October 10, 1927
"And...gotcha!" Faraday was pulled back onto the tracks by his siblings. Wattson and Jouleia looked more like him now, only Wattson's number was 2 and Jouleia's number was 3.
"If we hadn't been so foolish as to argue all the time, we could've warned you about the busted track," Wattson said mournfully. "We're sorry for being so dumb."
"Well, if you promise not to fight as much, I'll let it go," Faraday smiled. He paused. "Say, do you think we might need different colors to tell us apart?"
"I do," Jouleia nodded. "Our faces look so similar and not everyone is smart enough to look at our numbers...hm."
Edward smiled. "What's got you in such a good mood?" Eagle asked as they puffed down the Main Line.
"I've been asked to take the Wellsworth Brass Band to tomorrow's concert," Edward explained. "I haven't done something like this since before the war."
"You can see why he's so excited," Eadgifu supplied from the train. "But don't forget you have work to do today too, Ed."
"Don't worry, I won't." To Eagle he said "I have to go to Brendam so I can pick up an inbound goods train and help Dean shunt the remaining trucks."
"Why not have one of the Tidmouth Tanks do it?"
"Clementine had an accident and got a flat wheel. They're strapped as it is."
"Ah."
Edward arrived at Brendam Docks. "Hello, Dean!" he puffed cheerfully.
"Hi Edward," Dean said timidly.
Suddenly, out of the blue, a crane operator lost control of his crane, and a massive ship's boiler swung into the docks and knocked Edward onto his side. Edward groaned in pain, and his crew had splitting headaches, holding onto the controls for dear life until they could right themselves.
Dean sighed. "I'm bad luck...even talking to someone causes trouble."
"Oh..." Edward winced. "How bad is it?"
"I don't know," groaned his driver. "But I don't think you'll be taking the band tomorrow, Edward. It'll have to be a bus."
"I see." Edward sighed. "And today was such a nice day, too."
"That's Sodor for you," grouched his fireman.
The next day, Edward awoke to see the fitter approach him. "Hello, Edward," the man said kindly. "Luckily your injuries seem to mostly be superficial, a few nicks in your paintwork here and there and a few bits and bobs needing to be tightened."
"What about my crew?" Edward asked. "Are they alright?"
The fitter sighed. "Don't know. But they're probably not going to be working anytime soon given how hard they hit their heads. Unless we find a relief crew in time you're staying put today."
"I see."
"You okay, Ed?" Clementine asked from her track as the fitter set to work finishing up on Edward's remaining repairs. "'aven't seen you this down in a while. What up?"
Edward sighed. "It's not much, just...after the war I was relegated to shunting duties and shunting duties alone. And when I got let out of the yard again, I thought that maybe things will be better. That I could get another chance at being Really Useful like I once was."
She nodded. "Chin up, love. You'll get yer chance someday. And hey, at least you weren't out in the rain last night."
Edward smiled. "Can't argue with that, I suppose."
Once Edward was given the all-clear, he puffed out of the works while Clementine stayed behind to have the flat spot in her wheel smoothed out. It was late in the afternoon by now, and the sun was in Edward's eyes. He coupled up to four of the former express coaches and started down the Brendam line for the afternoon local.
He hadn't gone very far when he heard a loud honk. "Odd," he remarked. "That didn't sound like a bus. It sounded like a...tuba?" The honk sounded again.
"Very odd indeed," agreed his relief driver. "We should check it out. Someone might be in trouble." Edward stopped and his crew left their engine to follow the sound. They found a red AEC type S bus stuck in the mud, and in that bus was the Wellsworth Brass Band.
"Oh thank goodness," the driver of the bus said. "We got stuck in the mud left by last night's storm and a breakdown truck can't come because of flooded roads. We've been stuck here for three hours."
"Edward can take you," said the relief driver. "Although I can't help but wonder if you'll be out of practice for tonight."
The tuba player laughed. "Don't worry! I've gotten lots of exercise calling for help!"
That night, the engines at Tidmouth listened to the band on the radio. "Our next song," said the conductor, "is one we cooked up during practice. We call it 'Edward's Song' after the engine who saved us."
And then they played. Edward sighed happily. "Such nice people."
"Why does he get a song?" Crovan muttered to himself.
"Ah, shaddap, Crovan," Juliet grumbled.