Thomas the Tank Engine had lived on the Island of Sodor for half a century and now he was about 65 years old with a memory as long as an elephant. He had lived through both world wars, worked as a station pilot, earned his own branch line, made many engine friends and he always tried to be really useful. The Island of Sodor itself was a place unlike any other and if you have the imagination that I think you do, you'll know why.
On the fourteenth of July in the year 1980, at precisely 8:55 a.m., he was just a few seconds late from making a guaranteed connection at Knapford Junction with Gordon the Big Engine, who had just arrived with the morning express. As his passengers were leaving his train, he began to count the seconds.
"5…6…7…8…"
"Practicing your numbers, Gordon?" Thomas joked as he pulled in with his coaches Annie and Clarabel. "Sensible engine. It always helps to know your math."
Gordon frowned. He had woken up too early in the morning and he was not in the best mood for any of Thomas' childishness.
65 and he still acts like a twelve-year-old, Gordon fumed in his mind.
Out loud, he said.
"I am counting how many seconds late you are."
His eyes pointed to the sign on the very end of the station.
"What does that sign say?"
Thomas' eyes read the screen.
"North Western Railway, really reliable and right on time. Sorry for delays during repairs, we are making this a better railway. Signed, heads of the railway: Sir Charles Topham Hatt, Mr. Roger Sam, Lord Harry Barrane and Mr. Fergus Duncan."
"And you weren't on time, little Thomas," Gordon seethed.
"And as usual, you're being bossy, Gordon," Thomas joked. "But do excuse my tardiness, I'm just excited. I'm going to meet Mr. Conductor this afternoon. He's taking care of us while the Fat Controller and his family are on holiday in Bournemouth."
"Yes, I know," Gordon said pompously. "Edward took them to the mainland yesterday morning, but I think we can take care of ourselves."
But no sooner had he said this when…
"OUT OF MY WAY!"
A large, rectangular diesel engine with a mean face and horizontal stripes, along with a hydraulic claw of all things, perched on the roof. He whizzed past Thomas and Gordon, blowing a wind that nearly brought the passengers to the floor. Gordon was so scared that he literally shook and so did the coaches.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" he cried as the sound of the diesel's engine buzzed away.
"That," explained Thomas. "Arrived yesterday and is a problem. I call him Diesel 10 - 10 out of 10 for devious deeds and brutal strength. Sir Topham Hatt sent him to help us steam engines, but Diesel is behaving as if he hates steam engines. I think he's really scary.
"Huh," scoffed Gordon. "Really useful engines like us have to be brave…but maybe we do need Mr. Conductor here after all and on time too."
When his passengers were safely onboard, Gordon puffed away, leaving Thomas in a state of worry.
Thomas knew Mr. Conductor very well. Almost as much as his human friend Richard Awdry, who was sitting in his shed back at Ffarquhar writing a letter to his father Christopher, wishing that they would be spending the summer holidays together. Richard had accidentally come to Sodor in 1967 when he was fifteen, having stowed away onboard a breakvan named Toad, when he, Isobel the coach and her engine Oliver were saved from scrap by the Scottish engine Douglas, the number ten of the North Western Railway's steam roster.
He was just coming out of the post office when Thomas came up with Annie and Clarabel in tow.
"Oi, Thomas, you look as though you've seen a ghost. Anything wrong?"
"If by wrong, you mean Diesel 10. I don't know what the Fat Controller was thinking when he hired him to help us."
"Maybe some engines you think are mean just need to be shown a little kindness. Not everybody is that bad."
"And some diesels like Diesel 10 are just plain evil," said Annie judgmentally.
Richard just ignored Annie and uncoupled her from Thomas. Their next job was at the quarry with Mavis, one of the friendlier diesels on Sodor. When they arrived with a train of empty stone trucks, they were surprised to see that Mavis had extra help. Two other diesels; Splatter who was purple and Dodge, who was yellow, were pushing and pulling the trucks into place, loading them with heavy pounds of stone.
"Thanks for the additional help, Thomas," Mavis smiled politely. "But with these two helping me, I won't be needing yours or Toby's services anymore."
"Excuse me?" Thomas cried incredulously.
"Splatter and Dodge are doing a good job, for most of the time, and by most I mean that they can be pretty clumsy and sometimes don't get the job done right, but at least they can still help."
Now, Thomas was even worried. Diesels taking over the island? No way! The Fat Controller would never allow such a thing. In his eyes, steam engines and diesel engines were all equal.
Far away from Sodor, across the wide stretches of the Atlantic Ocean, up and over the Appalachian Mountains and sandwiched between the Indian Valley, Muffle Mountain and Mount Careful was the town of Shining Time, Pennsylvania. A pretty picturesque little town that you might find on a postcard with its share of jugglers, a baseball team, families going out for a stroll, independent children following the local passenger train, the Rainbow Sun and hearing stories about the Island of Sodor, it's railways and its history from the magical 20 centimeter tall man himself: Mr. Conductor, or at least, the kids who helped and hung around the station. In addition to the children, Matthew, Dan, Becky, Tanya, Vickie and Kara, to name a few, there was the holy trinity of adult employees, the station manager, Stacy Jones, the mechanic and engineer of the Rainbow Sun, the Native American Billy Twofeathers, and last but not least, the proprietor of the station arcade, Horace Schemer.
