CUE THE THEME!,
...
Duck closed his mouth, and violently shuddered in a attempt to stop himself from exhaling outwards and giving away his position. He glanced forward, trying desperately to keep what passed for his ears open, all the while trying to stop and calm his brain down.
"Kill Thomas?" Davidson looked puzzled "Well, that is a turn up for the books, isn't it? Seems bally odd, don'cha think? We had a different plan, as I recall."
"Ah yes, but sadly, taking out your former employees, while no doubt something that can and will happen at a later stage of the operation, is a pretty big ask even for the Fat Director. No, by doing this, we're taking out one of our biggest problems pretty quickly."
"This Thomas fellow...popular?"
"To a extent. Children across the world love him. Everyone here hates him. For the moment, at least. But, if we don't act soon, then he will regain their sympathy and adoration, and killing him then would only make him a martyr. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a martyr." Marklin grimaced, or perhaps not, it was difficult to tell.
"Very well then. How to do it, though? You have a idea?"
"Perhaps. But that can be discussed another time, when perhaps I have a more...solid feel of the situation, as it were. You see, I have a new host being prepped as we speak. A host for my spirit. A way back onto this Island permanently, if all goes to plan."
"Indeed. I...don't quite understand all of this, but I assume that is a good thing?"
"A very good thing! It means a schedule, again, it means getting to breath and walk and drink and oil along. It means, Davidson, that I can be properly in control for once. Now, I fear I must leave you here. Try not to murder Drampf...not yet, anyway."
Davidson laughed. "Night."
And as Marklin vanished, Duck decided to take his leave.
He had a lot to warn Jinty and Pug about.
...
"I see." Jinty's eyebrows were knitted together. "Useful information to be sure, and it can't be helped, but I do wish we could have gotten a bit more information from them." She shook herself. "No matter. Myself and Pug can probably take care of Davidson, while you can protect-"
"I think we should tell them!"
Duck immediately regretted his words the second he saw Pug smirk triumphantly. "Oh?" asked the tank engine, with such fake sincerity it made Duck's blood boil just to hear it. "Why's that? Has Montague gotten a little attached?"
It was the work of a moment to back himself up, cross over the points and rush straight at Pug. The latter's smile dropped fast, and he let out a shocked yelp as Duck slammed him against the wall. "ARE YOU CRAZ-"
"I want you to shut up, and listen for once in your goddamn life!" Duck had lost any pretence at calm or civility in his tone now, there was only raw anger left to tinge his words with a sharp edge. "I know you've been reading my reports, checking over them, acting on my explanations, but trust me something, Pug, living it's a far worse experience! You probably got a big old laugh at them, am I right? I have faced down a vengeful ghost that is intent on wreaking havoc upon this island, I have saved people I don't even know from a crash that could have killed them, I have been scratched, clawed, pushed, shunted, punched, slashed and been made to listen to the biggest speeches made by the biggest blowhards I've ever met! You're damn right I'm involved, you goddamn prat, and if these engines are in danger, then it's our job to protect them! But then, I don't suppose you'd know much about doing your job, do you, Pug?! No, you get a nice and cozy life, you get to travel the world, you get to have updates regularly about what you're going to be doing, you get to have a CHOICE IN THE MATTER!"
"Duck." Jinty said quietly. "Enough."
Duck glanced back, and his face shifted back to it's usual laid back looking style. He didn't let go though. "You want to come onto my turf, and make questions about my judgement, Agent Pug? You better be damn sure that you're not talking out of your arse before you do."
Finally, he let go, leaving Pug to slowly pull himself free from the wall. Duck glanced at Jinty, casually. "Okay then. Ignore what I said. We'll keep them in the dark. It was a fool's question anyway. I'll keep Thomas safe, as long as you keep Jabberjaw over there out of my way."
And with that, he stormed back off to Tidmouth Hault.
...
It wasn't just Duck who was having a rough day. Next morning, Peter Sam had to get up nice and early, and take a brief little train across the now snow covered landscape.
It sounds easy. But it wasn't.
First of all, because Island of Sodor snow had recently taken a turn for the nightmarish. It clung to the tracks bitterly, not even gravel or sand was that much use to it. Ice formed over the sleepers, soaking them and making it hard to move across, considering how weak they felt. The train itself wasn't helping matters, it contained a variety of heavy tankers and canisters to warm up the various people.
The landscape, in particular, was worse than usual. Being on a mountain with winds that certainly felt gale force will make you feel that way. Every inch or so, Peter Sam, his driver and fireman thanked their lucky stars that they were still living.
