The fun thing about having this episode immediately follow Edward's Brass Band is that it allows me to comment on the recent Thomas news regarding two of our favourite characters. Not to worry, this won't be that depressing, it's more comedic this time around. But it's interesting that the two engines who are being removed have episodes right after each other. Also, after taking some advice from a mate of mine who reads the story, I'm slightly altering Emily's character a bit in this one. Hope you enjoy it, and thanks for all those lovely reviews!
The plot stuff are full of references to Season 4 and 5 of the previous volume, so I will remind you of them next time.
Also, new Tales from the Abridgement will be coming out soon. It was originally meant for Halloween, but Uni got in the way, so...that was a pain. Had to postpone it for time being, but I hope I'll get it out soon.
AaronCottrell97: HAPPY FUNTIMES.
Reality Rejection Service: Nope! And that's not going to go unaddressed.
Greatwestern1522: It's called Grumpy Edward, and it stars a very old and pissed off blue engine as he goes around trying to mind his own business before other people make his life a living hell...oh wait, that's this story in a nutshell.
Bronze Shield: Don't worry, this one is more light! I hope.
Game-Watch: Yep! But he's a dick, so he won't!
MattPrice01: The awkward bit about this is that I'm trying very carefully not to contradict stuff I've already set out in story.
Trainmaniac: AWWW indeed! Those two are concerned, but they've got little real idea of where to find him.
JD145: THE HAPPY DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN...for now. XD.
UGX7: Yep.
Radical Sandwiches: Interesting that you say that. Can't wait to get to the New Series for dealing with those recruits.
Australian Guest: Oh, you've got Baywatch ones, have you? We've got...well, basically a bunch of klutzes falling over each other. We had takes on Mr Men and Postman Pat before that, so Thomas shouldn't be outside the realm of possibility. SAD EDWARD INDEED.
Acehoneycomb: Engines have hearts! ...Somewhere, one of these days I am going to have to make a comprehensive biology for them. XD. Thank you, it means a lot to me. And yeah, as much as they do annoy and anger each other, I think they'd really get upset if one of them left. That's a little bit of what this volume is going to be about, though I don't want to spoil too much. Trust me, I'm going to throw Edward a bone at SOME point. ...Maybe. And that's a fair question, actually. Volume 2 will be cutting off at the end of Season Twelve. Primarily because it is a nice stopping point, the end of the model era as a whole and it's also the last time we get to see several characters from HIT's New Series, so...yeah, it's a fairly decent pausing point.
Hughie99: It means a lot to me to hear that. The show is dear to my heart, and I have many memories of watching it long ago, on old VHS's, and having the time of my life. And I'd like to imagine that in between all the sarcasm and the lampshading that there is something of that affection there. The funny thing is about the new Thomas stuff coming out is that it actually makes the ideas I have (Which were planned from about Season 2, to give you an idea of how long ago that was), a bit more relevant. So yeah, the stuff with Edward actually means a lot more now than it did back then. Hope you continue to enjoy!
CUE THE THEME!
It was the end of a busy day.
And all the engines were heading back to the shed with, for once, a surprisingly good feeling about themselves. Well, save for Edward, but that had something to do with it raining on him all day. And SPECIFICALLY him. Everywhere else was as dry as ever.
Edward was beginning to wonder if he was an affront to the universe somehow. What was going to happen next? Writing him out of the television show?
Ahem, moving on. The engines were all pleased and proud, save for Gordon, who was looking peeved for some reason, but sssh, don't think of that, nor why he's pulling the express at sunset for some reason.
Well, most people were in a relatively positive mood save for Henry.
Now I know what you're thinking.
Henry? Noted ray of sunshine, Henry? Beloved Island beacon of positive energy Henry? Once voted man most likely to frolic in a field of wild daisies while carrying coaches full of puppies with kittens driving him on eco-friendly rainbow colored fuel Henry? THAT HENRY? SAD? Surely you must be off your rocker to make such an accusation!