Stacy Jones was Matthew and Dan's aunt. She liked to wear red and had a charming, patient and understanding personality to go with her smiling face. The first members of her family came from Schenectady, a small industrial town where many engines were built, which could explain her accent. Stacy had been fascinating with railroading ever since her grandmother Gracie became the first female station master of Shining Time. She wanted nothing more in life to follow her grandmother's footsteps, but her parents, her sister Tracy and her two brothers insisted that the station would be in good hands under the watchful eye of a more respectful person. Believing this, Stacy and her sister enrolled in a community theater to find work as actresses, but after seven plays and seven runs, she decided to take on the responsibility of carrying her grandmother's legacy and she was also one of the few adults to know about Mr. Conductor's existence, which was kept secret simply because that there are some people in this world who do not understand.
Billy Twofeathers was one of those people who understood. He was of Lakota descent and was very talented in the field of painting, singing and playing the flute. As most Native Americans were expected to be, he had a very sense of respect for both magic and life itself. That respect went mostly to his nephew Kit, who often came to Shining Time in the three summers after his father, Billy's older brother, died of a stroke. His grandfather used to work in Shining Time as a carpenter while his three uncles varied from either traditional or modern jobs fits for other Native Americans like himself. Billy had worked at Shining Time for five years as its chief mechanic after Harry Cooper and his cousin Tucker moved up to Fort Farley, taking his granddaughter Tanya with him. Often from time to time, they would visit the station to check up on Stacy and the others.
Horace Schemer was man who lived up to his surname. He wore sensible shoes, gaudy money green suits and had a cow lick on the right side of his head that curled into a devil's horn. In addition to running the arcade, he would often come up a series of peculiar get-rich-quick schemes, whether it be for the benefit of himself or the station. Sometimes his plans backfired in slapstick ways and other times, he would make a simple hobby of collecting nickels from the arcade machines or from the jukebox. Schemer never really met Mr. Conductor, and he was very superstitious, for the little man's unseen antics led him to believe that the station was haunted by vengeful spirits from the past.
Together, all three employees were doing their best to please and amuse their employer, J. B. King, that the railroad was strong, sufficient and lived up to its advertisements. Constructed in 1885, the Indian Valley Railroad was five years away from celebrating it's centenary. The summer holidays, already well into July, saw a huge boom in the tourism business, or in Schemer's case, more nickels for him to "earn" with the help of his nephew Schemee.
Dan especially was excited to spend time with Matthew, but Kara was spending most of the days wondering how it would take for Harry and Tanya to arrive. Sometimes, she either played or worked to keep her mind off of such things. Vickie and Becky also helped out as well, especially since one their newest friends Path McKilt, was doing his part to help with the anniversary by finishing up the paint job on Shining Time's welcome sign. He just finished around midday when he expressed his victory towards Mutt, Billy's pet golden doodle.
Patch came from a family of limited means, but he wasn't as poor as some people might say. Even so, Mr. King's nephew, Buster wouldn't stop teasing him for his destitute position. Patch often ignored all the other heartless folks who spurned his family, which hailed from Ireland over a hundred years ago
"There, all finished. I reckon Shining Time has the best welcome sign in any part of the Indian Valley!"
Mutt barked in agreement.
A few yards away, his owner Billy was driving the Rainbow Sun, which consisted of a Mikado type tender engine and four vintage passenger cars. Onboard the train was his own nephew Kit, who was tossing his baseball into the air up and down a few times over. In the fields outside of Shining Time, Billy could see a little boy and little girl playing the fields of a yellow flowers. He waved at them and they waved back as he blew the whistle two times.
Then his eyes caught something else…
It was a man on a Harley Davidson driving up the path to the level crossing. Billy would have assumed at first glance that it was Barton Winslow, the general store owner coming up to say hello, but the black clothes and the Stalheim helmet used by the Waffen-SS during World War II told another story. This was a man of dark atmosphere and cruel demeanor. He was somewhere between 55 or 60 with a gruff face and dark evil eyes behind his equally black goggles. A man who was feared by everyone, or at least those who knew him.
Billy sensed danger, as he could see that the man was approaching the track. In any second, there would be a nasty crash. He blew a warning whistle to the motorist, but that seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, for the motorist had whizzed over to the other side of the track, allowing the Rainbow Sun to safely pass.
When they arrived at the station, Kit was willing to ask his uncle about the man on the motorcycle, but Billy said.
"I'll explain later. Just go in and keep Becky occupied. I'll be in after I check on Patch."
He found Patch and Mutt by the sign, smiling as he smelled the fresh coat of paint, hanging in the air.
"Fine work, Patch."
"Thanks, Mr. Twofeathers," Patch's face drew concern. "Is there something wrong with the Rainbow Sun, Mr. Twofeathers, I heard the brakes go on."
