CUE THE THEME!,
...
Duck was patiently waiting at Tidmouth Hault for the signal to change when he saw Edward bustle up. Usually, Edward at least put on the appearance of a smile, but this time he was muttering and cursing under his breath, his features set deep in a frown. Duck whistled, and, half-heartedly, Edward whistled back. "Morning Edward! You look glum!"
"Too bloody right I am!" Edward let out a sad little groan. "So, did you hear about what happened last night?"
"Something about Thomas trying to demolish part of Tidmouth Sheds or something, right?"
"Right." Edward looked for all the world like he wanted to have a cigarette between his teeth at that moment. "Guess why. Just guess."
"...I don't have a clue."
"Neither did I, until Thomas told me that apparently the part of the sheds he was removing was blocking Drampf's view from his bedroom window!" If Edward had hands at that moment, he would have thrown them up into the air. "You can't make this up if you tried! If you tried to put this in some trashy paperback they sell at the airport, no one would believe a single word of it! Because now, here's the real fun part, Thomas is trying to tell me that we're going to make a coalition with Drampf!" The blue engine closed his eyes and shuddered. "This is going to kill me."
Duck was sympathetic. "I assume you're not a fan."
"No, I'm not. Drampf's policies go against everything that I believe in. The only reason he has supporters in the first place, is because the god damn Daily Mail keeps playing him up to be a savior of the innocent and the honest and the efficient and all that other stuff! He's not! But he and Thomas do have one thing in common, and that's that they're turning this into a goddamn circus! And I refuse categorically to be the ringmaster!"
"Well if you need to quit, then quit. But just think, Edward, of what'll happen if you do. Toby's a wise enough engine, but he can't reel in Thomas like you can." Duck smiled. "It'll die down. It's a passing fad."
"I sure as hell hope so, Duck." Edward paused, and then groaned. "Oh, look at me, acting so rude. How are you?"
"Okay, I think. I've had a couple of rough days, you know. Fat Controller even told me that I could take the night off from harbor duty tonight if I feel like it. I agreed, of course, not passing up the chance to get a free rest. But yeah, I'm getting better."
"Good. Keep up the good work, you're one of the few sensible ones here." Edward stared off, and then stopped. "Oh, and this slipped my mind. Percy told me to tell you that he saw a couple of tank engines looking for you. He recongized them from his days before he came to Sodor. I forget what their names were-"
"Not Jinty and Pug?!"
"That's the ones! Friends of yours!"
"In a manner of speaking. Thanks Edward."
Edward whistled somewhat more cheerfully, and headed off. Duck's smile dropped as soon as he was out of sight, and he sighed loudly. Jinty and Pug were well known in the circles he ran in. When they came around to see you, something big was going to go down.
Grimly, he set off for the quarry. He hoped this day would go fast.
...
"Bloody hell, could they get a chilier flatbed?! I feel like I'm a sitting target! Is this what JFK felt like?! If my death end up getting stuck on some goddamn reel of film, I'm blaming you all, boyos!"
Skarloey had been to the works to be mended. After he was gone, most of the workers would need to go to Barbados to get their heads mended as well. Skarloey had been grumpy a lot of the time, mostly because of the medicine that they had given him that took him right out of it. It had been hard work, but at last, he had been overhauled and given a fresh new lease on life.
Most hoped he didn't immediately ruin the lease by falling into the lake again.
Despite his complaints, however, the little engine felt much better. Rusty had arrived quite early, nervous, as they were going to be meeting the famous engine for the first time. Rusty needn't have worried, Skarloey took a instant liking to the diesel, especially as they were kind enough to assist him in disembarking from the flatbed.
"He seems a kind sort of engine, I suppose." he muttered to himself, when Rusty couldn't here him. "Or...they? Young un's and their terms, these days".
When he was off his truck, Skarloey talked to Rusty a little more. "So, you're new here? What is it that you do, exactly?"
"Mend the line. Do odd jobs. Occasionally drag Sir Handel into doing actual work."
"Oh you poor thing."
"I know. I think I deserve a pay rise." Rusty smiled. "But enough about me, I hear that everyone's looking forward to seeing you again! Some engines have been up to tell me to wish you well! Edward, Henry, Toby-"
"Ah, how kind!" Skarloey was genuinely touched. "I bet Peter Sam didn't even register I was gone!"
