Before we get into the chapter, I'd just like to quickly discuss a few things real quick, as previously mentioned, we have my hiatus coming up soon, which means hopefully I shall get Tugs Abridged at least updated somewhat, and I shall be starting said hiatus after the next chapter, so Passengers and Polish is going to be the last one for about...a week? Two? It depends how much I miss doing this.
Also, time to address some reviews, some late ones, admittedly, because for whatever reason I always seem to be late to noticing them. To Teal Sparkle, nice to see you back again, and yes, stuff is heating up on Sodor! It should be, I mean, it's only taken me this long to have an actual threat to the engines before Magic Railroad.
Aaroncottrell97, it's nice to see you comment! You're right in that it is a diesel that's in the TV series, but which one? You'll have to wait a little longer for that, I'm afraid.
Also,...this chapter has something that might come out of nowhere, but all will be explained next chapter.
CUE THE THEME!,
...
"Where the hell is, Gordon?"
The big engine paused mid sip, then slowly trained his eye supon Thomas. "Who?"
"You know who! Oh, if I have to spell it out, Edward! Where is he? He should have been back by now! I admit, it's unlike him to go off in a sulk like this, but surely he would have seen sense about his views now!" It was notable that Thomas sounded far less confident than he had a few days earlier when he had asked Gordon this in the sheds.
"He did this from time to time." Gordon remarked, thoughtfully making eye contact with Percy, to indicate that he'd like another. "Not since he was put back in the sheds, mind. But back following the war, we were pretty used to the fact that he'd need to, no pun intended, blow off some steam." He frowned. "Not as long as this though."
"He'll be fine." Henry quickly assuaged the sudden burst of worry in the engines. "Charlie Sand and Sidney Heaver are with him, and those two are the finest crew members ever assembled.
"Oh thanks a ******* bunch!" Carlin grunted, as he packed in another load of boxes for Henry's delivery to the Trainspotter's Studio.
"Don't be like that, Carlin. Be careful, you might bump into your, er-" And here Percy grinned from metaphorical ear to metaphorical ear "-tribute."
This caused a great deal of snickering amongst the engines, and Carlin flipped Percy off as he stormed off to get the next batch of boxes. It would have been his bloody luck, he thought grimly, to have that remembered.
...
1993.
It was a long standing tradition of the Fat Controller's railway to name new engines, vehicles or even coaches after long lasting and hard working members of staff. Carlin qualified for the former, and had at least a 45% on the railway board who were pretty sure that he somehow was a hard working fellow, so of course, he had been delighted to get the news that he would be key to the ceremony.
Everyone had worn their best suits as they arrived at Crovan's Gate. Thomas was scratching a pair of cufflinks that James had thoughtfully gotten him for Christmas to be placed on his buffers, and Edward tried his best not to wince in sympathy as both Douglas and Gordon struggled with the Christmas lights that were draped across their boilers, another gift from James.
"How long does this last?" hissed Donald to James. The latter shrugged. "Well I wish they'd move it along a weesht!"
"Sssh! Here he comes!" Percy hissed.
Carlin, wearing a bright blue suit, stepped onto the platform nervously. He was keenly aware that swearing as he usually did would not be looked upon kindly, and he was rather enjoying the fact that he had managed to get something named after him a great deal faster than the other drivers. The Fat Controller stood besides him, concluding a rather long and trailing speech regarding Carlin's history.
"And so, it gives me great pleasure to hand this over to Mr Carlin, who will be unveiling the latest addition to making Sodor a safer and happier place, named in his honor! Take it away!"
Carlin grinned, stepped forward, took a bow and tugged hard on the rope. He grinned...and then wondered why no one was clapping.
He turned.
He looked.
And he understood.
"MOTHERF*****!" he shouted loudly.
...
"So what is the deal with Charlie and Sidney?" Percy turned one of the tankards on, pouring what looked like beer towards Gordon. "I mean, we all have our own preferred crews, but I'm pretty sure that they've been the only ones who have stuck by their engine since I've been here."
"You know, now that you mention it, that is weird." Oliver seemed to consider this. "I mean, my crew's stayed together permanently, but that has more to do with the circumstances-"
"We know, Oliver." came the response from every engine present. Duck smirked, even as he did make sure that whatever it was Thomas was drinking wasn't contaminated in any way...not that he could think of a way that one could poison a steam engine. His eyes fell upon a picture at the bar.
"So, what's that? Always meant to ask."
"Oh that!" Henry smirked as he moved forward, to a rather stylized picture of six engines in a shed. "Now that brings back memories, you remember, Gordon?"
"Do I indeed!?" Gordon smiled, fondly, at the picture. "That's us. The 'Class of 44' as they used to call us."
"Don't recognize many of them." Thomas noted. "I think I can see Edward down the bottom. And I can definitely see you and Henry, but the other three...no, I don't think I met them."
"Well the two big blue engines there that's...er, let me see...that's right, silly of me to forget, 98462, right there next to me, and next to Henry, we have 87546. As I recall, they were special engines brought on for a time during the war to provide extra assistance for the bigger engines. Yes, I recall they were a unpleasant batch, even by engines from the Mainland and their standards."