Billy didn't seem to be in the right mood of telling Patch about the motorist yet.
"Everything is fine, Patch. I see you have been taking good care of my map and dog for me."
"Yeah," the boy replied. "And I can't help but wonder about these mysterious shadowy lines running across Muffle Mountain and some other places. They look like straight railroad tracks, but I can't see any except for the ones that make up the railroad."
Billy smiled with pride.
"It's a mystery that makes this land so…so…"
He tried to find the right word, but it was evading him like lightning.
"Magical?"
"Exactly."
Patch picked up his Stetson hat and blue plaid jacket and hopped onto his white stallion.
"Well, I'd better get going. I promised Burnett Stone that I'd clean out his yard today."
"Does Burnett Stone ever give you a smile?" asked Billy out of interest. "I haven't seen or spoken with him in three months…maybe three weeks depending on my memory."
"Nope, but he doesn't frighten old Silvermane, either. Which means I don't think he's a bad man, I think he's just a sad man."
"Well, maybe you can cheer him up," Billy suggest before pointing to the Rainbow Sun. "But this iron horse of mine serves me proud, but you two can cover any nook and cranny. Also, if you see a stranger called Boomer around these parts, let me know."
Patch's eyes went wide.
"Boomer? As in P. T. Boomer, the rogue motorcyclist I hear the old folks talking about? I would have thought he was legend."
"No, he's very real. Even my nephew doesn't know much about him. But I will now. See you later."
As soon as Billy's back was turned, Patch and Silvermane trotted towards the round curved hills of Muffle Mountain.
With his map and toolkit in his safe hands, Billy and Mutt were walking side by side on the station platform. If there was one Indian proverb that carried on into the Lakota culture, it's that you should always stop and smell the roses, or in Billy's case, poinsettias, like the ones hanging from a flower basket that Mr. Conductor was tending to. Billy took one long sniff and made his way to the station. He opened the door for Mutt to let him in.
But before he himself could go inside, he was halted by a voice.
"You're Billy Twofeathers, am I right?"
Billy turned to find the source of the voice, a grey-haired brute of a man in black clothes, goggles and a pair of dark boots filing his fingernails.
"Do you remember me."
"Yes, I do," Billy said with malice in his voice. "You're P. T. Boomer, the rogue man who left this valley forty years ago."
"Well, now I'm back and I'm looking for Burnett Stone. Do you happen to know where he is?"
"Whatever for?" Billy asked, pretending he didn't know.
"Just to settle an old score," Boomer said casually. "And I'm going to own Muffle Mountain, maybe even the whole valley too."
Billy felt like laughing, but he didn't.
"You'll never own it, it belongs to Mother Earth. And this valley may belong to Mayor Flopdinger on paper, but in the eyes of God, this land belongs to my ancestors."
"Don't give me any of that Injun bullshit," Boomer said through gritted teeth.
In case you don't know, "Injun" is a nasty word that some people use towards other people who are born of Native American descent. Before Billy could make another remark, Boomer said.
"Now where is Burnett Stone?"
But instead of a straight answer, all Billy gave to Boomer was this:
"Wherever he wants to be. Now why don't you make like a tree and leave?"
Boomer snickered.
"Sorry, Redskin, but playing innocent in this town won't work. I'll find him, and when I do…"
He stood in front of the flower basket that Billy was sniffing earlier.
"…I'll do this."
He threw a huge haymaker punch at the basket, loosening the chain that held it onto the roof, it fell with a crash in less than two seconds flat. Satisfied at getting some steam out of his system, Boomer sulked away. Billy picked up a handful of the fallen poinsettias and gazed out at the horizon.
Innocence is here, because this valley is built on a land that's special. And with a touch of gold dust too. That combination equals harmony. But even if it's staring at you in the face, you could never understand that.
After a whole minute, Billy went back into the station.
Inside the station, Midge Smoot, the local gossip who liked to wear flowery hats and colorful dresses, was sitting on a bench near the ticket stand with her farmer friend Ginny Johnson. On this day, she was ready to attend her sister's wedding in Doodlehaven, which was to be held in an outdoor garden. Ginny was coming too, to comfort Midge throughout the ceremony, should she break into uncontrollable sobs. As they waited, Kit placed the glass bowl containing Matt's pet goldfish Moby Dick onto his aunt's desk as she made the next announcements over the phone.
"Hello, Shining Time Station manager Stacy Jones speaking."
After a few seconds from her customer, she confirmed.
"Oh, yes. The 10:15 from Pelican Falls to Shining Time is right on schedule. You are welcome."
She rung the bell and announced to the other passengers sitting nearby.
"The ten o'clock to Lucy's Leap is leaving now."
The sound of a bus' horn outside told her that Felix Perez was coming in to prepare for passengers who had missed their train. Then, Billy came in with his toolkit. Stacy called him over.
"Oh, Billy! I found this child's drawing in an old locker in the lost and found."
Stacy folded out the drawing. Billy and Kit leaned over to take a closer look at it. It depicted a blonde-haired boy in a red striped shirt and blue shorts climbing up a lush green hill next to a pair of British rail buffers.
