!"
Mallard was… disturbed, to say the least.
"I don't wish to talk to you, no offence ma'am," Mallard replied.
"Yes well, you have made that quite clear but refusing to allow me to work at the museum for a great number of years," Olivia explained and Mallard looked away from her uncomfortably. "Would you like to explain why? Surely you'd want your designer's descendants around or were you mad that I wasn't his grandson?"
"Partly," Mallard admitted. "But mostly it was because I did not want you near me."
"Because of the black smoke?"
"Yes. I did not want you to turn into a puppet," Mallard explained. "Regardless of gender, you are still my designer's blood. I did not want to shame myself in his eyes."
Olivia didn't speak for a while but then she nodded in understanding.
"It's heartwarming to hear that even after all these years, after everything, you hold Sir Gresley in such high regard," she smiled up at the blue engine.
"But of course," Mallard puffed up proudly. "I was his finest achievement."
"And yet Flying Scotsman was still his favourite engine."
Olivia's words stung like the cutter's torch. He ground his teeth together and a nasty snarl appeared on his face.
"You don't know anything, you worthless child!" He hissed furiously and blasted steam at her but she remained unfazed, still staring up at him. "I was his favourite, no matter what anyone else told you."
"Perhaps, but it's not really important in the end is it?" Olivia pointed out. "He's long gone and he left you as his legacy. People come from all over the world to meet the world's fastest steam engine only to be disappointed when he turns out to be a rude asshole to them."
Mallard snorted and looked away.
"They're just meaningless people who come and go, what do I care for the strangers who gawk at myself and Hamilton in the Great Hall?" Mallard snapped. "It's all pointless."
Olivia sighed and tutted as she walked closer to Mallard. She then looked at the Flying Scotsman's engine.
"Whatever will I tell people when they hear they raised millions of dollars for Scotsman to get his rebuild, only for him to be destroyed by a petulant child throwing a tantrum?" She said and Mallard grew furious.
"Flying Scotsman is nothing but a waste of space! He deserves not a cent spent on him!" Mallard shouted angrily.
Olivia frowned and her brow furrowed. Her demeanour changed back to her usual way and she glared and him disapprovingly.
"Very poor taste Mallard," she scolded him. "Flying Scotsman saved your life, he offered his soul to you to fix something that the wardens had been trying to reverse for many decades."
"He was stupid and naive," Mallard told Olivia with a malicious grin. "He thought that giving me back my soul would make me 'good' again. But now, I have free autonomy, I can do what I wish, be where I wish without a crew or even your direction."
Olivia raised a curious eyebrow.
"And tell me, Mallard, what do you intend to do with this freedom?"
"I intend to scrap every engine that has ever stood in my way, that has ever insulted me or mocked me!" Mallard shouted. "Scotsman and his stupid little Great Western! Sir Nigel for concreting up my firebox! I'll crush Great Northern under my wheels and you won't be able to stop me!"
The blue engine began cackling madly and Olivia looked disturbed. She waited for him to stop and when he did he looked down at her and grinned down at her.
"I don't imagine you'll be the director for very long after you lose several priceless engines now will you?" He taunted with a horrible grin.
"Is that your final decision then Mallard? You just want to destroy things that you think wronged you with no care for the fact that they genuinely tried to help you?" Olivia asked with a tone of finality in her voice. "You don't want to better yourself and become a figure worthy of adoration and love like you should be?"
Something told Mallard to stop. To let go of the pointless destruction but seeing Great Northern reduced to a pathetic man and snapping Scotsman's neck… it had been such an emotional high for him. To see them break, to see them broken like toys. He enjoyed it.
He wanted to feel it again and again.
"I'll kill you too if you get in my way Sir Gresley be damned little girl," he jeered at her, a sadistic look on her face.
Olivia locked eyes with him for a very long time, glaring up at him all the while Mallard grinned down at her maliciously.