Well, reality called. It wants to start kicking in. Henry was being a miserable git again. He felt ill, perhaps it was because of all the...four trucks he was pulling. That can be painful, especially when they have, let's see here...absolutely bugger all placed in them. He was really struggling with all that nothing.
Speaking of struggling with nothing, the average amount of sympathy in the sheds was so low that no one bothered recording it. Edward had been shoved back off to work with Toby and Duck on countering some new issues (The arrival of 'Diesel' and several other areas of awkwardness was worth checking out) and only Emily was there to lend a sympathetic year.
And she was busy examining her collection of rare and valuable bear traps.
Yeah, you heard me right.
"What's the matter Henry!?" asked Thomas, winking to the camera.
"My boiler's gone up the crapper!" snapped Henry, wearing his most fierce 'I hate you' face of the lot of them. He got the sense that he wasn't going to be making that face much for the next few years. "It's been grumbling all day!"
"Are you sure that wasn't just Gordon?!" crowed James, proud of his little joke. Then Gordon gave him a death glare, and he felt less proud of it.
"Maybe it was grumbling at you!"
"THAT'S NOT FUNNY YOU BLUE MISERY GUTS! YOU DON'T CARE! I HATE YOU ALL NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME! I'M GOING TO GO TELL SOMEONE WHO CARES!" And off Henry wailed, in the general direction of the nearest poetry session.
"So...you'll be looking for quite a while!" called Thomas, who was glad to have a little bit of peace and quiet. And no environmental preaching, for once, which was always a plus. But only Emily noticed that Henry was leaving a trail of water behind him as he waddled off.
"Oh great! He's pissed himself!"
But she couldn't help but feel more than a little worried. Not least because Henry had been the one person she had felt fairly confident about telling her...big secret about.
Though how big a secret it was compared to the fact that she had an entire library filled with books on coronary practices, I don't know.
...
The next day, the Fat Controller arrived at the sheds to audibly scream at the fact that Salty was working in the yard for some reason. Didn't he know that there had been orders from high up that it was the Docks or nothing else? Salty merely laughed at him and made a comment about his wife's doubloons that would have offended Hatt, had he known what the hell the diesel was talking about.
Oh, and also to give out the plot-I mean, the job of the engines.
"THOMAS PERCY HENRY! Well seeing as you were the only three here, that's a bit of bloody luck. Trucks need a-taking to the docks, because apparently we have nothing better on the itinerary today!"
"Yes sir!" said Thomas and Percy. Henry watched as they puffed away, and wondered vaguely if death would be quick for him, or would it be as slow as Gordon's self-awareness kicking into life. I.E, very slow.
"Useful engines don't complain." he said, as he began to cough up blood. As he chuffed forward, feeling worse and worse, he didn't realise that he was leaving water everywhere. He felt as though death was knocking on his boiler. But it just turned out to be Emily, dragging one of her scythes along the track.
Yes, you heard me correctly.
No, there's not an explanation for that. Write one yourself.
...
Fifteen years later, Henry had finally managed to leave Knapford area. Thomas and Percy raced forward and overtook Henry...who had somehow managed to overtake them despite being so poorly that he made Typhoid Mary look like Linford Christie.
Huh.
"HURRY UP HENRY OH SHIT I'VE FORGOTTEN HOW TO SLOW DOWN!"
"I can't...go any...faster...oh dear god this is agony. This is the last time I ever take anything from those bloody scots!"
"You're just being lazy! LAZY HENRY! ...Needs work!"
"I'm LITERALLY dying in front of you." wheezed the sick engine, as he quietly paused a second to cough up what appeared to be one of his lugns.
"Who cares!?" said Thomas, who was pretty sure that Henry was going to be fine. It was just a case of being left out of the last series and not getting much money as a result. It would pass, it always did.
At last, the two engines reached the coaling plant. And they had a plan.
