CUE THE THEME!

...

"So, what's the situation like down there, Stan?"

"Well, Nigel, it seems like the entire Island is in shock at the moment. Er, regarding the mayoral race, we have little to no information on how the candidates themselves have reacted to this, we can confirm that Drampf did, in fact, throw a television out of his hotel room last night in reaction to the events, but aside from that most of the candidates are keeping pretty quiet regarding Thomas the Tank Engine. Now, what we have managed to get is a greater idea of what the consensus of the public's reaction. Er, at least thirty percent say that they feel somewhat confident in the ability of Thomas to balance both workload and the pressures of the office, a good forty percent declared that these would lead to the end times, and the other thirty percent began laughing hysterically as soon as we mentioned the name. Interesting to note, Nigel, is that the majority of the nay-sayers are those who have worked for the North Western Railway, currently or not."

"Now, the one thing that many people have been asking is: Is this a calculated move to get Sir Topham Hatt and his railway back into the limelight? After all, recently it has been noted that the third season of the hit TV show, Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends, didn't score as highly as the first two seasons. Stan, have you had any chance to meet Sir Topham Hatt yet?"

"Again, no, Nigel. From what I heard as soon as he was informed of the news, Sir Topham has locked himself in his retreat and several of his bodyguards have been keen to make sure that no one disturbs him. We assume that at some point in the coming hours, he shall be issuing a statement of sorts. But what I can confirm, more definitely, is that Edward the Blue Engine is currently undergoing repairs, and will be updating us from his Crovan's Gate refitting on what the future holds."

"Thank you, Stan! That's all for now, but we will be back tomorrow at the same time on Sodor Broadcasting Television. This has been Stan and Nigel's Trainspotters, and we wish you a good night!"

...

If you should visit a place that has a lake in the woods, and a beautiful waterfall...then you may be in any number of places because these are not mutually exclusive things and are, in fact, relatively common.

But, for the sake argument, we will say that you may also find two small engines called Skarloey and Rheneas. Skarloey is the one with the bulky backside and the constant slurring of words, while Rheneas is the thinner one who really doesn't factor into the story at all until episode fourteen. Don't believe me? This is all actually out of order, when you see Rheneas on screen, you're actually seeing his stunt double. We couldn't get much film of him before he had to go and have a operation. Perhaps it was to remove his blandness via incredibly careful surgery. Who knows?

The engines know everybody, and everybody knows them. Mostly because the Fat Controller has made them the stars of his new TV series. Funny that. But there are also two more engines, Sir Handel and Peter Sam. Yes, we've finally got to the point where we can call them by their new names. For the most part, they were on a probationary period, and so were not expecting to live here long. Their real names had been Stuart (Peter Sam, the green one with a vacant expression) and Falcon (The blue one who occasionally tries smiling) but they preferred their new ones. Not least because they were egotistical at heart and enjoyed being named after the former Thin Controller and the previous owner of the railway, who had both died somehow.

...

Edward sighed, fatigue clear to even those hard of hearing. He had been getting odd looks all day from many of the passengers that he had seen. He didn't blame them, knowing that he was attached to quite possibly the single most stupid candidate for the Island's Mayor in quite some time was something he had yet to wrap his head around.

He had already begun to regret associating himself with the campaign when his questions about what policies Thomas was thinking of pursing got him a blank look in return. It made him yearn for the days of World War 2, where carrying guns on his buffer had been something mandated by the government, so that he could shoot Thomas in the face. No jury would be able to convict him.

He whistled half-heartedly as Duck rushed past with a train, aware more than ever that he, Duck and Toby (Who had sarcastically referred to the three of them as the Think Talk of the new party) were going to have to whip Thomas into shape before any kind of debate could even be considered. He tuned in just in time to see the Fat Controller order him to the Works to be mended, and started off from Callan station. Oliver and Douglas nodded to him, and Edward nodded back. He was aware that the three of Duck's colleagues from the Little Western had also taken up roles of a sort in the party.

This could only mean good things. If Edward needed to force the party to a close and withdraw, he'd have more support with Duck's crew on his side. Why he had agreed to take this interview later on was a question that Edward couldn't honestly answer. It had been decided in a fit of madness, and now Edward had to reap what he had sown.

He was shocked from his consideration by the sight of a familiar figure by Crovan's Gate. Skarloey!? What's he doing here?! Shouldn't he be out and about?