Rusty's smile became a bit more forced at that. Peter Sam, still in a rather shaken up mood, had made the diesel promise that he wouldn't ruin Skarloey's euphoric mood with news of the accident. If anything, Peter Sam reasoned, he should be the one to tell him about it. "Come on then!"
"Youngster, slow down!"
As they exited the Rheneas area, crossing over the waterfall bridge, Skarloey vaguely wondered if anyone would really know if he broke the 'No Alcohol for 10 Days' rule that they had in the place at the works. It was a strict rule that wasn't really enforced in the other works, and he regretted not going to Crovan's Gate, where they tended to look the other way when confronted by how the engine chose to live their life.
...
Peter Sam was feeling depressed. His face was so depressing that it made Eeyore the Donkey look positively chipper by comparison. He was still getting over his accident, which appeared to have knocked the ability to retreat back into that fantasy world of his where everything was super duper, and as a cruel prank, some workmen had left his funnel on wonky. He wanted to get back to work as soon as he could, not least because Sir Handel was always on the verge of ranting about Gordon and what a ass he was, which grew very tiring.
The Fat Controller arrived to make his daily checkup. Whenever a engine was injured as severely as Peter Sam was, he made it a personal goal of his to check in at least once per day. That, and the running of his larger engines was rapidly becoming out of control. He preferred to spend time here, where things were less complicated. Although come to that, the yellow prat had been causing a lot of chaos recently. He smiled at Peter Sam. "How are you feeling?"
"Can't I go back to work, sir?"
"Another day's rest will do you goo- Oh, for god's sake, can't we do something about his funnel!?"
"What's wrong with my funnel sir?!"
"Errrrrr...nothing." Hatt quickly changed topics. "Besides, I have a surprise for you!"
"Is it a time machine that means that I can go back in time and stop Sir Handel from making me go to work and thereby preventing this horrible situation from ever happening?"
"Scale down your expectations a tad. Wait and see."
The surprise turned out to be Skarloey. Peter Sam being Peter Sam, he quickly forgot his earlier remark and greeted him with genuine warmth. Skarloey was surprised, and humbled somewhat. Not too much, but a little. "OH!" said Peter Sam, as Rusty tooted goodbye and headed off to work "I am glad you've come home! How are you feeling?"
"Oh, you know, not too bad." Skarloey instantly began searching for the nearest bottle of tequila. He grinned as they lit his fire, and fizzled happily in the sun. "I feel all excited! Just like a young engine! Feels good to be out of that stuffy place, let me tell you. Stuffy like Rheneas!" He laughed at his own joke, and Peter Sam laughed too, a little nervously. "Now, tell me the news. You've had a accident?"
"...Yeah." And Peter Sam quickly outlined the details. Skarloey felt immediately guilty. "Things aren't that bad. They'll get better, I just...need some time to think things through. I see you've met Rusty."
Skarloey knew a deliberate change in topic when he saw one, so played along. "They're a nice sort, aren't they? I like that diesel a lot."
"So do I. It's a pity that Duncan doesn't."
Skarloey sat up. "Who is Duncan?"
"Well, if you'd heard the Fat Controller right now, you'd have known him. The Yellow Prat, as he's called. He came as a spare engine after the accident, cause Sir Handel and Duke can't handle the workload alone, and Rusty is often off doing the oddjobs."
"Is he useful?" Skarloey came from that old background of judging one's character firstly by how well they did their job and then finally moving on to their actual personality.
Peter Sam considered for a moment. "He keeps busy, and I'm sure he means well, but he always comes across as bouncy and rude. He's singing and swaying and swearing all the time down the line, like a headbanger on coke. That's what his driver calls it. Rock and Roll."
"I understand." said Skarloey gravely. No doubt the arrival of such a Iron Maiden type meant that the next engine they got would be a rapper of some kind. He shuddered. There were some things that should never ever be. At that moment, his driver and fireman headed over, having reluctantly been dragged away from their holiday to get back to work.
"Duncan's done it again!"
"Oh no!" wailed Peter Sam "He hasn't been part of another bank robbery?!"
"No, not that, he's stuck in a tunnel. Come on old boy, let's get him out."
"Less of the old!" snapped Skarloey. "Besides, I literally just got back!" As his driver gave a critical glare to him, he let out a very reluctant sigh. "Fine. I suppose I can do it. If I have to."
