For those wondering, Belborough, Snort and Grout are from the Trumptonshire trilogy. One might recall way back in Season 3 that some sort of misfortune befell the area. Well, let's see what kick-started the whole affair, shall we? The Clown, however, is...a combination of things, but we'll get to that in time. Also, quick note, Emily's character is once again proving difficult to write. Hopefully the long scene in the bar at the end has cleared stuff up for you.
AaronCottrell97: Apologies for that. It was one of those lines that came off better as a joke in my head than how I wrote it out. Hopefully we'll have settled down a bit now with regards to Emily. And yes, he must beware the pink one.
Reality Rejection Service: IT'S A STRESSFUL TIME.
Bronze Shield: So did I! But apparently not.
Game-Watch: You never know. I'm certainly going to miss him.
MattPrice01: INDEED. Happy birthday!
JD145: I hope it is!
UGX7: Thank you! I am struggling to write Emily at the moment, but hopefully I'm getting there. And hey, outrageous accents, am I right? Yeah, they're not being fully removed, but being cut from the MAIN cast feels like a bit of a slap to the face.
Radical Sandwiches: Yeah, pretty much!
Australian Guest: Huh, that sounds...huh. Still, kinda funny in a way. But yeah, the ones that ape the old cartoons are funny. Yes, Henry is legitimately ill here, and writing that, I found myself feeling sympathy for the poor sod. Not so much as to cut back on the pain but, what the hell. XD.
Acehoneycomb: It is ominous. It's actually pretty fine for me in this episode, as it does appear to be just a one off. Little did we know... Yeah, I too am going to miss Duck go. I've enjoyed writing him over the past years. Just have to see what happens next.
CUE THE THEME!
The engines on the Island of Sodor want to be responsible, reliable, really useful and recked. ...No, I know that's not how you spell wrecked, sue me, I wanted to make an alliteration joke.
NO YOU'RE PEDANTIC.
Anyway, the engines were all working hard. Some of them were having flashbacks to Series 3, which is totally why that clip of Duck and Oliver is from an episode there, not because the budget was blown on getting better cameras, shut up, who will even notice. It's not Thomas and Friends fans are known for picking up on errors are the-Oh shit we're screwed.
Oh, er, and they're happiest when they're working hard.
Now just ignore the fact that we've got a clip of Skarloey looking enraged there. And also that- Wait, MORE STOCK FOOTAGE?! We are boned, aren't we?
Ahhh. Moving on.
James.
Okay, uh, got the bingo card here. It's a great game, Angelis Cliche Bingo. Especially the James edition. He thinks his work is VERY important indeed. Check. He is proud of his red paint- CHECK -and likes to look clean and tidy. CHECK.
And if you've got all those squares, congrats! You win frontrow tickets to the rest of the season, where we'll probably be getting out our bingo cards a lot more.
...
One day, Percy puffed to the washdown. The washdown, for those not in the know, is apparently right smack in the middle of the shed area. So really, one could just put them in the actual sheds and do the washing there, but whatever. Gordon was angrily staring at James's arse and wishing that the red engine would move it.
Henry was on the turntable. He had seen some shit with the latest batch of BOILER BUSTERS, the hippest drug on the streets. He wasn't going to be doing much for the next few days.
"MY WHISTLE IS CLOGGED!"
"So's your brain, but you don't here me complaining." muttered Gordon. Karma rewarded him as Percy's attempts to dislodge his whistle somehow ended up covering him in mud.
From the quarry.
Yeah. You work it out.
"SILLY!"
Percy tried not to laugh. And failed.
"KEEP YOUR FILTHY FACE AND FILTHY MOUTH AND FILTHY BODY IN THE GUTTER, WHERE IT BELONGS! I'm collecting the murr today!"
"The what?"
"I think he means Mayor."
"That's what I said! The murr!"
"...Does he-"
"Don't tell him, it'll only upset him." Gordon paused as it sunk in. "HANG ABOUT!? Taking the mayor to MAYORAL THINGS?! I met the Queen you little shite, I should do that!"
"YOU!?" scoffed James, his nose growing and growing even longer so that he could properly look down at Gordon with it. "Really!? You couldn't take an asprin! AND YOU'D NEED A WASHDOWN FIRST! KARMA DON'T SCREW ME ON THIS! GIVE ME THIS!"
"Pah!" snorted Gordon, using his word of the day. James laughed, and wondered where his eyebrows had gone, before puffing off to deal with the murr. I mean mayor. I mean...you know what I mean.
Also, Salty was there.
AGAIN.
...
"JUST LOOK AT ME GORDON!"
"You look like a tool, showoff." snapped Gordon as he passed James and his single coach. That seemed like overkill to Gordon, who had long since forgotten the many, many occasions where he had taken special guests using only one coach.