Skarloey seemed pleased to see Edward. He had been denied plenty of alcohol since he had been docked in the shed, and thus was now constantly flipping back and forth between his natural Welsh accent and a more refined one gained via elocution lessons. "Edward, boyo! How has it been, old friend?"

"Any reason why you're here, you old rogue?"

"Sent for a 'rest'." Skarloey rolled his eyes. "No doubt it's an excuse for them to put me out to pasture. I mean, they've got Duke here now. Don't have any real need for me, do they? Got a much better curiosity to gawp at, now."

"I'm sure that's not the case." Edward said, trying to be comforting. He whistled at Thomas, who paused and whistled back. In his whistle, Edward could detect the faint hints of a desire to meet. He gestured with his head to the Works Shed, and Thomas quickly gave a flash of recognition. "If that was the case, why didn't they just haul you off for scrap already?"

"Don't ask me, laddie." Skarloey was maudlin. "Put me in this blimin shed, didn't they? Said so I could see everything and not be lonely. Rather rash choice, I must say." He groaned. "And here we go, twenty years of voice coaching and my voice goes down the bloody drain!"

"It happens." Edward shrugged, or rather, the engine equivalent of a shrug. "Where is your brother?"

"He's going to be mended. Don't ever tell him this, lad, but I miss him. I wish I could get mended, pull the lasses around, BUT NO. Such is life. Bleeding inconvinient for the Fat Sod to be do it, I suppose."

"True." Edward grinned. "So I suppose it would make your day worse if I said he sent me to be mended?"

"He never! THAT-" But then, a group of workmen hurried up, having only just now noticed Edward.

"We're going to take you to the works now, Edward. Come along."

"Sorry Skar. Got to dash. Your railway is a lovely line. And hey, look at me. I'm probably just as old as you, and I'm still kicking. No reason for you to lay down and let the bastards grind you down."

"Oh it is, it is, bye bye Eddie. You've cheered me up, you have."

"I'll Eddie you, you little-" Edward smiled as he puffed off. And so Skarloey settled back and dreamed of lovely large female engines with big wheels serving him drinks on a yacht, somewhere.

...

In the countryside, Sir Handle was having a miserable time. Not helped was the fact that Terrance the Bloody Tractor was there, smiling and trying to throw him off his game.

The years hadn't been kind to Handel. They had knocked him about and bullied him, and of course, had saddled him with a engine who routinely took leaps and bounds into cloud-cuckoo-land from time to time. That, and he had been forced to abandon his rather romanticized ideals of Bolshevism since the Cold War had rather put a damper on the affair. And try telling the angry guys in the pub that he was a Marxist, not a Communist. Handel had got many a bruise while he was there.

So it was possible that he had been a little rougher with the coaches in the brief time that he had managed to work on the railway. Never really got a view of any of the other engines, just was forced to sleep in whatever shed was available. He had tried to be kinder to them this afternoon, but was well aware of the fact that they didn't trust him. Not, it must be said, without good reason. It shall be shown in the coming stories that Sir Handel was about as likable as sandpaper to the unmentionables at this point in time.

But even so, there was no course to be awkward and rude at the moment. It's possible that this precise moment was the one that made Sir Handel give up on being a decent engine for the next few weeks. Thanks coaches.

Worse was to come. A flock of sheep had burst through the fence while the farmer and Terrance had been focused on the cows. Sir Handel panicked and braked as hard as he could. Now, this in itself was a rather responsible attitude to have, more so than one would have expected from Sir Handel.

The coaches didn't see it like that. "Ee's bumped us! Let's pay him out!" They surged into Sir Handel and ran him right off the rails. He was somewhat baffled, as the sheep calmly began eating their grass right next to him.

This was not a good day to be Sir Handel. He had to limp sadly back to the shed.

Skarloey caught a quick glanced as he hurried in, but went back to staring mournfully out of the shed, as Percy rushed by with a train of trucks. He could vaguely here the conversation between Edward and Thomas.

"So, our platforms are?"

"Engine and coach equality, equality for gender pay, equality in the work place, more rights for drivers and firemen, and...and..."

"Becoming more-"

"More environmentally friendly!"

"Good, Well, we got there in the end. I've got Trainspotters to do a interview later tonight, so I'll make sure that I mention most of those stuff, and I'll big you up."

"You're a pal, Edward!"

"Yes, yes, you better get to work."

Sir Handel's driver looked judgmentally over Sir Handel's damage "No more work for you today. Don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, eh? I hear you. Still, there are a bunch of visitors coming, so how are we going to pull their train without a engine? Peter Sam's at the quarry, so he's out of it all together-"

"Can I do it sir?!"