Despite his words, Skarloey was secretly a tad pleased that he got to stretch his wheels after so long. He wondered if there were any changes to the line since he had entered the workshop. He whistled goodbye to Peter Sam (who had turned glum once again, not helped by the fact that a group of workmen had placed flowers in his wobbly funnel as a joke) and set off towards the tunnel.
They found a guard's van, and some workmen who had nothing better to do than throw rocks at a caricature of Sir Topham Hatt, and they set off. As they passed Crovan's Gate, Skarloey was touched to hear a chorus of whistles from the other side of the platform. Admittedly, most of the whistles weren't for him, but he liked to pretend they were.
How nice and smooth the rails are, he thought as he crossed over the Skarloey mountain, taking great care to make sure that he didn't accidentally trip and tumble into the lake once again. He was rather glad that the Thin Controller had banned ecstasy after that little fiasco. Mended all the little bumps! I've got to hand it to that little diesel, Rusty's made quite a difference. Thundering Eisteddfod's, I better stop with this praise or Rusty'll get a big head.
Quite soon they reached the tunnel and found Duncan. Well, to be more exact, they found his brakevan poking out of a tunnel, and a rather harried guard holding a red flag in one hand and a large bottle of something delicious looking in the other. While his driver headed into the tunnel to check all was well, the fireman wisely took the bottle and gave Skarloey a sip or two. Or three. Or four. Okay, maybe they downed the entire bottle in one swig, and had to fetch another for the irate guard.
Skarloey's driver arrived to see Duncan's roof scraping the top of the tunnel, with a great deal of the stone work having collapsed onto Duncan and the track. He was stuck fast. Duncan had a face like someone who had drunk an entire tree's worth of lemon juice, and had the color to match it. Unsurprisingly, he was very cross, and made his feelings known.
"I'm a plain speaking engine-" He began, and the driver noted with weariness that of course Duncan was going to be Scottish, why wouldn't he be? "-I speak as I find! Tunnels should be tunnels and nay rrrrrrabbitholes!" He rolled his r's rather painfully on the last word. "This rrrailway is nay good at all!"
"Don't be a little shit." snapped his driver, who was nursing a migraine that felt as though it would cave in his entire head at once if he let it. "This is a perfectly fine tunnel for those who don't rock and roll like Mick Jagger!"
"Tha's your opinion, and ye are entitled to it. Even if it is a wee bit completely and utterly wrong!" Duncan snapped back.
It took a while for the rocks to be set aside and removed from causing any damage, and to set Duncan free again. The Fat Controller had learnt long ago that trapping engines in tunnels only made things worse, and so everyone had to throw away their original idea of just leaving the silly Scot there to rot and had to do actual work. So, reluctantly, they quickly got to work and managed to construct a temporary means of supporting the roof of the tunnel.
At last, Skarloey was able to push Duncan and his coaches safely through...relatively.
"OH! MIND MAH HEAD, YE LITTLE WEASEL!"
"Oh, boyo, you do have a mouth on you, don't you? I suppose you worked at a quarry."
"An what the hell is that ta ye!?"
The guard's van and the trucks for the workmen were left on the siding so that those who were propping up the tunnel could continue on with the work to make it safe again, and because none of them wanted to go anywhere near Duncan again in the immediate future. Duncan refused to move on principle, and with the passengers on the verge of killing him, Skarloey reluctantly buffered up and began to push him along.
Duncan grumbled the entire way, but Skarloey paid no attention. Mostly because the booze had left him somewhat woozy, and he was looking forward to crashing to sleep once they got back to the sheds.
...
And when they got back to the sheds, where Peter Sam had wisely shut the door, and where Skarloey proceeded to spend the next few hours sleeping off the massive hangover he had somehow managed to accumulate over the course of his trip back (Not helped by the fact that he had downed five more bottles every time they had stopped at a station), the Fat Controller confronted Duncan.
"Listen to me! There is nothing wrong with that tunnel, and if there is, it's that it was naive enough to think that you could be trusted inside it! You got stuck because you tried to rock and roll! Tunnels are not dance floors, and you are certainly no John Travolta Pop Star wannabe!"
"But, listen here, ye stupid fat man-"
Hatt had had a long day. So he decided to address his remarks to Duncan's funnel, just to prove he wasn't screwing around.
"Oh, and by the way, Duncan? It's Sir. You can call me whatever the hell you want behind my back, but to my face? It's sir. And if any of this happens again, I shall find ways to cut you down to size. In other words, ahem, your career is on the line."