"So, uh, yeah, Henry said that he wanted to take all the trucks." Thomas winked at Percy. It took him several tries, but Percy finally got it and nodded eagerly. The Yard Manager was suspicious, but not as as suspicious as he should have been.
"All of them! He's strong, after all! World's strongest engine! Am I right?"
Both engines proceeded to laugh for a good ten minutes. The Yard Manager, being slow on the uptake, agreed and did not find anything in the least bit concerning about this.
He would have had a fit had he known that Emily was talking to the Fat Controller about Henry. "OCH! I'M RIGHT WORRIED ABOUT HIM! He's been...weird! Also he appears ta have pissed his khakis!"
"...What a pleasant image. Perhaps his tubes are leaking. Much like my grandfather's. Though in that case it turned out that he was trying to kill himself...poor gramps. ...Anyway you'd better check he's not doing anything strenuous, like taking EVERY single truck in the yard on."
...
"I'VE GOT TO TAKE EVERY SINGLE TRUCK IN THE YARD ON!?" screamed Henry as he finally made it. It had only taken him so much time that it made the War of the Roses look like a advertisement for fairy liquid, but he was here.
In a matter of speaking, most of Henry's soul had conked out somewhere back in Tidmouth.
"WHY THE HELL DID THOSE TWO HELLSPAWNS LEAVE ME SO MANY TRU-Oh wait, I've forgotten, they're them. Also, ow, shouting makes my everything hurt." Henry paused. Had he been anything else, he would have vomited. However, engines didn't vomit, for whatever reason.
At this point, he really wished they did.
"We're still going to have to take them!" said his driver, who was busy reading the 'PHWOAR' magazine that had recently come out. Not even he cared enough to see Henry couple up to the trucks and practically gasp out of the yard at breakneck pace.
If by that, you mean that breaking your neck would be a lot faster than whatever Henry was doing.
At present, it looked like a snail moving in water, while the camera was set on slow motion. "The important thing-" he gasped as he began to feel his innards shrivel up "-is that I still have my dignity!"
There was an audible pause, at which point Karma realised this was so pathetic that even she didn't have to bother pulling out her bow and arrow trick. She just watched as a large hail cloud gathered over Henry's head.
...
Well on the plus side, thought Edward as Henry pulled his long line of trucks through his station, at least someone is having a worse day than me right now. "Need a hand, Henry!?" he called out.
"ARE YOU FREE?!"
"...Um..."
"No, didn't think so. BLOODY HELL IS THIS WHAT GIVING BIRTH FEELS LIKE?!"
"Don't give the internet ideas." said Oliver, cheerfully.
So it won't surprise you to learn that Henry eventually just broke down completely. Both literally and figuratively. He spent the next seven minutes audibly sucking in air and having to cough up several types of fluid that had no right being coughed up.
He was vaguely aware of Emily drawing up alongside him, and asking the question "Are ye all right, Henry?"
To which the obvious answer was "NO YOU GAELIC SHIT I'M BLOODY WELL NOT!"
Unfortunately, the obvious answer came up with a fresh load of fluid that had no real reason to be in his lungs, and thus he had just about enough time to scream out a "No!" before returning to his new home, namely, the ground.
As the fireman uncoupled the trucks, Emily backed down onto Henry and was coupled up to him. "So...ye wanna hear a secret?"
"Will it stop me from dying?"
"Probably not."
"Then...no...thank you." he said it with as much politeness as he could, given that his body appeared to be already starting to mould.
"I'm not actually the blogger. I sort of record the results and let someone with a wee better use of grammar take care of it for me! She's really into Thomas. Like, stalker levels of into it. You'd like her, actually, Rosie's an acquired taste but-"
"LITERALLY DYING HERE HELP."
...
At the docks, James was crowing. "HA HA! You're in trouble!"
"Ha ha! You're a bastard!"
"Killer comeback, Thomas."
"...Was that sarcasm, Percy? I can never tell with you."
"I'm not going to give away my secrets."