"You know," Olivia finally said after the longest time. "I had hoped that there was something left of the young energetic Mallard that was hopeful and competitive with his siblings and cousins. I had hoped to show you the good times, that it wasn't too late, but I see there was no hope for you Mallard. Maybe I was stupid and naive to think that I could save you when everyone had given up."
Olivia sighed and turned away from Mallard, hanging her head low. She stood there for a long moment, then gave an exhale and shook her head.
She then spoke but it wasn't her voice and suddenly Mallard found himself terrified.
"It seems that I can't help someone who refuses to see the error of their ways or even bother to help themselves," Flying Scotsman's voice spoke and Mallard immediately panicked.
"You tricked me!" He shrieked. "You bastard! You tricked me!"
He went to slam into Scotsman's engine again however he found his wheels refusing to turn as Olivia turned around to reveal that her eyes were glowing gold with energy.
"I'll destroy you! I'll destroy you!" Mallard screamed at them, straining to turn his wheels but they refused to budge.
Mallard was so focused on Olivia/Scotsman that he didn't even notice the Black Smoke slowly revealing itself and unfurling from Scotsman's engine, sensing the blue A4's weakness and terror.
The black smoke latched onto Mallard and began to drain his gold dust, Olivia/Scotsman watching with a stoic and uninterested look on their face. They simply watched Mallard scream and struggle as the gold dust was dragged into Flying Scotsman's engine.
Mallard managed to roll backwards, his wheels grinding and the metal of his boiler shrieking and bending under the effort however he slowly found that his strength was leaving him. His ability to move and his strength grew weaker and weaker.
He tried to blow his golden whistle but it made no sound. It cracked and pain exploded from it and radiated throughout his body.
"No, no! Stop please!" Mallard begged.
He felt that familiar grip of Black Smoke curl around his boiler and seep into the metal making him feel cold and banishing the brief relief that the Gold Dust he had stolen from Scotsman.
"No! No! No! No!" He surged forward trying to regain the gold dust that was rapidly being drained from him and slammed straight into Scotsman's buffers, pushing the engine back and derailing him further.
Still, Olivia/Scotsman watched on stony-faced and showed no emotion as the A4 Pacific screamed and begged for mercy.
"Please I'm sorry!" Mallard begged. "Stop it! Stop it I'm sorry I won't do this ever again."
Olivia/Scotsman shook their head and moved to climb onto Flying Scotsman's footplate but not before turning to look Mallard straight in the eye.
"This was your last chance Mallard, I gave you more gold dust than you could ever want and yet you still chose to be an awful and vile person. You had freedom and yet you couldn't just let go of the past. I tried to honour Merlin's wishes yet you couldn't even bother to respect them," They shook their head and turned completely away from Mallard who now stared at them with pleading eyes. "At least Great Northern tried to better himself, tried to do the right thing and make things right but you?"
There was a deep sadness in Scotsman's voice as he spoke.
"There was never any hope for you, was there Mallard?"
"I'll be good! I promise! Scotsman please!" Mallard pleaded but he was ignored as Olivia/Scotsman climbed onto Scotsman's footplate and opened up the firebox. Black Smoke seem to retreat at the sight of them, fleeing the firebox in a panic, going back to Mallard who still shrieked and cried out in terror as the fleeing black smoke replaced his new soul.
Carefully Olivia/Scotsman removed the Golden Whistle hung around their neck and placed it inside the cold and empty firebox of the Flying Scotsman.
Mallard watched in horror as the Scotsman's smokebox door, once an empty and dark abyss began to glow white hot and the oily sheen the engine had seemed to wash away. There was a series of loud bangs and the sound of metal warping as Gold Dust gathered around the Scotsman's warped valve gear and bent it back into shape. There was a loud bang as the entire engine rerailed itself and any and all scratches or blemishes that Mallard had made during his assault were repaired.
Weaker and weaker Mallard felt as Scotsman reclaimed his gold dust and the cold began to creep into his boiler as the black smoke began to reclaim its old host.