"Who's that boy?" Kit asked.
"Judging by the signature," said Stacy. "It's Burnett Stone."
"The old hermit I often hear Miss Smoot and Ginny talk about?"
"The same person, Kit," Stacy sighed nostalgically. "It's hard to believe that grumpy old Burnett could have ever looked that happy."
"Was he that happy when you were his age, Miss Jones?" asked Kit.
But his question answered by uncle.
"Well, Burnett had a wonderful smile…and he loved railroading as much as he loved this valley. After Tasha died, he just shut himself away from the rest of the world."
Then he gave Stacy the poinsettias.
"Here, Stacy. These flowers got knocked out of their basket. I think some water will help them to live longer."
Stacy took the flowers from Billy, placed them in a nearby vase and asked.
"How did they get knocked out?"
Billy took a sharp breath and said ominously.
"Boomer's back in town."
Kit had a feeling that he didn't sound like somebody he wanted to meet. Even so, he had to ask.
"Who's Boomer?"
"P. T. Boomer is a miserable, vile, scum-sucking non-believer in magic, who makes Schemer look like a nice guy."
Schemer, who was walking his way over to the desk, was within earshot of Billy's last words. He took this as a compliment.
"Why thank you, Billy," he smiled before turning his attention to Stacy. "You know, Miss Jones, I think you've been working too hard. Waddya say you and me go out for dinner tonight at the new Italian place that just opened up? My treat."
For the last three weeks, Schemer had been trying to impress Stacy in the hopes of becoming his girlfriend. Especially since his mother wanted him to have a woman in his life who was more responsible than he was. Stacy was the first woman that came into his head, and he often used the old dating tactics such as flowers, chocolates from Mr. Winslow's store and even a trip to the drive-in movie theater. There was one movie on his mind that he wanted her to see called Somewhere in Time, but it wouldn't be released until October, so that idea was scrapped until the time came. Besides, romantic movies always got him in tears. But despite all of these offers, Stacy had to decline. Work was more important than romance.
"Maybe some other time, Schemer," Stacy replied without trying to sound rude. "We've still got the nightly trains to oversee."
Schemer tried to hide his disappointment. Well, there's always next time.
Out loud he said:
"So what's this I hear about some guy who's better than me?"
"P. T. Boomer," said Billy through gritted teeth. "And compared to some people like those from the Nickelaire Club, he's a totally rotten human being."
"Well, I for one don't think there is such a thing as a totally rotten human being. I think there is a little good in everybody."
"I'm not too sure about that," Stacy shook her head. "From what I know, everybody in the whole Indian Valley hates him."
But Schemer was still not buying her words.
"How can you say that?"
"Schemer, don't you remember last Halloween? Half the kids in the neighborhood, including your own nephew wore P. T. Boomer costumes," Stacy explained. "And then at some point during Christmas, I remember hearing Mr. King telling Buster that he would come and get him if he didn't clean up his act."
"Maybe he just needs to be shown a little kindness."
"I wish that could be done," Billy sighed hopelessly. "But some people like Boomer are just plain evil."
He picked up his tool kit and set himself down on a bench near the signal box mural. Midge and Ginny, knowing that the Rainbow Sun was already there, went to take their seats onboard the train. Schemer pocketed the nickels from the arcade machines and headed out to lunch.
Kit came over to his uncle's side, joined by Matthew Jones, just as a cloud gold dust appeared in his field of vision. The dust produced a man that was twenty centimeters tall. He wore a blue conductor's uniform with a matching cap and a blood red tie. Kit had only been introduced to this man about a year ago. It was he who made Shining Time Station the special place that it was.
"Why hello, Mr. Conductor."
"Hello, Billy, hello, Kit and hello Mathew-Matt-Mathew."
Before the kids could greet him properly, Mr. Conductor went to work polishing the doorknob to his house of a signal-box with a hankie and checked his personals.
"Toolkit, check. Ticket puncher, check. Ahem…ALL ABOARD!"
Quickly, he looked over at Billy, trying to correct him.
"Just testing, Billy. I shouldn't let my conductor skills get rusty."
"Why?" asked Matthew. "Is there something special happening today?"
Mr. Conductor chuckled.
"It's a very important day, Matt. I'm going to the Island of Sodor because Sir Topham Hatt has given a big responsibility for the very first time. Some new diesels have arrived and I have to make sure they behave themselves."
"I hope your visit goes well, Mr. C," Billy said.
"Me too," Mr. Conductor said wearily.
He had to be cautious while performing the best job that a controller could do. The three "Rs" as he had memorized them, were to be responsible, reliable and really useful.
Mr. Conductor wrote the words down in his note and prepared to say his farewells.
12:50 p.m., Muffle Mountain
Even in his fifties, Burnett Stone was still dashing and handsome, but he looked at the world with cold, steely eyes. But his heart and mind were as friendly as they were, even when he noticed Patch clearing some weeds out of his garden. Patch, in some way, reminded Burnett of himself at that age, remembering the times he helped his parents with household chores, then later just him and Tasha when she came into his life. Even so, he had few friends in school since he spent a lot of time drawing trains, even in his teen years.