Of course, things would be better if it wasn't the fact that Peter Sam was still physically a wreck. His wheels slipped a good deal more than they used to, his dome still felt as though it was on the wrong way, and his funnel...it hadn't been write since the accident with the trucks. It wobbled, it swung from side to side, and the air crept in underneath it and through Peter Sam's many pipes and tubes and boiler, all the way through his internal systems. It was uncomfortable. His mind had never been the same either. He wasn't the carefree individual that he had been when he had arrived at the railway. He didn't walk amongst Cloud-Cuckooland any more, not matter how much he wanted to.
Not that the other engines were sympathetic at all.
He expected it of Sir Handel and Duncan. They were...well, to put it bluntly, they were prats. He was a little hurt that Sir Handel seemed to have forgotten that the main reason he was like this was because of his arrogant behavior. He had no way of knowing, of course, that Gordon had got under Handel's smokebox and started convincing him of how to act again. He was also less surprised that Duke was doing it, because he believed that the old engine was merely trying to show tough love. It wasn't appreciated, but it was understood.
No, Skarloey was the big shocker (Rusty just sort of ignored it all, which Peter Sam could handle, really) as he seemed to be rather blunt and to the point about how much it was getting on his wick.
As he arrived back at the sheds, with everyone else gathered around a warm fire that the work man had set up (plus Rheneas's stunt double, who came in from the cold because he was lonely) he couldn't help but remark about how much pain he was in.
"My funnel feels wobbly!" He said, dramatically. "I wish manager would hurry up with a new one! He says it will be something special!"
"You're something special!" cackled Sir Handel, who was very drunk, by the way.
"You and your special funnel!" laughed the other engines. They were fond of Peter Sam, but expressed this in the Sudrian way of insulting the tar out of him. His special funnel had become a running gag amongst them all.
...
But the weather changed that week, and it was no laughing matter. The winds had grown worse, so much that snow vanished and returned within blinking time. The rain returned too, in the form of melted snow that turned tiny streams into raging torrents that threatened to knock out all communication on the Skarloey Railway. Being so heavily bridge based, this was a problem, and it became rather a big fear that the line would be washed away.
All this time, Duck kept a close eye on Thomas as he promoted his scheme to help steady the Skarloey Railway. That is, sending Rusty to do the work that the little diesel was already going to do.
They worked hard, carrying the workmen to places all around the Island and making sure that it was fixed up nice and good, even though every trip, the diesel ran the risk of getting tossed off into the fast moving waters below. Rusty expected and received little thanks for this, and aside from one severe tongue lashing that they had given to Sir Handel after one too many nights spent fixing up leaky bridges, mostly grinned and bore it.
Most of the work involved removing the branches and the leaves that could block up the river, and could cause problems for a engine when using the lines. For the most part, this was what kept the occupied, save for one grey, overcast day when Rusty was resting in their own special siding. The driver brought bad news, as often he did. "There's been a washout not too far from the tunnel-"
"Duncan's had another accident?"
"HARDY HA!" called the Scottish engine, with great sarcasm.
"No, seriously now. Trackbed's been completely swept away, it's literally a tightrope between the two sides of the bridge. All trains have been halted until we can fix it up as best as we can. We'd best get on it, Rusty."
"Righty-ho!" Rusty started up, and after a quick glance to the other engines with just a hint of envy, headed off, leaving Peter Sam as the only engine still awake. His funnel was giving him gip.
Through the fog and rain, Rusty rode up past Lake Skarloey to the bridge, and began the long and boring process of ferrying back workmen and trucks of all shapes and sizes that is so boring that we won't cover it here, but move on to more interesting actions. The only important thing to note was that the weather had changed by the time that the operation, which took longer than expected, to a gentler breeze that was never the less frostier and colder with a bright and warm winter sun shining down upon the railway.
...
At last, the workmen finished (With only five near-drowning experiences, an improvement from last time) and they left the bridge alone. The first one to cross it happened to be Peter Sam, on a day where the other engines were lucky enough to get yet another day off. Peter Sam wondered if he had somehow offended the Fat Controller, his mind was still in a rather grim place, and his anxiety was playing up something fierce.
Rusty gave him a weary smile, which he tried to return. Tried being the key word.
"I'm worried about Peter Sam." admitted Rusty, to his driver as they arrived at the bar. "He's looking rough, these days."
"Hmm, doesn't help that the bloody trains can't deliver the goods though. I mean, he's been promised that funnel how many times now?" Rusty's driver tapped the side of his nose. "Let me look into it."
Meanwhile, Peter Sam was feeling a great deal better, as he took the mended piece of track carefully with his morning train. He reached the tunnel, and shuddered. It was short and curved, and add to that it was hard to see in, it was not the best place for Peter Sam to be in with his mental state being the way it was. However, all concerns had been brushed under the carpet.
It will not surprise you to learn that he was heading for trouble. The second the last bit of light was blocked by the brake van, Peter Sam began to panic, and breathed very heavily as he tried in vain to see the light at the end.