"I can't go back!" Mallard shouted out. "I won't be stuck in that perpetual hell again!"
"Don't worry, you won't," Scotsman's voice came, echoing around the Steamworks and his face began to reappear on his smokebox door. "I'm setting you free this time, so you can finally be at peace."
Mallard glared at the newly reappeared face on the door as Scotsman stared back at him the gold light slowly fading as he returned to normal.
The Scotsman looked at Mallard before his eyes searched around and his engine creaked and shifted, almost as if getting a feel for being an engine again. He then looked back at Mallard and gave him a wide smile.
"Look at me, all back and cosy in my engine!" He grinned and Mallard only glared knives at him.
There was no crack over his left eye and the eye itself was not longing faded and grey. There was no sign of the Cold Iron Sleep and his old aching steel seemed gone, no sign of his old complaints or the constant pain that had plagued him since his last rebuild. Despite his 100th year looming ever closer, he hadn't felt quite this good in many years.
"Flying Scotsman is back and better than ever!" He laughed almost hysterical with how well and improved he felt despite his rebuild not even being finished yet. He then blushed and refocused on Mallard who sat before him glowering at him, furiously.
"Oh I apologise, that was very insensitive of me," Scotsman said sincerely his smile fading and a look of regret in his eyes. "But I did give you a choice Mallard, I gave you my Gold Dust to restore your soul in the hope it would help you and you could move on. But instead, you chose to double down and inflict even more pain and destruction."
"You tricked me," Mallard seethed. "You never intended for me to keep the Gold Dust, you just wanted to return to your engine and so you used me!"
"No," Scotsman said simply. "I didn't need you to return to my engine. I could have returned at any time, I just needed to figure out how."
Mallard huffed. He could no longer move, he had no steam and his gold dust was being drained back into Scotsman, leaving him feeling cold and empty.
"This will never be over, I will still come for you, I'll still seek out and kill Great Northern!" He shouted at Scotsman.
Scotsman just stared at Mallard, a deep sadness in his eyes.
"I was a fool to believe that the young, friendly Mallard had survived this long. I had hoped to try and make things right, to do what was best by you Mallard," Scotsman explained sadly. "I wanted to be your friend."
"I was never going to be your friend!" Mallard shouted at him. "You're just a stupid, naive idiot who was always in my way! You're nothing!"
Scotsman sighed deeply in frustration. It was impossible to have a genuine conversation with Mallard. It always had been.
"I guess, I have to accept that I can't help everyone," Scotsman said sadly. "Goodbye, Mallard."
"Good-bye? Good-bye!" Mallard shrieked incredulously. "You'll never get rid of me! As long as the-"
Mallard stopped mid-sentence as he suddenly realised something.
His eyes widened in horror.
"The black smoke, where's the black smoke?!" Mallard began to panic as he realised that the black smoke that had once sustained his life for so long was absent and also being drawn back into Flying Scotsman. "What are you doing? Stop!"
Scotsman just looked at Mallard mournfully and closed his eyes in regret.
The Flying Scotsman was pulling the Black Smoke screaming and shrieking away from Mallard and smothering it in gold dust, neutralising it into a harmless fine grey ash.
"I want to but you threatened my friends, you threatened Ms Olivia and you almost took the City of Truro from me. You hurt and permanently damaged Green Arrow who only tried to befriend you!" Scotsman accused sternly. "And as much as I hate Great Northern and I don't want to admit it, but North has changed for the better. You haven't. You've shown that you have no intention to."
"Flying Scotsman please," Mallard's voice sounded small, pathetic and weak.
The black smoke might have put Mallard through hell for many decades, but it had kept him alive. It had sustained him and kept him sentient.
Mallard desperately tried to cling to the black smoke but it was ripped from him, like how Thompson had ripped his soul out of him and left him cold and locked in a state of torment for so long.
Scotsman wanted to show mercy, he wanted to show him kindness.
But he knew that he couldn't.
"I'm sorry Mallard."