As for Patch, he only noticed Burnett once, peering out of the window. He would sometimes look over his right shoulder for any sign of the hermit. But he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Mr. Stone was satisfied with the way he working. After another quarter of an hour, he saw Burnett again, with fifteen cents in the palm of his left hand. He took the coins, thanked Burnett and went back home., carefully observing that he was not making any attempt to smile.
Back at the station, after saying his goodbyes to the Jukebox Band, Mr. Conductor teleported his way over to Stacy's desk where he found her on the phone with Mr. King. Seeing that she was busy, he turned to the goldfish, which produced a trio of bubbles in response.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
The goldfish bubbled thrice.
"Why thank you, Moby Dick, I like your sparkle too. Gold is your color after all."
Stacy, having noticed Mr. Conductor, smiled as she continued receiving her next orders on a shipment of ice cream.
Leaving Moby Dick, Mr. Conductor noticed Stacy hanging up the phone, as well as the drawing on the desk.
"Stacy, where did you find this drawing?"
"An old locker in the lost and found. It was done by Burnett Stone when he was a child."
Her smile turned into a frown.
"I am convinced he used to work on the railroad in this drawing…but nowadays, he never leaves the other side of Muffle Mountain."
Upon noticing Mr. Conductor's expression, she added.
"You seem puzzled Mr. Conductor."
"I am puzzled because this place looks very much like the Island of Sodor. But the question is, how would Burnett travel there without gold dust? Ever since the lost engine disappeared, gold dust has been the only way to travel from here to there. Speaking of there, I had better get ready."
Stacy looked shocked.
"You're leaving now?"
"Yeah, is there something bothering you?"
Stacy wanted to tell Mr. Conductor about Boomer. But at the same time, she didn't want him to worry.
"Nothing's bothering me. I'm just concerned for your safety."
"Glad you thought of me like that."
He teleported away.
Outside, with the Rainbow Sun parked like a snake sleeping in the sun, Billy was getting the engine ready for it's next journey. Mutt barked a warning at him several times. Finally, he turned around and noticed.
"I know, I know, Boomer's bad for this valley," he said, while adjusting his earrings. "But so is this train if I don't get it to Doodlehaven on time."
Midge Smoot, who was on the train with Ginny, could hardly contain her excitement. Her own sister getting married to a respectable and hardworking man!...or so she assumed him to be. But all of her thoughts were pushed aside as she felt the train pulling away from the station.
On the platform, Mutt barked goodbye and walked back into the station. He was sensing trouble…and Boomer was the cause of it.
Schemer was on his way back from lunch when he met Boomer outside the newspaper stands for the Indian Valley Gazette and the Shining Times. The articles of Jake Scoop meant nothing to him, but the addresses did. One that was written for Burnett Stone, with his address being Muffle Mountain on it. But just as he was self-celebrating his victory over finding the guy, Schemer came up, asking.
"Mind if I help you?"
"No need to. I've got what I wanted."
"Well, it just so happens, that I also run this newspaper stand with my nephew. Horace Schemer they call me. Schemer to my friends. Judging by your attire, I'd say you were a crook. I don't suppose you were in Cloggyville last week when that bomb went off. Awful mess. Bodies strewn about and so on. They never really caught the culprit, but…look like today's my lucky day."
Boomer returned the favor by giving Schemer's jaw a heavy right hook.
"And it is for you, you dumbass."
Noticing a teenager on roller skates who worked for the company, Boomer played innocent (as he called it) by filing his fingernails. Once the boy was out of his sight, he snapped his fingers with delight, rushed to his motorbike and headed off to Muffle Mountain.
Back at the station, Mr. Conductor was just about ready to leave, when Matt came up with Mutt. The dog whimpered and moaned as though in pain.
"Something wrong, Mutt?"
The dog whimpered again. Matt took this into consideration.
"I think he doesn't want you to go."
Mr. Conductor chuckled.
"Sorry, but I have to. I'm gonna be late. I need to concentrate now because I'm suddenly having problems with my sparkle and I don't know why."
He took out his whistle, exclaiming proudly.
"Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle!"
One blow of his whistle and away he went. Matt waved goodbye, while Mutt whimpered again.
1:10 p.m., Sodor time
Thomas had just gotten back from his early afternoon run, looking forward to a rest at Tidmouth Sheds where the main line engines slept. There he found Duck being entertained by a fly, who was buzzing around James' nose.
"Buzz off! Buzz off!"
"Buzz, buzz, buzz," teased Duck, remembering the time James had gotten his nose stung by a bee.
Thomas was so tired that as, he pulled into the shed, he did not realize a huge bump from behind. He looked back, realizing that he had bumped into a pair of buffers.
"You, weren't concentrating, Thomas. Lucky for you that the buffers were there," James tried not to laugh.
"Well, that's what buffers are for, to stop engines from crashing," Thomas said before he noticed the red engine's stationary disposition. "By the way, what are you doing indoors, James? It's a beautiful day today."
"You see, I'm feeling a little blue, which isn't so HOT, when you're red."