The driver looked skeptically at Skarloey. "You? Can you even do it?"

"Go on sir!" called Edward from the Works. "He's got fight in him yet!"

"I'll try." said the old engine.

Yes, yes, I know. Less of the old. I know.

...

The coaches looked positively smug as they waited by the platform. They frowned as they saw Skarloey hurry up as fast as he could. His fireman had already taken the wise precaution of having a bucket of alcopops to the side, just in case. "I'm ashamed at you!" Skarloey growled, as Duck and Thomas passed each other. "You might have hurt your bloody passengers, you bleeding mares!"

"Sorry Skarloey." they muttered rebelliously, in fake sorrow.

"No, you're not." Skarloey growled to himself. "Right. Onwards!" As the guard blew his whistle, they started off and their journey began. Skarloey remembered all the little gates and stiles where they had to stop, like Glennock Station, where it was literally a quick minute break to get some booze in his system, and off they were again. The sun shone, the rails were dry, those at the picnic area weren't being totally rude, it was a relatively good day.

"This is lovely!" sang Skarloey. He had a bad singing voice, so he stopped.

They puffed over the viaduct, and soon they reached a area where the line grew steep. He recognized it as a bad bit of line that he usually tried to avoid. But time was against them, so they pressed on. He felt short of steam, which was never a good sign.

"Take your time!" said his driver, who didn't seem to be aware that he was in fact working on a railway. "It'll be better downhill."

"Can I quote you on that?"

It wasn't. His springs were weak, and the rail joints jarred his wheels. It was liked being poked in the feet by large, sharp pikes. It was excruciating. And at last, with a horrible judder, a spring gave way, and he toppled over onto one side, his wheels still moving as best as he could. "Feel...all...crooked!" he winced.

"Need a bloody bus now." muttered the driver. The fireman had already gone a quick search, but reported back no one but a drunk farmer in his hut.

"No, I'll get them there or burst!" Skarloey said with determination. It was likely to be the latter, he added in his head. Ah well, there were worse ways to die. Rusting up in a shed, for instance. At least maybe they'd name this stretch of line something memorable like 'Skarloey's Folly'.

...

At Crovan's Gate, James was waiting impatiently and quietly cursing whatever God had made him the last one to have to get this last train. He frowned as he heard a most dreadful sound. Clanging and grinding and screeching along the rails came the wreck of an engine formerly known as Skarloey. Every inch was agony to the little red engine, but he forced himself onwards, even as his crooked body shook and heaved with the exertion. Battered, weary, but unbeaten, he steamed in. The passengers hurried out and onto James's train.

"Doing it." muttered Skarloey. "Doing it." He blinked. "Done it."

James looked at him with a new respect in his eyes, and then without a word, but with a very respectful whistle, set off for the docks.

To say everyone was pleased was a understatement. He was still worried. "Well...that's me done. Permanently, I'd say. Old engines can't pull trains like the young ones can."

"Well, if they're mended, they can." grinned his driver. "And that's what's going to happen to you, Old Faithful. You deserve it."

"FINALLY!"

...

The Fat Controller paced back and forth antsily. He had managed to get Alice and himself into his secure house/fortress/nuclear bunker (He had nuclear bunkers all over the place. Throw a switch and Knapford Station would be prepared for the end of the world. Hatt was a alarmist like this) and thus had made sure that every guard he had were making sure that no one entered without his say so.

The phone rang, and he stared at the number. It wasn't a journalist. It was one he was familiar with, however. Slowly, he picked it up. "Hello? ...OH, it's you, Perkins! Yes? Yes I can hear you. Edward's fine? Wonderful! He can come back to work tomorrow! What was that? ...What do you mean, we have to give Skarloey a overhaul? Shi- Right, hold up, I'll buy Handel and Peter Sam, they can help out on the railway until Drunkloey and Rheblandus come back! Right, thanks. Love to the wife. Ta-ta."

He put the phone down and growled to himself. At that moment, his wife happened to switch onto a new edition of Nigel and Stan's Trainspotters, and he gestured for quiet.

"And hello again, and welcome to Trainspotters, where today, we devote a special half-hour to the latest in the most interesting mayoral election to date! The latest edition of 'Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends' has just aired, and the star of said show is still the subject of much speculation, wouldn't you say so, Nigel?"