Mallard began whimpering and begging pathetically but Scotsman held his ground. He knew how manipulative Mallard was and could be.
"Scott please," Mallard whimpered, his voice terrified. "I don't want to die! Scotsman!"
Slowly the whimpering died down and Mallard's voice weakened to the point it was barely audible.
Mallard's desperate cries became sobs until eventually, they faded into nothing.
Flying Scotsman hesitantly opened his eyes and stared at the famous blue A4 Pacific before him. He didn't want to look, knowing that he'd just denied the life of another engine, something which did not sit well with him but knew that it had to happen.
What stared back was the blank, black smokebox door of an empty engine. There was no face, no sentience on the engine. Just a simple, blank-faced dead locomotive with no sign of life.
Scotsman didn't feel victory. He didn't feel happiness nor did he even feel relief. He just felt sadness.
Mallard was gone.
He knew that no one would mourn Mallard save for the fans around the world that didn't know Mallard's true personality or his true intent.
But Flying Scotsman would.
Scotsman stared at the dead engine for the longest time until Ms Olivia quietly approached him hesitantly, leaving him room to mourn the Blue A4 Pacific.
He gazed down at the woman who stood patiently waiting for him to speak.
"Thank you, Ms Olivia," Scotsman said quietly, his voice laced with unshed tears. "Thank you for putting up with this ridiculous engine and saving this idiot from his own stupidity."
Olivia smiled at him.
"I guess I can understand, if it was Oscar or someone I loved in danger, I would probably do something just as stupid. It doesn't mean running off like that was right, however," she mused. "But I will admit it was noble of you to give Mallard so many chances. To risk everything for someone who wished you nothing but death."
Flying Scotsman looked away from Olivia and up through the skylights in the ceiling of the Steamworks. The blue sky shone brightly down on them, sunlight peeking behind a cloud and flooding the once-dark and foreboding works with a warm and inviting glow.
"Alan Pegler saved my life, I asked him if he could save any of my siblings but he couldn't," Scotsman explained quietly. "He had to start a campaign just to save me. "Save our Scotsman" he had called it."
Scotsman sighed and looked down at his buffers.
"When I was saved, he brought me out in front of a crowd of people and told me, 'these are some of the people who saved you, not just me, and there are many others, never forget that. You have a second chance because of the kindness of others. Do waste it and don't take it for granted," Scotsman's voice was barely over a whisper as he spoke, tears resurfacing in his voice again.
"He told me that I was special and that every single engine that was built was special to someone, somewhere and that if people could they would have saved every engine but… they just couldn't. I was lucky as many others were however most were not," Scotsman gave a deep sigh and looked back at Olivia who was listening to him attentively. "I promised him, no matter what, that if I could I would save every single engine I could."
Olivia walked over and climbed onto Scotsman's buffer beam, a gentle hand on his smoke box.
"Every single engine includes Mallard," she remarked and Scotsman looked over at her.
"Yes, it includes Mallard," he said with the smallest smile. "But I can't help someone who refuses to help themselves. I tried, but Mallard made his choices. He threatened to kill other engines, he- he almost took Truro away from me."
Olivia nodded, understanding.
"But you did try and I can't fault you for that," she smiled at him and Scotsman gave a soft exhale.
Olivia looked over to Scotsman's left eye where the cracks had once been when the Cold Iron Sleep had once afflicted him. She walked over and examined him, tracing over the thin barely noticeable white scars that had healed where the cracks had once been.
"Does it hurt?" Olivia asked. "Is it tender or can you still feel it?"
"It feels a bit stiff," Scotsman said. "But my eye is no longer fuzzy. It's like everything is clear now, I can see as well as I did as a young iron."
Olivia smiled at him.
"I'm glad," she said affectionately.
The Flying Scotsman cast his eyes upon her observing her for the longest time before giving her a genuine smile.