He was back at the sheds in time to see the Fat Controller make his arrival. "I NEED AN ENGINE TO COLLECT THE QUEEN OF SODOR!"
"But the gay pride parade isn't for another three months!"
"Ha ha, Thomas. How very PC of you."
"Okay assho-Sir. ...I said sir. Who is the Queen of Sodor?"
"A leaky old barge that smells and brings nothing to the table." The Fat Controller read the mind of every engine there and made the 'Your Mother' joke along with them. Except for Henry. He was wondering if the sun was edible, and if so, would it taste of lemons or oranges. "She needs to go to the works! It's dirty work, I'm afraid."
Gordon spotted James arriving and had one of his few flashes of inspiration. "Collecting the Queen of Sodor is, er, important work, is it, sir?!" He said, as politely as possible without vomiting.
Hatt stared at Gordon in some confusion. "...Yeah yeah, whatever, the Queen's important shit, what's your point?"
"QUEEN?! I LOVE THAT BAND! AND THE WOMAN! And very important work, you say!? I am literally dripping with importance! I SHALL DO IT!"
"Ew. ...Then it's settled, you weirdo. She's waiting at the canal!"
"THANK YOU SIR!"
"Please stop shouting."
"NO PROMISES SIR." And off James stormed to collect the Queen.
in the wrong direction.
Gordon and Thomas grinned at each other, for once on the same page.
...
Once James had worked out which one of the MANY canals Sir Topham was talking about, he sauntered along cheerfully. He arrived at the area and looked at the workmen. "I'M HERE TO COLLECT THE QUEEN OF SODOR!"
The workman looked at James, then at his buddy, then at James once more, before giving the biggest shit eating grin of his life and pointing over his shoulder with the glib words "There she is!", and then ran off, giggling.
James looked.
That's funny, he thought. That the Queen of Sodor should be at the canal for some reason. Maybe she was behind this rather large barge.
That rather large, smelly barge.
That rather large, smelly, brimming with death barge.
Then he paused.
Ah, thought he.
I appear to have been sold up shit creek. And wouldn't you know it? No paddle.
Of course, this was only later when he was able to organise his thoughts properly. At that moment of time when he worked out at the large, smelly, brimming with death barge was the Queen of Sodor, his thoughts were an indecipherable yet clear meaning for the word RAGE.
"THAT OLD TUB!?" He screamed. "IT DOESN'T LOOK LIKE IT'S EVEN A FREAKING PAGE BOY, NEVER MIND A QUEEN!"
"Nonetheless." said the workman's buddy, also grinning. "It is."
"GORDON! YOU BUGGER I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS!" James seethed, and then in a low whisper, he added. "So. You want me dirty, do you? I'm going to be so clean, it'll make you blind!"
That insult didn't really make sense, but he didn't care. He coupled up to the old barge and grimly started off. It was a long journey to the workshops, but even as everyone laughed around him at the sight, James never once stopped. It was surprising how forceful he could be once he had decided on something.
Every so often, a burble would come from the barge, and each time James would quicken his pace, determined not to lose to Gordon. Spite and principle were guiding him quite far. And as he stormed forth, he kept repeating as a mantra "SHINY AND CLEAN, SHINY AND CLEAN!"
Then there was trouble. For some reason, they hadn't put James at the front, and so the tall funnel smacked straight into a pipe carrying gunge and other such stuff to be transported to the nearest Nickelodeon TV show. It splattered down.
James thought he was going to die, but by some miracle, all of it missed him. Not even a drop landed on him.
"Give up! Give up!" snarled the crew, who were fed up. "You can't do this!"
"I CAN! AND I WILL! SHINY AND CLEAAAAAAAAAAAN."
He was on his way the second the mess was cleared. And soon, he arrived at the Smelters, passing several awkwardly familiar looking pieces of scrap. He was pleased the dirty work was done, and left Arry and Bert to figure out how the hell they were going to fit the barge into the incinerators.
...
"STICK IT, GORDON!"
"Oh dear." said Gordon. Actually he said something stronger than that, but for sake of argument, we'll shorten it. Henry, meanwhile, was of the belief that the rails beneath him were made of licorice, and was therefore having to be stopped from eating them by Duck. "How did you stay so clean!?"
"Because I have to!" said James in a lofty tone of voice. "You wouldn't understand, being BLUE. What if there's important work to do!? I would be RUINED!"
Then Percy arrived from the quarry. "STILL CLOGGED! WATCH OUT JAMES!" He wailed, and blew loudly. James grinned, still stuck his own ass.
Then he realised he was covered in quarry dust.
"I did warn you."
"You need a wash down now." teased Thomas.