Thomas raised his eyebrows quizzically.
"What kind of an answer is that? Just tell me the truth."
James drew a short breath and fumed.
"My wheels were feeling worn out with work and I didn't want to pull that stupid goods train, so the Fat Controller told me to think about all the ways I can be a really useful engine and when I have, I can come out again."
As James whined his whole spiel, Thomas and Duck rolled their eyes.
At this rate, he'll never learn, thought the Great Western Engine.
But Thomas tried to sympathize with the red engine.
"He's just trying make this a better railway for steam engines. The Fat Controller says the harder we work, the less he'll need diesels to help."
But no sooner had he said this, when the purring of a diesel engine came purring into their ears. It was finished by the sound of the air brakes going on. The source of the sound was right next to Thomas.
"Help you?!" cackled the voice of Diesel 10. "You always need help, because steam engines are nothing but cowardly, cranky, worn out hunks of metal who couldn't hurt a fly."
James tried to stand up for himself.
"No, we are not!"
"Yes, you are," Diesel 10 replied in an oily voice.
"And we're still useful," put-in Duck with a civil tone. "But to be honest, you almost remind me of another diesel who told lies about me, and James and the other engines."
"I know him," Diesel 10 smirked. "But unlike me, he didn't have Pinchy. My one true weapon."
His hydraulic claw chomped menacingly over the engines.
"For too long, you steamies have been the object of everyone's attention and desires. Engines may come and engines may go, but I'll still be here! I am the engine of the future! And when I am done with my plan, you'll be nothing but useless scrap!"
He laughed wickedly and purred away. The three engines were furious, but Thomas was the angriest.
"Diesels won't dominate and they won't destroy!" he called after him. "And neither will Mr. Conductor! I am off to fetch him now!"
James was traumatized, but Duck just looked at him with the eyes of a wise man gaping at the village idiot and treated it like it was nothing.
"I'd better go see what Oliver is up to," he said.
And he puffed away.
Meanwhile, on the branch line, Percy was helping Toby at the quarry. Percy, not being used to the hard work, especially since Mavis' shift was over, was tired from the heavy loads. By the end of the shift, however, he was exhausted. Toby tried to cheer him up.
"The sooner we get this work done, the sooner our railway will be better than ever for the holiday makers."
"But did you know that the Fat Controller is taking a short holiday? I mean now of all times?"
"Yes, that's why Mr. Conductor is coming over here to keep us in order."
But their words were surreptitiously overheard by Mavis' "helpers", Splatter and Dodge, who were hiding behind a pair of trucks.
"We should tell the boss when he gets here," Splatter whispered to his brother.
As he puffed on the main line between Tidmouth and Knapford, Thomas thought to himself.
Mr. Conductor, where are you? Why haven't you sparkled into my cab? I know you live far away, but you always seem to get here on time.
Perhaps Thomas' wonders had been answered, for when he was halfway to the junction, there was Mr. Conductor standing alongside the track. Funny thing, perhaps as a side effect of the gold dust or another form of teleportation, Mr. Conductor was at full size, at least two inches taller than Richard.
"Are you all right?" Thomas asked.
Thomas stopped just in time to hear Mr. Conductor's reply.
"Yes, I am. But as of late, the journey from Shining Time is getting bumpier and bumpier. I need to see Sir Topham Hatt so I can give my orders right away."
"Well, you're too late. Edward took him and the misses off to Bournemouth yesterday."
"Maybe he left me something."
Thomas' crew helped Mr. Conductor onboard the cab.
"That big bully Diesel 10 just arrived, so you'd better be careful."
"Sir Topham Hatt warned me about Diesel 10. Don't worry, Thomas, I'll be able to keep him in order."
"I'm glad to hear that," Thomas smiled. "Where would you like to go first? My branch line or Tidmouth?"
"Just a quick trip to your branch line will do nicely. After I've said my hello's to Richard, I can teleport my way to Sir Topham Hatt's office."
On the way to Ffarquhar, Thomas, his crew and Mr. Conductor shared a few things about the events that happened since their last visit—a total span of nine months. At the Scott house, which was right next door to the stationmaster's, Richard was preparing tea when he saw Thomas pulling up to the station from his window. He walked all the way up to the platform just as Mr. Conductor was walking out of the cab and shook hands with him.
"How are you, Richard?"
"Quite well, thank you."
"What about your dad and grandpa?"
"Oh, they're doing well. They're on holiday in Brighton. I wanted to join them, but I've already made my decision. I've decided to stay here and help the engines with the holiday makers."
"So am I," Mr. Conductor smiled. "But with Sir Topham Hatt away on holiday as well, I have to do my part to help out the other engines."
Little did they know that a few yards away in Anopha Quarry, Diesel 10, was holding a private meeting with Splatter, Dodge, Mavis and Daisy. He had quietly followed Thomas when he wasn't noticing and used his claw to switch himself onto the track that went up the quarry road. The four diesels had assembled there to meet him. Daisy and Mavis were somewhat reluctant, but they both believed that acting as double-agents would give them an opportunity to expose Diesel 10's plot to their fellow steam engines.