At that moment, Henry was dragged in. The Fat Controller congratulated Emily and then turned to Henry. "You were brave, and a little daft, Henry! You weren't well but you tried to pull the heavy train anyroad!"
"I know sir. I WAS THERE!" wheezed Henry.
Thomas and Percy felt ashamed.
"We're sorry, Henry! ...God that feels weird to say."
"We didn't know you were ill, we just thought you were being a hypnotist." Percy frowned. "Er, a hypoconman? No, that wasn't it! Er...long word, means someone who basically whinges a lot."
"A bitch?"
"That's it, Thomas."
"This is a very odd apology." muttered Henry.
"Right, for that dog's dinner of an apology, go back and collect all those trucks!"
"God damn it." muttered Thomas, as he and Percy set off to do actual work for once. Henry, meanwhile, was towed away by James and Emily to the Works, and was quickly examined.
...
After a period of uncomfortable testing, of which Henry was awake and aware for it, the fault was discovered and Henry was soon back out on the rails. Emily whistled to him as he arrived, slightly less triumphantly than the last time he had had to be shoved into intensive care. And no one really came to wave him back. Honestly they were glad to get him out of the way.
"Yerrrr looking so much better! Though ye could do with a facelift!" said Emily, channelling Mrs Goggins.
"They've mended me tubes! But the lazy sods didn't even look at me brakes! Me gauges! Me squeaky wheels! I don't know when I've become a stereotypical character in some sort of old sitcom, but me god, it's getting old!"
"OCH HENRY! All in good time!"
"NONE OF YOU CARE!" wailed Henry. "YOU'LL MISS ME WHEN I'M GONE!"
...
"The war was hell, but you should know that by now. But it was good for me." Zero leaned back in the boat and lit a cigar up. "Ah, but they were grand times. People feared, and fear, my boy, is the greatest advertisement one can ask for."
"...What side were ye on? Because I ain't no Nazi lover, bucko!"
"Oh, don't get me wrong. It was in my best interests to ensure that the Nazis never won the war. If they had their way, their idea of one race, one ideal, one everything, well...the amount of business I'd have been able to take part in would have dropped by a whole three quarters. Sides, the Colonialist Britain, the Communist Russia, the Isolationist US and...whatever the hell France was, kept me busy enough.
...
1939.
"So, what are these parts for, then?"
The rather heavyset lad coughed. "Trade secret."
"Get off with yerself, ye shite. Yer Hatt's boy, right? Ye got plenty of engines and people to bug, what's with all this skullduggery?!"
"Are you going to sell them to me, or am I going to have to-"
"What? Get rough? Laddie, ye may be fatter than an elephant in a cheap as shit suit, but yer sure as shit not got the force to back it up."
"...It's for an engine me and my friend are building. A coffeepot." Topham Hatt handed over the money and shamefacedly gathered the parts up and stormed off. Zero smirked. Oh now this was going to be fun.
A coffeepot, though? That was rare. Especially nowadays. He sat down, and began to think. Something he had quickly noticed was that if you wanted to go anywhere in life and on this Island, then you had to be related to some old arse family.
So perhaps there was something in that-
"Excuse me, sir? ...Oi, ye fecking Scottie prat!"
Zero looked up at that strange, melodic, Irish accent, combined with words that made the Bridge Cafe mosh pit sound like Shakespeare in comparison. The redhead in front of him crossed her arms and pouted.
"Ye got any of that good shit ta drink!?"
"...Sure. Strong stuff?"
"It had better be!"
"...So, Miss...er?"
"Packard. Not that it's any of yer fecking business!"
"Packard." Zero's mind immediately raced into action upon recalling that one of the big supporters of the war effort were the Packards. And wouldn't you know it, here was a lovely...if foul mouthed, member of that family standing right in front of him. "First name?"
"Jane. ...Ye fancy a shag?"
Zero was impressed. Usually he had to say more than four sentences before getting this far. "That's a...forward attitude ye have. Yer sure I can be trusted."
