Autumn was nearing its biting end and a damp morning dew glistened off the multicolored leaves of the deciduous natives around the yard. The first signs of life appeared about the roundhouse as the day's events were already unfolding.
Gordon ran a concerned hand under his chin, feeling the already present stubble despite his morning shave from merely an hour ago. Eying his chiseled disdain from the interior cab window of Number 4, he unconsciously drew closer to his reflection to observe his handiwork.
"Pretty sure James had the award for most vain in the roundhouse Gordon. Trying to unseat the king?"
Gordon started as Rebecca clambered jovially up the cab steps to the footplate. Grinning ear to ear in a knowing way that sickened Gordon to his core.
"A really useful member of the North Western must look the part. No shame in personal care." Gordon recovered. A staunch air about his words as he straightened himself decisively from his reflection.
"Guess that's true. No one wants a rag-a-muffin leading their train." Rebecca agreed as she sidled in front of Gordon to peer at herself, tossing her bangs casually before giving a distinct nod of approval.
Gordon watched her curiously, his annoyance gone as a familiar competitive nature took over.
"You know Rebecca, Vicarstown is quite far. You don't want to be late for your express." He hit the possessive pointedly, stirring something born of pure sass in Rebecca.
"Oh I've plenty of time Gordon. Percy's already been back with the mail which means all the signals are green from here to Cronk. Or did you not know?..."
"I know everything!" Gordon puffed. His visage tinted in a rising red as his jaw jutted in disdain. "I just give little concern to those details not particular to me."
Rebecca turned from the window's mirroring slowly, eyebrow cocked, hands on hips.
"...Really."
"Yes."
Her puckered lips of judgment split into a wry smile as she sauntered back down the cab steps, not giving Gordon any more time of day.
"Alright then Gordon. On that note. May the best Driver wiiIIIiiinn"
She sang her last word as she flung a hand up in the air in goodbye, back to her rival.
"Oh I sure intend to." Gordon muttered determinedly to himself,
Oliver burst through the driver entrance door of the coastal sheds at Haltrough where Duck was already inspecting Number 8 before its daily duties.
"Hold onto your socks there Duck. Have I ever got news for you."
Duck, who had been peacefully, methodically, intentionally flexing the brake rigging of his engine's drive wheels, snapped his hand between the flange and the brake pad with a resounding shout of agony.
"AYE GODS YE Oooh aAAAAaaaHHHHhhh!" He gasped as he cradled his hand under his armpit, bending at the middle wheezing in malcontent.
Oliver was wide eyed as he froze on the spot watching his friend metaphorically die slowly before him. Toad pawed frantically on the outside of the shed door, which had rebounded shut upon Oliver's enthusiastic introduction.
"OLIVER! You wretched, gnarled, trumpet! Are you trying to give me another prosthetic!?"
Duck stamped his metallic foot in a punctuational step with each venomous word as he approached the man. Oliver, upon being dubbed a trumpet, covered his mouth in a false cough as he attempted to hide his laughter.
"No Duck. I daresay I am most certainly not trying to make you MORE handicapped."
Oliver let out laugh as Duck bemusedly walked past him, maintaining eye contact, and opened the door for wee Toad to toddle in with a fuss.
"You're unbelievable. Making fun of the differently abled. I ought to report you for your intolerance."
"Just make sure you fill out an incident report for your hand afterwards. Let The Contoller know you're a whiner and incompetent."
Duck threw a rag from a nearby workbench at Oliver where it hit its mark square in his face.
"Rather incompetent than ugly."
"That's fair."
Oliver chucked the rag to the ground and laughed again, this time Duck joining in. Toad trundled over dismissively to a small pile of sand bags. Circling in comfort her plopped down and closed his eyes until he was called upon for duty.
"Well out with it then. What's this big news you've got."
Duck asked before making his way to the pump along the shed wall. Making an effort to run cold water over his injured digits.
"Well, you know those two characters who've been hassling us since the season started?
"What? That scruffed, unkempt man and the bus driver with the wild bulging eyes?"
"Yeah, Scruffey and Bulgy as I call them respectively." Oliver grinned cheekily. "Well I've been keeping my eyes on them whenever I get the chance, and there's something I've noticed.
Oliver had meandered over by Number 11 and leapt onto the running board. Recounting his findings with gestural enthusiasm.
"Scruffey seems to be the look-out for Bulgy. The two are thick as thieves! Scruffey gets dropped off at one of our book-end stations and carries a CB under that disgusting trench coat of his. Once one of us is off from the platform he pulls out the walkie and makes whispers."
Duck had propped his prosthetic up onto a workbench and was currently stretching it out at the hip. His eyes narrowed in intrigue as listened intently. However at this point he interjected with a query.
"Who's to say… Scruffey, was it? Isn't a trainspotter and is communicating to someone to photograph? We see those sorts all the time? Or perhaps he's just a rude scag with a radio. We don't know."
"Aye but here's my theory."
Oliver jumped from the running board and strode toward his friend, waving a wild finger of accusation.