"OH!? REALLY?!" shrieked James. "THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME! HOW WOULD I NOT HAVE KNOWN THAT I NEED A WASHDOWN!? GOOD! WHO EVEN CARES!? It'll make me readier than ever! I AM SO SPLENDID! AAAAAAAAAARGH!"
The engines said "Oh!" in harmony as James sodded off to have his freak out.
...
"What even is this?"
Three hours later, and the yard had been closed down. Save for the seven engines currently staring at their drinks with a mixture of confusion, anticipation and annoyance, no one else was here. Percy had been shoved from behind the Sidings counter, instead allowing a computer to get their orders in.
"I think-" said Henry, face down in his own misery "-that this is the Fat Man's attempt at 'bonding'."
"Nah, if that were the case, yon would be drowning in cream cakes and buns and weight-watchers programs!" Emily grinned. "Mind, I've had worse."
"Oh yeah? Stick around. It'll make wherever you came from look like a teddy bear's picnic." Toby looked enviously at the selection of drinks. "Mind, that stuff does look rather delicious."
"Don't give into it! This is how it starts! We give in to this PC attempt at sitting around in a circle and singing Kumbaya, WE MIGHT AS WELL DRINK THE KOOL AID WHEN IT GETS PASSED AROUND!"
"If I had to listen to yer ugly mug all day, I'd probably beg for the sweet release of death." Emily murmured. Toby, who had taken a sip despite Gordon's protests, choked on it and started to audibly snigger.
"So...Emily, I'm curious about something."
"Shoot, blueberry!"
Edward looked pained. "Is...Is that my nickname now?
"Ye cannot rush art."
"Unless you are James, in which case, yes you can." said Henry, eyeing the drinks enviously. The issues with his tubes meant that drinking was out of the question for the next two months. He wasn't jealous. Not at all. Not ever.
"Ah, but what were ye curious about?"
"Oh, uh, why it is that you've turned your shed in to a Home Alone style deathtrap. You know, with scythes and axes and bear traps, oh and of course, twelve nail guns." Edward shrugged. "I mean, first you were a blogger, then you were the Angel of Death, now you're sitting here drinking beer and mocking Gordon. It's a bit confusing."
"A bit confusing?! Have ye SEEN this island?! There are a near endless parade of jackarses called Norris! Signals barely work when they're supposed to! There's an entire caste system based around shoving the wee bastards down and letting the long pricks rule supreme! Yer technology's stuck in the fucking dark ages compared to the rest of the bloody UK! Half the Island can actually swear like actual adults, and then there's this one arse who gets CENSORED FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON! AND YER PICKING UP ON ME BEING A BIT OFF?!"
"...Well, quite frankly, yes."
Emily deflated. "Fair enough. This is really a big deal for me, career wise. I dinnae want to fade into the background, so ye gotta get a quirk."
"Quirk?"
"Oh yeah! James is vain, Henry's a hippie, Gordon's a bragger, Percy's a bit slow on the uptake, nae offence, Perce-"
"No argument from me!"
"-Edward's the mopey one, Toby's basically calm, and Thomas is-"
"Wonderful! Clever! Intelligent! Witty! Kind!"
"-a cocky prat!" Emily grinned slightly. "And, ye know, ye gotta stand out a bit here. So I figured I'd try a few things. One of the few engines alive who knows how ta work a 'com-pu-terr', then a deadly assassin-"
"Duck did it better." said Gordon, churlishly.
"-And, er, well it didnae click. I just really don't want ta be tha girl on the team. Y'know? I don't want the fact that I'm one of two lassies on the Island to be me defining moment."
"What are you talking about?" Henry grimaced as he lowered his voice, loudness apparently injuring his innards even further. "I mean, we've got plenty of women here!"
"Who aren't coaches?"
"Um..."
"...Yeah, that's what I thought." Emily groaned. "God, this is a right mess."
"Welcome to Sodor. Where we're all right messes." said Toby. He paused, and in a slightly gentler voice, continued. "You're doing fine, by the by. And this coming from an engine who slips into the background periodically."
"Yer being silly! Yer a square!"
"I'll have you know I was pretty revolutionary back in the day!"
"No...No I meant yer literally a-"
"Oh...right...trust me, that didn't stop the idiots over there from thinking that I was a talking shed for three whole weeks."
Emily let out a loud, hearty laugh at this. Henry turned red, and Thomas awkwardly coughed for a few minutes. "Well, er, be that as it may, I think we should probably start with the drinking."
"Wait, you haven't!?" Edward sounded incredulous. "I didn't even wait for you arses, I just got right in!"
"THAT'S MY KIND OF MAN!" Emily had already emptied three bottles, and was starting on her fourth as she spoke. "So...I'm curious, is there a queen here?"
"I CAN'T BELIEVE THE DAY I'M HAVING!" cried James as he rushed in, funnel wrapped up in curlers.