"I've got a job for you. We're going to make life a misery for those steaming heaps of trash-on-wheels. This island doesn't need them, it needs Diesels — there's no use for steam engines these days — they're history."
Mavis was so shocked at this idea, that she had forgotten her place.
"I may not like Toby very much, but I most certainly wouldn't want to see his life becoming miserable."
Diesel 10 glowered at Mavis.
"Just co-operate with me, and maybe, just maybe, I'll spare that little hen-house."
"Good," Daisy said. "He's already old and miserable anyway."
"Any other problems?" Diesel 10 addressed.
"There's just one small problem, boss," Splatter urged to say.
"We heard from two of those puffballs that Mr. Conductor is coming," added Dodge. "Won't he stop us?"
"I'll take care of them with this!"
Out from the center of his roof came his claw, it chomped and clanked twice before the retracting arm gave way and it fell, landing on his head.
"OW!"
Mavis and Daisy tittered.
Splatter and Dodge whispered "I don't think he meant to do that" amongst themselves.
By 3:00 in the afternoon, Mr. Conductor teleported over to the Fat Controller's office. Thomas went over to tell the other engines about his arrival and this greatly displeased James.
"You shouldn't have collected Mr. Conductor. I should have," he complained.
Thomas rolled his eyes.
"Does it really matter?" he moaned.
"As a matter of fact, it does," huffed Gordon pompously. "Collecting Mr. Conductor is an important job for big engines and James is one of them."
"Sure he is," Oliver said sarcastically. "And he's also a windbag, too."
"Oh, hush your mouth, Oliver, you and Thomas are…small engines."
"Let us be!" argued Duck. "We may be small, but we're still useful and if you ask my opinion, Gordon, I think being a big engine has gone to your funnel."
"Stop squabbling!" Toby the Tram Engine butted in. "We have a more important matter at hand."
"Like what?" asked Gordon uninterestingly.
"Mr. Conductor is expecting this railway to run like clockwork."
"What about Richard?" asked Oliver. "He's just as efficient as the Fat Controller is."
"For Thomas' branch line," corrected Henry. "A young man like him, an mechanic, has little authority over how a railway should work."
Percy wanted some action.
"Then I say we head out to work like we always do. Gordon, you can take the express. James, you take the tankers, Bear can take the Limited, and Duck, you can take Isabel and Dulcie for Oliver in case you don't mind."
"And who made you controller?" Duck asked incredulously.
Percy looked left and right, embarrassed.
"No one."
"Well, I'm going off to work," James said.
And he puffed out of the shed.
Back at the quarry, Thomas was helping Mavis with the stone. They were being rude and bothersome. But even they weren't enough to bring down his spirits.
"Little engines can do big things," he muttered. "Especially when they have nice blue paint like me."
Splatter and Dodge were watching from Mavis' shed nearby. Earlier, while Thomas was away, Diesel 10 had dumped large containers of powder around the area. This was so powerful that anyone who breathed it would be subjected to sneezing fits.
"Wait until Harold the Floppy-Choppy flies past here," snickered Splatter to Dodge.
Sure enough, there came a familiar buzzing noise. Harold the Helicopter was on a routine fly-by making sure that no one else was in trouble.
"Hello, chaps!" he whirred, not noticing the powder that had spread all over Thomas.
"Let's start laughing now!" the diesels said.
And they did. But not for long. Splatter, Dodge and Mavis were lost in a cloud of dust, covering them from cab to wheels. They re-emerged, weathered and sneezing up a fit.
"Did you mean to look like that?" asked Splatter.
"No."
"Neither did I."
"Whatever," muttered Mavis. "You both look ridiculous."
Back in the Fat Controller's office, Mr. Conductor was hoping to find the man himself, but instead, he saw a not just lying there on the desk. It read:
"Dear, Mr. Conductor
Where were you? I would have waited other five days, but my wife and grandchildren did not want to miss our little holiday. We will telephone to make sure you have arrived.
Signed,
Sir Topham Hatt"
Mr. Conductor, having a mischievous, inquisitive side at times, looked around the office for anything interesting. He found a tray of marmalade jars and bread on the desk behind him. He would have gotten a decent scoop of the delicious sweet had it not been for the phone ringing. He picked it up.
"Oh! Good afternoon, sir! How is Lady Hatt?"
"Quite fine, actually. Are you keeping a good eye on Diesel 10? He seemed to be rather mischievous when I first saw him come here."
"Definitely."
"And keep an eye on Henry's health. His boiler is due to expire soon and I have yet to inform Crewe about this."
"I will, sir."
"And do you remember the three 'R's'?"
"Reading, writing and arithmetic?"
"No!"
"Sorry," chuckled Mr. Conductor. "Just a little joke."
He stood proud and tall, speaking patriotically.
"I will be responsible, reliable and really useful. We will all get a good night's sleep, looking forward to a hard day tomorrow."
"Good."
"Bye, sir."
"Good bye."
After hanging up, Mr. Conductor sighed over the increase of traffic. At this rate, people would have to come to Sodor by plane.