"Every time I've noticed him do this little secret-chat, something troublesome has happened to us. The day you were delayed by the double decker at the bridge, last week when Bulgy had his bus campaigned by the signal box and his 'Railway Bus' banner had fallen on the line, and yesterday! Yesterday cemented this for me. I watched him walkie while waiting at the platform, and no more than five minutes after you'd departed, I heard the station master phoned about your emergency stop from the fallen telephone line and Bulgy, MIRACULOUSLY, being nearby and able to rescue your passengers. Now look me in the eye and tell me that's not all circumstantial."
Oliver's grand finish had left him perched on a low crate of parts with his arms wide spread in full theatrics. Duck's skepticism wasn't hidden, but he raised himself to stand in acknowledgement as a long low whistle exited his lips.
"We need to find your somebody special Oliver."
"I'm serious Duck!"
"No I'm serious! Ollie those are slanderous accusations based on a modicum of happenstance."
Oliver dropped his arms in furious dejection. He stepped to the ground and chewed his tongue as Duck continued.
"I don't like either of them, same as you. But we need some sort of concrete proof that anything between the two personalities are related before we go raising a conspiracy."
Oliver grit his teeth, biting back a retort. Toad had emerged from his sand bag bed to come sit on Oliver's feet, holding him in place until he thought through a more productive solution.
"Fine. Trade me routes today. Take the second start, watch, and wait. Before your train leaves today I guarantee something will happen to show you I'm not stark-raving over some MAJOR similarities."
"I'll take the second train…. And I don't think you're mad Oliver. I just like evidence."
The two eyed each other with tension but respect as a noisy quorum burst through the driver's entrance for the second time that morning.
"Och aye. Two whole peoples in the shed and nay one pot o' coffee stahrted."
"Jus' what is the werld comin' too Dougie."
Wellsworth was bustling for midday as Emily pulled up along the far right line with a special commuter. Number 12 idled cheerily, letting off wisps of clean steam as the brake was pulled to a hard on. Descending the footplate adjacent to the platform, Emily stretched up high, grasping toward the clouds when she heard a light 'rap-rap-rap' next to her. Turning to face the noise, the kind faces of Rosie and Edward peered out of the break room window before making toward the door.
"Wotcher Emily! It's sure been a minute!" Rosie emerged over the threshold and strode to shake Emily's hand. Edward politely and casually approached second with a genuine welcome as well.
"It really has. Thank you for taking the commuter today."
"Sir said he'd asked you Edward, but with the Harvest Festival preparations and Holiday season around the corner… You're already overworked as it is!"
Edward laughed lightly, sliding his hands into his boilersuit pockets.
"It's really not that bad, especially with all the help." He winked to Rosie who popped her hands to her hips confidently. "But any more responsibilities and I'd miss tea time. And we absolutely can't have that."
"No we certainly can't!" Emily laughed.
"So where's the next stop after these folks change trains?" Rosie asked. Her head craned around the group as she watched the busyness surrounding Number 12's coaches.
"We're diverting to the branchline and making way to Lower Suddery. King James phrased it well this morning when he called it a point to point train. The Northernmost point on the coastal run down to the Southernmost when we terminate at Brendam."
Edward's eyebrows flew into his hair as a lined smirk laced his face.
"King James?" Certainly not our hot headed Narcissus has earned such nobility?
"Oh, haven't you heard?" Emily beamed. Relishing in spilling the tea at this of all times. "The twins have coronated our one and only with the title after a truly noble act of selfishness in the yard."
Edward hadn't belly-laughed in years until now. His body shaking as he could only wheeze out a meak "King James" from the chuckles.
"Do be sure to tell everyone you see about our visiting Royalty." Emily ordered in her own mock Yeoman impression.
Rosie raised a tentative hand to ask for clarification that this wasn't the real King James, when silence fell across the station, heralded by the simultaneous dropping of all signals. Emily opened her eyes from her fits of giggles to see the entire platform vacant, Edward and Rosie already stepping backwards toward the breakroom. Rosie beckoning for her to follow.
"Emily c'mon, we have to go NOW!"
Emily was gobsmacked as she whipped her head around looking all across the way.
"What the bloody hell is happening?"
Edward already safely inside and Rosie at the door, could only whisper… "Express." As the hauntingly ambient stillness was broken by two competing whistles at either ends of the line. Emily had just enough time to turn to face the tracks, when Number's 4 and 22 flew past each other simultaneously within the station on the mid and left lines.
Gusts swirled about the area blowing newspapers from stands, forgotten pastries from tables, and rattling Number 12 from the inside out. The volatile hurricane of momentum caused by the two competing forces had left Emily gripping the handrail of Number 12's boiler as the indecisive winds attempted to pull her every which direction.
Bystanders looked horrified out the station windows at Emily's disheveled disposition. Her hair bushed out in all directions, boilersuit hanging off her shoulder, Dark green handkerchief blown up into her mouth from it's tied position on her neck. As Emily released her grip from the dying forces, she spat out her handkerchief in one utterance.
"WELL SOMEBODY COULD HAVE WARNED ME!"