Duncan's expression displayed outright HORROR. "No sir!"
"Need. I. Say. More?"
Duncan thought the Fat Controller had said enough, and said not a peep, and neither rocked nor rolled for the rest of the night.
...
That night, as Percy and Oliver dealt with the trucks, who were getting rowdier and rowdier for some reason, Duck puffed along Bluff's Clove to the little station of Haultraught. Everyone had gone home, even the stationmaster and the porters, which meant it was perfect for his purposes that night.
As the moon was briefly eclipsed by clouds, Duck was aware of the relative peace and quiet of the area. Save for the waves crashing on the rocks, and the faint sound of work in the distance, it was almost as if the world had frozen.
Then, he suddenly became aware of the two figures on the opposite side of the platform. Both of them were tank engines, one a LMS 3F class, the other, a Kitson 0F. The former resembled Thomas in a way, save for the fact that her paintwork was completely black all over, with a face that looked like it could laugh easily...though never really meaning it. The latter was squat, and his face was sullen.
Jinty and Pug, respectively.
"Well-" remarked Duck after a ten second pause, as the three crews headed over to the office for a chat "-this ever fails, you could make a hell of a living as magicians."
"Cut the crap, Montague." snapped Pug. "What the hell have you been doing recently?"
"My job, Pug. I know it's a foreign concept to you, but-"
"Enough." Jinty didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. Pug simmered down, he had been on the verge of leaping the platform and ramming his buffers directly into Duck's nose. Duck did the engine equivalent of a shrug, and turned his attention to the inky blackness ahead of him. "We didn't come here to squabble. We came to deliver information to you, Duck."
"Information? Of what kind?"
Jinty looked him square in the eye. "Have you heard the stories about the Ministry of Defense Engine?"
"Vaguely. It was documented in a book, wasn't it? I never got round to reading it, but my fireman noticed it when he stole the jotter from OJ."
"Well, the Ministry was on Sodor, for the most part, to make sure that any and all munitions were to be stored away from the prying eyes of the general public, and to make sure that in the case of a attack by the Nazi's, the Island was well defended. They brought their own engine over there. We don't know much about him, save for his appearance was somewhat beetle-like, and the nickname stuck with him throughout his time on the Island. However, when the MoD left, Beetle went AWOL and escaped somehow. Never seen again, and the Ministry would like that embarrassment covered up."
"Okay, so where do I fit in with me?"
"About a week ago, we recieved garbled transmissions from a phone box a few miles out of the Anopha Quarry. We were able, to a extent, make out the voice of the caller, and we were able to track it to another phone box located somewhere in the Other Railway." Jinty nodded. "They're showing your crew photographs now, but the man phoning here? Does the name Drampf mean anything to you?"
Duck frowned. "He's running for Sodor Mayor in the campa-" He paused. "Shit."
"Exactly." Jinty looked grim "That's not all. Aside from the fact that the Fat Director's influence is clearly planning to be spread over to the Island, Drampf served during the war and shortly after it as a engine driver. And can you take a wild stab at who his engine was?"
"...So, to clarify, you're here to warn me about the fact that a xenophobic politician has ties with a dictatorial controller of a railway that wants to end the world as we know it and is currently in cahoots with a Colonel Kurtz style diesel-"
"Electric engine."
"-electric engine called Beetle to do...what, exactly?"
"Kill everyone, of course." snarled Pug. "We could have handled it ourselves, but Truro wanted to make sure that you knew what was going down on your patch, so you could 'advise us' on how to do our jobs."
"I detect a hint of bitterness there." Duck sighed and rolled his eyes. "One of the engines is trying to run for Mayor himself. I'll get the others to dissuade him from allying with Drampf. And I'll go and talk to this...Beetle. And see what I can get out of him."
The crews exited the building, and Pug stormed off angrily. Jinty paused for a while though. "How are you?" she asked, and Duck could have been biased, but this concern seemed genuine.
"Well...I think. You?"
"Not bad."
"...Can't believe you still are with that oaf." Duck rolled his eyes. "Sorry, I mean, I still can't believe you're still his partner after so many years."
"Yes, well." Jinty sighed. "We don't always get what we want, do we?" She paused. "We'll...We'll be sticking around until the business is concluded. We'll see each other again. Goodnight Duck."
"Goodnight Jinty."
Soon, Duck was on his own, just himself and the tranquil peace.
He savored it.
He didn't see much of it in his future.