"Look at me arms, ye haggis eating shite, think I can't take ye."
She had a point there.
...
1940.
"Ello Ello Ello! What's going on ere then?"
"...Evening officer. Ye appear to be missing a wee few arms there, can we help ye with that?" Jane laughed in the back of the car, and Zero smirked as he saw Fergus glower in anger. "What's the issue?"
"In the car! AT NIGHT?! What if Jerry saw you copulating in the back there, with that light on and decided to strike?!"
"Then he'd be incredibly petty?"
"...Miss, please, put your clothes back on. The constables are getting ideas about what kind of women you are."
"And they are ABSOLUTELY RIGHT! Who the feck are ye to question me life choices!?"
"Ye heard the lady, Fergie." Zero paused. "Actually, come to think of it, aren't ye wasting yer time with us when there are actual war profiteers out there? Go on, scoot, we'll move out of the way if ye want."
Fergus growled and moved off. All of his constables did as well.
...
1941.
"Hello there, Drampf! Pleasure to meet ye!"
"Keep your voice down!" hissed the younger Drampf. Davidson came to a rather grumpy stop, and his driver clambered down, taking great care not to touch the electrical skirt. "This one has anger management issues. One moment, he's all posh, and the next he's practically a woman."
"Casual sexism aside, I have come to make a request of ye."
"...Oh?"
"There's a shipment coming in soon from the MoD. About twelve kilograms of related explosives. Make sure at least seven of those kilograms come my way, if you dinnae want Fergus to know just how much yer hiding in terms of cash from yer little...ah, exercise."
"...Don't sell them off!"
"Oh my tiny handed friend, no! It's for, ah, personal use."
...
1942.
"And ye...what are ye qualifications for this voyage?"
"Well sir, I know how to tie knots, sir."
"Mr...Reginald, was it? I really don't care if ye know how to tie yer bloody shoelaces! Are ye fine to come with me on a mission to save the war? It'll involve lots of big bangs! And it might take us two or three years to start off. I've already had to reject Old Man Henshaw, he's going on and on about setting up some sort of political party for Drunken Sailors. He doesn't have 'time' for a 'jaunt'...why's he even called that anyway, he's thirty!"
"If there's a steady paycheck in it, I'll do whatever you say."
"Smart man. Ye'll go far as me first mate." Zero stood up, shook hands and moved off. John Drampf was off for the night, frequenting one of the local nightclubs that had a rather seedy reputation. He would have gone himself, but getting in nice and close with the Packard family had taken a sweet, sweet amount of time, and he wasn't going to jettison this by screwing around with some dumb floozy.
No. Those days were over.
"Well well well, lovely to see you out here."
"...Davidson. What is it?"
"Dead body. Need to take care of it. Can't have the police investigating it." Behind Davidson, Zero could indeed see the body of one of the Inspectors who came every so often to make sure that the Beetle was working. He appeared to have been both run over and electrocuted.
But considering that he still needed that favour, Zero really had no problem with burying yet another corpse.
...
"And then, in 1943, I met someone who changed the direction of my life forever."
...
1943.
The man was quite large, though not to the level of the Hatts, and with a little grin, he sat down in the seat opposite Zero. The 9:30 from Maithwaite was being pulled by Flying Thistle today, so Zero wasn't used to this guy. Someone had uncharitably mentioned him before hand, however, calling him a 'Fat Director'. The name suited him.
"Who are ye and what do ye want?" Zero looked up and jumped back. Standing besides the gentlemen in question were three figures. He recognized two of them as visitors from somewhere named Camberwick Green. Military men, the both of them. Captain Snort, and Sergeant Major Grout, or so he remembered.
The other figure, dressed like that of a clown, was...far less recognizable.
"Oh, my name is Lord Belborough, formerly of Chigley, and currently the owner of an organisation known simply as 'The Other Railway'. And I was wondering if there was anything that I might say to interest you in a job with us."