"Thank you for putting up with me," his appreciation was clear. "I know my idiocy is a handful. Me disappearing every other day. Thank you to you and Oscar for welcoming me into your home while I was struggling. And thanks for leading me your body to keep my soul safe. I would have died if not for you."
Olivia smiled back at him.
"It was my pleasure Flying Scotsman."
"I remember you, when you were a small girl, you were so terrified of me at first," Scotsman laughed. "You screamed and cried at this loud noisy machine but then I spoke to you, befriended you and you didn't want me to leave."
Olivia nodded. "Meeting you changed my life. I never would have become who I am today without your promise to let me be your driver. Great Northern helped with that too. His collection is impressive."
Flying Scotsman's smile faded slightly.
"I'm glad your memories of him are better than mine. He, he looked like he adored you in his memories," he remarked but then remembered. "North! His leg was broken! He was at Mallard's mercy! What happened to him?"
Olivia froze, realising that only the two of them knew what had just happened.
She felt in her pocket and pulled out her phone.
"57 missed calls?" She said and the Scotsman snorted.
"Half of those will be from Darlington wondering why Tornado magically appeared in their workshop," he said amused.
"So that's where you sent her," Olivia murmured as she went through her call log.
"It was the farthest place I could think to send her, knowing she would be safe," Scotsman explained.
"Why are there so many from Vincent- Gordon!" Olivia suddenly realised, panic in her voice. "You need to go find your brother right now mister!"
"Yes Ma'am!" Scotsman did not even hesitate at Olivia's words desperate to reassure his brother, no matter the inevitable rant Gordon would unleash on his foolish little brother.
With a shake of his chassis, he blew his whistle and in a whirl of Gold Dust, he and Olivia were gone leaving the empty, silent shell of Mallard in the middle of the Steamworks.
They didn't even notice the small scarlet and gold engine that had been watching them from afar, hidden at the back of the Steamworks, a kind and joyous expression on her face.
Tornado wasn't expecting a warm welcome when she went to tell the Royal Engine about her build brother waking up. A lot of the older or more 'prestigious' engines still did not like her and she accepted that.
There would always be people who didn't like her one bit and would hate her for no reason. There was nothing she could do to change their minds and that was alright. One couldn't please everyone.
She was however very displeased to find Blue Peter guarding the entrance to the Royal Engine's personal sheds.
She'd been expecting Union, King George or Royal Scot and his brother to be guarding her but no, it just had to be her ill-tempered cousin and a 9F the former of who was nothing but vindictive towards her.
She huffed, steeled herself and puffed up to them, confidence in her gaze. Blue Peter began glaring at her the second he noticed her.
"You're not welcome here you sad excuse of an engine," he hissed at her. "This is the royal yard, it's not for riff-raff like you!"
Tornado looked Blue Peter up and down. "You're not looking so hot yourself cousin," she scolded. "They let you guard the royal engine looking that dirty?"
Beside Blue Peter, the 9F 92203, gave a snort of laughter while her cousin looked at her furiously. He wasn't used to this more confident and antagonistic Tornado, preferring the shy and quiet one she'd previously been known as.
"Don't you talk to me like that, you fake!" Blue Peter shouted at her.
"I will talk to you however I damn well please!" Tornado snapped back angrily. "You're not the boss of me, cousin."
"Stop calling me your cousin! I'm not your cousin!" Blue Peter shouted at her.
"I'm your cousin, whether you like it or not, cousin, and you're just going to suck it up and deal with it, cousin," Tornado taunted him. "Now I'm not here to see your stupid face, I'm here to see Lady Duchess."
"The Duchess isn't seeing anyone right now Tornado," the 9F stepped in before Blue Peter could retort to escalate the fight. "She's not having the best of time right now."
Tornado looked at her buffers in understanding. Right. Of course, the Duchess was in mourning for her owner.
"Of course sir," she said solemnly. "I understand. The Trust wished for me to pass on a message to her. Could I leave it with you?"
"Nothing you say would ever be important for a royal engine to hear," Blue Peter hissed at her but the 9F glared at him.