"There's something hanging from the roof!" shouted his driver, which are six words no one should ever be excited to hear in their life, unless it has something to do with a new chandelier.
There was a rather loud cracking sound, and an even louder crunching one.
The pain was so intense that in that moment, Peter Sam was struck dumb. He came out looking a very different engine than he had going in. Funneless. The passengers, always looking for a good time, cackled at this. Peter Sam said nothing once again.
"Here's what hit you, Peter Sam!" The guard said, producing a large icicle that had fallen off the roof of the tunnel. Peter Sam said nothing once more. The pain hadn't really registered yet, so until the point at which it did, he was completely mute. Eventually, they had to start up again, and with every puff, Peter Sam could tell a complete difference from the way he was moving. He felt incredibly numb, but even he was aware that this was not going to work even for as short a trip as to the next station.
The journey was very difficult, not least because the cold air made him feel like actual icicles were growing in his boiler. A not pleasant sensation indeed.
Peter Sam had the distinct feeling that he looked a right prawn to the rest of the world. He was past caring at this point.
Or so he though, when a sudden braking caused him to jerk to a halt. He glanced back at his cab, to see the fireman striding along the line to where a old drain pipe was lying besides the track.
Peter Sam was not the cleverest engine. Nowhere near it. But he knew how to put two and two together.
"We'll use that instead of your funnel! It'll help control the smoke."
Peter Sam's face told the crew exactly what he thought of that idea, but both fireman and driver enlisted the aid of the guard's rope to create a makeshift funnel for the very annoyed green engine. He finished the journey with it wired up.
He puffed into the shed area still in a state of complete shock. The engines took one look and...you know what, I'm going to let you guess. Do you think they:
A: Gasped in horror and asked if Peter Sam was okay
B: Gave him sympathy and treated him kindly
C: Mocked the hell out of him.
You have been paying a good bit of attention to the story if you picked C.
Yes, both Sir Handel and Duncan laughed outright when they saw him, and Duke had to stifle chuckles. Skarloey was asleep by that point, so he therefore missed Sir Handel's little ditty.
"Peter Sam said again and again
His new funnel would put us to shame
Went into a tunnel
Lost his own funnel
Now his famous new funnel's a drain!"
Everyone seemed to find that very amusing, despite Sir Handel's writing skills to be average at best. It certainly won't be winning him the position of Poet Laureate any time soon.
At last, everyone grew silent and waited for Peter Sam to react. Rusty hurried up, shocked to see such a blank expression on the face of the green engine.
Peter Sam, having just stood there and taken it for the most part, looked around. He didn't seem to have registered anything since his arrival, so numb did he feel. But now he had the sense that everyone expected something of him.
So he opened his mouth-
-and then the pain kicked in.
The screams were so loud that somewhere in China, Yong Bao, the famous engine, began to experience a bit of bleeding from the ear.
...
Once they had gotten Peter Sam to stop screaming in agony, and once he had stopped crying hysterically from all the stuff he had gone through, and once the somewhat embarrassed and guilty feeling engines were sent to a separate shed, which took about three days in total, he was lucky enough to finally get his new funnel. The Fat Controller himself came to present it, having had a quiet week or so otherwise (What with Duck sticking to Thomas like a hawk) and having nothing else to do.
Peter Sam stared in horror at it, presented in a rather lackluster fashion on a single box. "BLOODY HELL!" He shouted "Someone's squashed it! Sir, you haven't sat on it, have you?"
Sir Topham would have gladly lept forward and strangled Peter Sam at that jibe, but he was aware that the doctors had suggested that both accidents had left the little green engine in a state of mental tension, so he merely chuckled. He looked up at where Peter Sam's original funnel had been placed by a rather cruel prankster, and winced. "Don't worry, Peter Sam, this is a Giesl Injector. It's...well, it's something special indeed. You'll see. Rusty'll help you get used to it."
...
A WEEK LATER.
Sir Handel turned to Skarloey. "You know, they said something about bringing me in to get my wheels checked over."
"Really, boyo? Interesting. I always think-"
"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-" Peter Sam flew along the line. One second he was there, the next he was somewhere else. His special funnel had new pipes that made puffing much easier. As he showed off quite frequently, especially around Sir Handel and Duncan. In his head, he was off to a tea party with Mr Fox and Mr Badger, he was already making apologies for being away so long. He hadn't felt this happy for a long time.
Sir Handel stared after him. "How-" He wheezed. "How does he even...I don't bloody believe it."
"I know."
"I can't understand it. He just seems to stroll on by! He makes work look so easy!"
"I KNOW! Stop rubbing it in."
They don't mock him now. Duncan tried once, but Peter Sam smiled cheerfully and told Duncan that if he continued on like that then he'd get the drainpipe right up his arse. This shut Duncan up pretty quick, and no mistake. They all wish they had one like it. Even the stunt double.
...