Number 8 and 11 stood parallel on either sides of the platform. Emerging from the Station Master's office, it didn't take long for either of them to spot Bulgy and his dangerous double decker lumbering just outside the bus stop. Creeping off the steps was none other than Scruffey as Oliver gave Duck a pointed look.
"That's just one thing. Let's see how the run goes."
"Pray for me." Oliver rolled his eyes before embarking on Number 11. Duck gave a solid salute as the guard's whistle blew and Number 11's regulator started them off.
Strategically dabbing his forehead with his green handkerchief, Duck watched Scruffey from the corner of his eye. To his surprise, the man opened his coat slightly, showcasing a brief glimpse of a battered CB radio strapped to his waistline. Cocking the mouthpiece to his lips, Duck lost all nuance as he blatantly stared at the man whispering into the device. The realization that he was gawking at the man his Duck too late as he called out aggressively.
"Hey you! Pictures last longer! Just take one of my good side!" And he bared yellowed teeth in a grizzled grin.
Duck gave a fresh tip of his cap and made an intentional beeline for Number 8, thinking frantically to himself. "Be savvy Oliver."
Dusk settled comfortable over the roundhouse as engines returned were backed over the turntable and into their berths. Gordon heavily stepped down Number 4, his joints aching from the intensity of holding steady at the high speeds he'd achieved during the day. As he extended, arms pressed into his lower back to crack it, the shed doors next to him opened and Number 22 rolled steadily back onto its bufferstop. Blonde hair frizzy and windswept, Rebecca popped out from her cab with a triumphant cheer.
"Hold you applause everyone! It's not everyday we have a new fastest engine of Sodor! It was an intense fight! But none-the-less I am HONORED! Please, no autographs at this time."
She reached the Earth and beamed giddily as everyone within the shed converged on the shenanigans about to ensue.
"I can attest! Never have I ever been so breathless at the speed of another Driver! I true undertaking!" Emily applauded as she came to Rebecca's side in jest. "Please Miss may I shake your hand!"
The two cartoonishly clasped palms as Gordon stood there dumbfounded. Shaken out of his stupor by a clap to his shoulder.
"Better luck next time Gordon. Hey, have you started thinking about retirement?" James goaded, a smirk plastered across his devious exterior.
"Preposterous!" Gordon bellowed as she shook of James' hand. "We were tied at Wellsworth on the second circuit but I finished my route first! It says so in the time tables!
Gordon pointed at the records clipboard hanging beneath the timeclock. His temper rising as his flush from this morning returned.
"True true. I won't deny you that." Rebecca added, tactfully guiding the situation. "But I had to wait for an elderly stateswoman to load her walker onboard my coaches at Tidmouth on my third circuit. Otherwise I undoubtedly would have won. I am the fastest of the day!"
Emily and Rebecca laughed as Gordon's immediate rage was replaced by overwhelming annoyance. James opted to chime in in defense.
"So then you didn't finish first. An active train has to account for all occurrences and delays. You definitely aren't the fastest."
"Rebecca! I'm so sorry for you!" Emily dramatically took Rebecca's hand in both of hers. "King James has decreed your victory a loss! There is nothing we can do! We'd never go against the crown!"
James' eyebrows met in the middle as he face was stricken in disgust. "I decree you both get over yourselves. This is ridiculous."
"ANOTHER DECREE!" This is TYRANNY!" Emily hollered as Rebecca was gasping for air.
The shed doors at the far end opened as Number 6 was preparing to head out with the mail. Appearing around the front buffer beam of Number 4, Percy walked hesitantly toward the group.
"I –uh I don't mean to interrupt." Percy started nervously. Gordon and James rounded on Percy spotting easy pray while Rebecca and Emily harkened him over.
"It's fine Percy! What's the news!" Rebecca smiled. She was giddy from the previous hijinks and was having a tough time gaining composure.
"Out with it Percy, some of us have better things to do." Gordon growled, his arms folded in dominance.
"Well actually Gordon I've got something for you." Reaching into the inner breast pocked of his boiler suit, Percy pulled out a long thin envelope. "This was found last night wedged in the door of one of my mail vans. You left so quickly this morning I didn't have a chance to give it to you."
"Stealing mail is a crime, Percy. I ought to sue you." Gordon's foul disposition bled through as he took the letter from the driver."
"Guess I should countersue for being the slowest driver of Sodor. I've got mail to deliver." And he huffed back toward his engine to the sounds of Rebecca and Emily cheering him on.
Gordon grimaced as he gave attention to his envelope. No addresses, no stamps, just his name in the receiving space, and the letter 'H' in the sender's.
"Who's it from?" Rebecca asked, now fully intrigued.
Hello friends. =) Thank you for your patience as this dogged story comes out in such slow intervals -.- I did try to justify my absence this time with a longer chapter though! Things are finally calming down in my life so I'm hopeful I can get back to uploading semi-regularly. But! Has anyone else had trouble with the website? I feel like my past few chapters upload but aren't visible to people? The traffic just seems off. Could just be me lol.
Please let me know whatcha think of this recent installation! And I hope y'all know you're appreciated =)
As always, thank you for reading! -REN