"That's enough, Blue Peter, I'm sure Tornado's message is of great importance," he defended her and Tornado looked at him gratefully. "What is your message, young Tornado?"
"It's the P2, Prince of Wales sir! He's awake!" Tornado exclaimed happily and the 9F's eyes lit up and Blue Peter's did too.
"That is exciting news!" The 9F said enthusiastically. "The Duchess will be happy! I think that deserves to be told in person!"
Blue Peter looked ready to argue but the intimidating 9F loomed over him and he kept his mouth shut.
The 9F pulled back and beckoned for Tornado to follow him.
"This way, Young Iron," he smiled at her and Tornado beamed, ignoring Blue Peter who had begun fuming angrily at her in silence.
The big engines travelled for a while in silence until the 9F spoke.
"I am called Black Prince, but you may refer to me as Isaac," the 9F introduced himself, his voice posh and refined. "I must apologise for Blue Peter's lack of tact. He is regrettably one of the more uncouth of the Duchess's engines."
"You don't have to apologise for him," Tornado remarked. "He's always been rude to me."
"That's unfortunate," Isaac said ruefully. "You are an important part of railway history, you should be treated with respect young iron."
Tornado looked at her buffers and didn't speak for a lone moment. She then looked back up at the larger engine.
"I don't feel important," she mumbled to herself. "Flying Scotsman always tells me I am but I never really do."
"You lack confidence in yourself," Isaac observed. "That's okay. Most people do. But I assure you, even if you didn't have such a role, you still would be."
Tornado blushed and she gave him a shy smile.
"Thank you, Isaac," she mumbled and Isaac chuckled.
The two travelled together for a while until Isaac spoke up again.
"You're around the National Railway Museum a lot aren't you?" He asked suddenly and Tornado looked at him curiously. "You're Flying Scotsman's young ward after all."
"Yes?" Tornado said warily, unsure where the conversation was going.
"Forgive me, it's a bit selfish but-" Isaac paused, unsure of how to explain himself. "Would you be able to maybe help my sister?"
"Your sister?"
"Yes, her name is Evening Star and well she… she's not very well-liked by any of the other engines," Isaac explained. "I know I should go and look after this myself but… I fear the damage is already done."
"Damage? Why what happened to her? Is she okay?" Tornado asked concerned.
Isaac didn't say anything for the longest time. He then gave a regretful sigh and then gazed at Tornado sadly.
"She was preserved the moment she was built. No prestige, no working life just, brand new and kept in a box like a toy," he explained. "Almost every engine around was furious because most of them were fighting to survive, it's just how it was after the genocide you know?"
"I think I understand," Tornado remarked. "So she was like an engine built for show? Like a replica?"
"I guess you could say that," Isaac muttered. There was regret in her tone. "Only unlike most replicas, a lot of her siblings are still around and they hated her for it. They- we bullied her. Much how you were when you were a brand new engine, young Tornado."
The bullying she had received when she was new had lasted years upon years. Even when Scotsman had protected her, engines whispered behind her tender and were still rude to her. It never really stopped. She doubted that it would but that was okay.
She accepted it for what it was and she could somewhat see why they harassed her. Not that that made their insults hurt any less.
Tornado looked away and sighed.
"It is what it is," she said quietly. "I think I've reached a point where I just don't care anymore."
"It still doesn't make it right," Isaac pointed out.
"No, it doesn't," Tornado agreed. "But your sister was bullied. Is she alright? Did she find friends as I did?"
A look of sorrow appeared on Isaac's face and he stopped.
"No, in fact, it got worse to the point that…" Isaac's face morphed into one of pure regret. "Evening Star just stopped speaking. She made an active choice to never speak again and she became completely mute. She didn't even talk to her crew. She just… broke. She hasn't spoken to anyone, human or engine, for almost twenty years."
Tornado looked appalled.
"Twenty years?!" She cried out aghast. "Are you sure her voice box wasn't stolen or- or something?"