"Indeed Stan! Thomas the Tank Engine has yet to make anything ore than vague statements about his campaign, however, we were able to snag a feed with his campaign manager, Edward the Blue Engine! We go now to the Crovan's Gate works to hear from him in person!"

The screen behind them flickered, and at last, Edward's face appeared. He smiled warmly. "Hello Stan! Hello Nigel!"

"Good evening, Edward!" said Stan. "First of all, how are you? Nothing too serious, I hope?"

...

"Good heavens no!" Edward laughed. "No, it's just that they want to check my firebox and side-rods, they've been a little rough lately. But, I am perfectly fine and happy to answer any questions you may have." He grinned, warmly. At least, he hoped it was. He was feeling rather drowsy, the sun was setting near Crovan's Gate, and it cast a warm and beautiful hue on the area. He hoped this interview wouldn't take too long.

"So, I wanted to ask you first of all, I understand that you were somewhat shocked at the discovery of your friend's decision to run for mayor?"

"Shocked is a polite way of putting it, Nigel! I was outraged! Baffled! Bamboozled! And many other things. But then I actually talked to him and I-" A little lie here, he thought, won't hurt anyone. "-I was convinced of his good intentions. For all the flash and the significant amount of bragging, I believe there are proposals of some substance there."

"Such as? Thomas himself has yet to announce the platforms on which he stands upon!"

Here you go, Edward, he thought. Let's give this spin-doctering a whirl.

"Ah well, you see, that is for a very good reason indeed. Thomas, as much as he brags, is ultimately too humble a person for him to announce his goals straight away, for fear of perhaps, er, you know, upstaging the other campaigners. He believes that he is in for the fight of his life with this, and so, he needed time to confirm with many of the more experienced of us whether or not his goals are noble or even worth going into office for. I can confirm that yes, they are."

And. Go.

"His main goal is to reduce the unemployment rate drastically via-" He frowned as he recalled Thomas's exact words, and then realized that he was clearly going to have to rephrase them in a way that didn't make Thomas sound like a tool. So he quickly spouted a couple of things about how Thomas was planning to import a lot more engines into the island to increase the number of jobs, laying down rails, building new stations, introducing equal pay for all workers.

The questions continued on and on. Edward answered most of them quickly, thinking over the answers carefully, and with a warm smile throughout, always emphasizing Thomas's ideals. He listed his desire to increase pensions for older workers who were getting on in their years (Percy's idea), he noted that he planned to put a end to a few decades worth of environmental destruction (Henry and Toby), the removal of any discriminatory laws that had been left behind since the last mayor had overhauled the system (Duck, Douglas) and so on and so forth. He briefly discussed how Thomas had the full support of all the engines and coaches for improving their own rights, but stressed that their main goal was equality for all.

It was a lie, of course. Thomas had thought of nothing but the idea of power, and with power, fame. He didn't really want to be mayor. He wanted the idealized image of one, cutting ribbons, flirting with women, getting impeached, anything to have the spotlight on him. As much as Edward reluctantly considered Thomas like a son to him, he could be a right prat sometimes.

It occurred to him, as he discussed a solution for how he was going to be reducing unemployment that had been suggested by James, that he was actually taking this more seriously than any of the other engines on the campaign.

It was now approaching the end of the show, and Edward was confident that at the very least, he had left a relatively good impression with the viewers and the hosts.

"Final question, Edward, if I may beg your pardon?"

"Of course, Nigel!"

"Come election day, if Thomas the Tank Engine does win...are we going to have a scandal on our hands? Can you be certain and honest with us, that there are no skeletons in his closet?"

Edward opened his mouth to answer and-

...

The smell of rust and the sound of screaming filled his nose and ears respectively, the splatter of grease and the rough sound of the hacksaw sawing into the red engine's face beside him oh dear god why wasn't it stopping, stop him, someone STOP HIM-

...

It had been a second. A very, very quick second. But it had shaken Edward to his core.

"No. I can promise you that. And if there is such a scandal, which I am confident there will not be, you can come down and film James eating his sparkly hat."

"Thank you, Edward, you have been very informative." The link between the studio was cut, and with that, Edward started off for home.

He hadn't had those flashbacks for...well, years now. They'd stopped long before the TV show had started. Why, of all times, had they picked now to come back? The others musn't know, he reasoned. They wouldn't get it, they would make fun of it and mock him for it.

No, concentrate on this stupid little mayor thing first. Then worry about your strange sort of shell shock later.