8:30 p.m.: the wind blowing outside of Tidmouth Sheds was cold, but calm. The sky above glowed in the light of the moon and the temperature was at 60 degrees Fahrenheit.
The engines, including Thomas, were asleep, but Mr. Conductor was already having falling into it. Dressed in his white nightgown, he had set a hammock over by the window next to Thomas. It was the type of hammock similar to one used by a young Christopher Awdry, but not the exact one.
In addition, Mr. Conductor had also set up a portable stuff that he would use to cook his meals and drinks. Among the usual play things like a bat and a ball for personal reasons.
"I'd like a nice hot cocoa, would you fellows care to join me?" he asked the ball and the bat.
"I'd like some," said the "ball".
His hands holding the bat kicked the ball out of that hand and Mr. Conductor gave a stern parental face.
"Why do you keep hitting him like that? You need a time out."
He set the bat down and walked over to the stove. A cup of hot cocoa was already placed on the heater. Mr. Conductor poured a pinch of sugar from the bag he had been using to sweeten the cocoa and sprinkled it into the cup. After a sip, he smacked his lips. It tasted good, but not as good as he preferred.
"Just a little sweeter, I think."
He poured a palmful of the sugar into the cup and sipped again.
"Ah, now that's better."
But after he made his second sip, the most unexpected happened. The wall beside him had abruptly collapsed, as though a wrecking ball had swung into the shed. The vibration of the pounding debris was so hard, that it tossed Mr. Conductor to the floor and woke the engines up with a start.
"Christopher! Where are you?!"
At the moment the wall beside him crashed to the floor, spreading dust into the air, Thomas thought he was back in World War II, when the Luftwaffe launched a surprise attack on Sodor. It was a desperate run for his life that he never told Richard about, lest he consider it carte blanche to do something stupid himself. He assumed that the shed was being shelled by the Wehrmacht with their deadly Panzer tanks. A shard of glass hit Percy's funnel, a chunk of plaster scraped James' nose and some of the dust had peppered itself onto Gordon's dome. The engines managed to gather their scattered wits.
They turned to the source of the crazed entrance and fear overwhelmed them. Next to them, with the sound of a clanking claw was the ghastly laughter of Diesel 10. Mr. Conductor watched the scrapper on wheels peering through the hole he had created.
"Hello, Twinkle-Toes. I have a plan and you are not in it."
Mr. Conductor laughed in a cocky manner.
"You won't be able to catch me Diesel!"
He blew his whistle, expecting to disappear…but here he was, still in the shed. He blew his whistle again and this time, static electricity in the form of gold dust was showering around his head like a halo.
"Losing your sparkle, eh?" Diesel 10 laughed. "What perfect timing!"
But, with his quick-thinking mind, Mr. Conductor whipped out the bag of sugar that had been using for his cocoa and held it up to Diesel 10 like it was the holy cross.
"Is that?"
"That's right, it's sugar, Diesel 10, and if I throw this into your air intake, it will seize you up for good."
Diesel 10, weary of this, scowled and shifted his throttle into reverse.
"D'oh! Make the most of tonight, Twinkle-Toes because you won't like tomorrow. The same goes for the rest of you tin kettles."
His claw clanked and clapped menacingly as he retreated.
"Shut up, Pinchy," he ordered.
And the claw stayed silent for the rest of the night.
Mr. Conductor sat down on the hammock, studying his whistle with sharp, careful eyes.
"What happened to your sparkle?" asked Thomas.
"I don't know, Thomas. I guess I'll have to sleep on that problem."
He turned off his bedside lamp and with the next twenty minutes, he and the engines were asleep.
Around that time, Mr. Conductor began to mumble, which woke Percy up.
"Sparkle...gold dust...magic...railroad...buffers...lost engine...the family told me...as long as there's a railroad, there will be energy,., as long as there is gold dust... there will be harmony... the family told me... we have made sure that our railroad is safe...we have made sure that our gold dust will last forever... you will never have to worry..."
Finally, both he and Percy went back to sleep. After some seven seconds, Mr. Conductor began to dream, and, surprisingly in a rather inimitable way, so did Thomas.
Down, down, down the tracks of the dream tunnel he went, to the top of a cliff alongside a mountain range. And there, waiting for him on the edge of the cliff, was Christopher, a boy of ten again. He was happy, content and free from any trouble, his innocent smile glowing in the sunlight. Christopher turned to Thomas and rushed over to him, wrapping his arms around the engine's nose. They were about to express how much they had missed each other, when a voice echoed from below.
"Mr. Conductor!"
It was the voice of Stacy.
"Why aren't you here?"
She was lost in a pile of trash, surrounded by a Shining Time that appeared to have been hit by a nuclear warhead.
"Why couldn't you travel any more to the Island of Sodor…or back home to us at Shining Time."
"Gone from here! And gone from Sodor!"
Those were the last words, Mr. Conductor heard before he woke up with a start. His eyes scanned the room. He was back in the engine shed thank goodness. But now, his mind was more troubled than ever.
My universe is in danger! I have to find more gold dust!