"It's been checked many times," Isaac informed the now-shocked Peppercorn. "My sister's mute out of choice. She's been treated like a dead engine ever since. No one bothers to talk to her anymore. They know it's pointless."
"That's horrible!" Tornado exclaimed horrified. "Why haven't Scotsman or Truro done anything about this?!"
"They tried, for many years but… they achieved nothing," Isaac explained. "They still make sure to say hello to her when they see her and have an open invitation for her to speak to them but I think they ultimately just gave up."
"I'll help her," Tornado declared sternly. "I'll do everything I can to help her!"
Isaac gave Tornado a grateful smile.
"I would appreciate that thank-you Tornado," he said with a hopeful smile. "Maybe a young iron like you will be able to connect with her in a way that others can't."
"Maybe," Tornado mused. "I'll do my best."
The two engines stopped before a grand set of doors guarded by many royal guards as they held elaborate carvings.
Tornado had never met the Duchess in person by herself. She was usually with Sir Nigel or Flying Scotsman and she usually hid behind them, frightened of the attention from the Duchess and her closest friends. She always felt out of place around them.
She felt like a rough and tumble thing, clumsy and a bit ridiculous, not like these coronation and princess classes that held themselves with such a regal air.
The doors opened and the Duchess herself appeared, rolling forward but not too much, hiding in her berth and not happy about being disturbed.
"What is it Black Prince?" She asked, her voice polite yet laced with annoyance.
"I apologise for the disturbance ma'am, I know you're currently in mourning however there is news that might lighten your day," Isaac spoke, his voice highly controlled and proper. "Young Tornado has come to deliver the news herself."
"Oh!" The Duchess was surprised. She'd never really spoken to the young iron except for brief meetings and saw her at events. Other than that the only interaction she had with her was sending engines to check if she was alright.
Tornado rolled forward with a kind smile.
"Hello ma'am," she said, her voice friendly and sweet. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Yes, of course, thank you Tornado," the Duchess smiled at her sweetly. "What was your news dear?"
"My build brother, the Gresley P2, woke up yesterday," Tornado announced with a bright smile.
Almost instantly, the Duchess' mood shifted from depressed to delighted. The news of a new engine lit up her entire day.
"Oh my, that is wonderful!" The Duchess cheerfully proclaimed. "Is he running? How soon will he be up and about?"
Tornado looked disappointed.
"Um not for a long time ma'am, he might be awake but the Trust has found problems that they need to address. Like they did with me," Tornado blushed embarrassed.
She didn't like to speak of her first few clumsy years. They were incredibly embarrassing and earned her a lot of the bullying received.
"The main thing is that he is awake," the Duchess smiled. "I am pleased. I'm sure you will be an excellent role model for him, Tornado!"
"I'll try my best ma'am," Tornado mumbled flustered.
"I must say you seem a lot more confident now," the Duchess remarked. "I see that you've gained some confidence in yourself that is good to see."
Tornado beamed proudly.
"Thank you, Flying Scotsman's uh quite the personality to draw from I guess," she admitted and Duchess chuckled.
"He is indeed Young Iron. He is indeed."
Bye-bye Mallard. You won't be missed.
Contrary to the story, I don't actually hate the actual engine that is Mallard. I think she's a gorgeous and wonderfully clean and stylish-looking thing that inspired a lot of modern-day streamlined engines. Looking at the real one, I'd like to think that she's timid, a bit clumsy but also a bit of a goofball.
Real-life Scotsman however I do see as having a similar personality to the show. A show-off and a friendly engine that'll make your sad days, happy.
*Points at the real-life Scotsman and Mallard* They're probably besties.
*Points at my Scotsman and Mallard* They're not besties cos Mallard's a selfish prick.
For updates, extra lore or to ask questions or discuss the fic, you can find me on tornadoyoungiron tumblr
There is also a Tumblr where you can directly ask the characters of this story at Ask Young Iron