"Ah. Dinnae mind. Apparently there is."
Amidst the loud roars of laughter from the others, James glared at Emily. "Don't you start you little minx! I have been through HELL TODAY! HELL!"
"Come on James, you're not you unless you're drunk." Thomas slid over a bottle, and the red engine gulped it down, still fuming. "Better?"
"HELL NO! I'M STILL ENRAGED!"
"Now you know what it's like for the rest of us." mumbled Henry.
"So Edward, how about that oil wagon incident?"
"How about it indeed, Gordon? Or, we could sit here and talk about climbing hills."
"LET'S GET TO DRINKING!" said Gordon, hurriedly.
...
"Ye know, this is very awkward."
"I know, us accosting you in a public train like that, it wasn't very subtle at all. My apologies, Mr Pugwash. Or Mr Zero. Or Mr Topper."
"Don't know those last two, mebbe ye've got the wrong lad."
"No. I think not."
"Anyway, it's a bit of a wee way out, isn't it? Chigley. Trumptonshire, right? Bit of a backwards county. Only just discovered steam. Time flies by, apparently, when ye're a driver of a train, especially when it's speeding out of Camberwick wi' a cargo of cocaine."
The Fat Director smiled. It was...pleasant, actually. "Ah, you've heard of us. The Other Railway. Effectively, most of the big four are looking to do an unofficial merger. So we've stepped in to make sure that the trains run on time."
"Sounds like yer on the wrong side. Yer not Mussolini or something, are ye?"
"No! I am a true patriot! Ask the two soldiers here!"
"And, er, the clown?"
The clown smiled. If it had been a few decades later, Zero would have drawn a link between that clown from Ashes to Ashes to this one. As of this moment, however, he was more distracted with the way that the clown was standing ever so slightly in his comfort zone.
"My friend is a rather curious individual. He's here to, ah, make sure that you are not inclined to miss a word of my conversation. ...I am not here to hurt you, if that is what you fear. Nor is he. Or either of our military men."
"Could have fooled me."
"No, we've just been in the business of putting two and two together. Such as, say, a man turning up out of nowhere relying on connections to a long incarcerated felon to get his way into a position of power, and a fair bit of missing munitions that mysteriously aren't to be accounted for."
"...No idea what ye-"
"You do. You know what I mean. Captain Zero. Second biggest business in Bigg City, and suddenly you die in a freak accident with one of your tugs. I don't think so." The Lord took the nearest glass and examined the wine in there very carefully. "It didn't take long for my organisation to track things down."
"Organisation? MI5? MI6? CIA? FBI? Surely not Russian, ye don't smell of vodka and regret."
"Funny. Funny joke. No, what we represent will be explained should you agree to certain terms and conditions. ...The explosives. Enough to level a small building, according to the reports. And there are a few of the old sailors around here that have been making tracks towards the docks. Almost as if they've got a new job. ...Revenge, Captain, is not exactly a profitable business."
"Look. If ye're here to arrest me, or kill me, do it."
Belborough laughed. "Not quite. Matter of fact, we were rather wondering if you wanted any more explosives to add to your already impressive collection."
Zero blinked. He tried to speak. He couldn't. He tried again. Still nothing.
On his third attempt, he managed to blurt out a somewhat undignified "Huh-what?!" that got a snicker from Grout, though Snort's face barely moved an inch.
"Bigg City is good for a lot of things. But there is something coming, something bigger than anyone believes. And we need you to see if it lies there. The bombs will be enough to wipe out the entire dockside area. Anywhere that the river or the sea wraps around, fry it, unless this-" He pointed to a picture "-is in it."
It was funny, Zero would reflect decades later with the benefit of hindsight, how badly everyone had misjudged where Lady was. Not just now, when they actually sitting no less than fifteen miles from where she was hiding out with Boomer and the rest, but years later. Everywhere but Shining Time had been searched with a fine comb. And even then, Boomer had screwed looking at Shining Time up because he had somehow missed his old friend.
But looking at the picture, of a blurry engine rushing towards a large fireball in the distance, he had no idea what the future had in store for him.
"Say I agree." said he. "What exactly do I get?"
"A steady income. A chance to disappear before whoever is at the war office decides your efforts are no longer to be tolerated. A second life. ...All of these things, plus a job for life. You won't be in charge, but you could be big. Second in command, even."
"Ah." Zero thought for a minute. "When do I leave?"
"...Tomorrow, if you wish."
"...Ye have a deal."
"We have a deal, what?"
"...A deal, sir."
"Excellent!" The Lord beamed. "Then let us get to work."
That night, Zero and his crew headed off towards Bigg City Port, for the first time since that fateful night, he was going home.
And, as it turned out, for the last.