"They were quite rude to me." Henry appeared miffed. "And they had no respect for nature at all! It was disgusting, I was very glad that the Fat Controller sent them away, there was no work getting done in the yard at all. It was like a Mexican standoff."
"And the big red fellow?"
"Him? Oh, that's...yes, am I right in saying that's the Flying Thistle?"
"Larks, yes, you are!" Gordon smiled, fondly this time. "Thistle was an all right engine. A bit of a showoff, kind of like James, but far more loyal. I recall that he was a distant cousin of myself and Scotsman. I can't-" A shadow passed over his face "-can't quite recall what happened to him."
"Six engines? That was it?"
"Oh, no, no! No, there were a few more than that. There was...Eagle, I believe? He was the same model as James. A bit more spiteful, you know. Always was clashing with Edward over something or other. And there was Albert, who worked the Furness Branch Line. He was all right. Polite. Could get a little cocky but, dependable in a crisis. Finally, there was 8783. He was pretty silent, and we always assumed that he was the one doing a lot of the military service around about that time. Wasn't, of course. Turned out that they had their own engine for that."
Both engines sighed wistfully. Duck vaguely wondered if Davidson was the engine they had mentioned. He made a mental note to check that out. And then jumped as Carlin dropped a box and started swearing up a storm. This was the cue for the engines to get back to work, but not before Henry pulled Gordon to one side and muttered something under his breath.
"We search tonight."
...
Elsewhere, the Skarloey engines awaited the return of Sir Handel, who had been in for a brief overhaul to try and shut him up and stop him whining for a little bit. A futile effort, but one they felt was worth trying, even if just for a little.
Sir Handel was very proud of his big and sturdy wheels, bigger than any narrow gauge wheels on any of the other engines. They had broad tires, and were rather useful for gripping hold of the track, which had been insisted on by the Fat Controller who refused to have a repeat of Sir Handel's accident on his very first day working on the railway. Despite this, they were unusual, in their size. And while Handel could take a little snickering from Thomas (Who had no reason to laugh, considering how he had looked in recent months) the other engines he had to share sheds with were another matter entirely.
On this day, he was getting some good natured ribbing from the other engines (And Rheneas's stunt double) who were looking for something to do while the drivers and fireman got them ready for work.
"Look at yon steamroller wheels!" Duncan cackled.
"Hey, watch out, you might flatten someone!" called out Skarloey, who was drunk, and therefore terrible with coming up with insulting nicknames. Duke scoffed and muttered something about how the kids of today always had to have a new fashion.
"Stow it! Be quiet!" Sir Handel said, being a fine recipient of being unable to take what he doled out on many a occasion "You're all jealous that you clearly aren't as favored much by the manager any more!"
"Take no notice of them!" said Peter Sam, who was in a forgiving mood for the moment. "They all teased me about my special funnel, until they found out how useful it is!"
"You hear that?!" crowed SIr Handel, and Peter Sam immediately realized he had made a terrible mistake, and so retreated back into his mental forest where he was having a picnic with Rupert Bear and the Famous Five. "My wheels are special like whatsit's funnel over here! I can go faster than any of you!"
"ATTA BOY!" shouted Gordon from across the tracks.
"To be fair though-" noted Duke "-it's not like that's much of a thing to be proud of, is it? You're slightly faster than two old engines, a stunt double, someone who currently resides permanently in the cuckoo clock and...whatever the hell that custard engine is down the front."
"Custard engine!?" raved Duncan. "I'll-"
Skarloey hushed Duncan. He had a idea to make Sir Handel see sense and, at the very least, calm down a little before he got his high horse all the way up Mount Everest. "I quite agree, Sir Handel, and I think that with your new wheels, boyo, you're just the engine to tackle the problem that is George!"
"Who is George?" asked Sir Handel, baffled.
"Steam roller, right across the road. Listen."
It is a well documented fact (by which the Daily Mail had declared it was, and so no one need bother doing any actual bloody research) that out of all the kinds of vehicles to travel in in the world, the steamroller is by far the most hated. It is useful for one job, and doesn't even really do that very well. So it can be understandable that Carlin took offence of his name being plastered over a rude, arrogant, bigoted steam-roller who made Bulgy look like Desmond Tutu.
He was making rude remarks about the engines, as per usual for a non-rail vehicle. "Railways are no good, turn em into roads, rip em up, turn em into roads! Railways are no good, turn em into roads, rip em up, turn em into roads! Up the workers, flatten the bourgeois! To hell with the socialists and liberals!" and other such unpleasant language as he moodily flattened a new section of road with viciousness. It definitely wasn't going down in history as one of the famous chants.
"Don't worry!" said Sir Handel with bravado pouring out of every pore "I shall send him packing! I give him a week, nay, three days before I show him what for! He's going to get a run for his money and no mistake!" And he swaggered off, leaving the other engines tensely awaiting news of when Sir Handel's inevitable crash would happen.
...
Later that morning, George was at the level crossing near Ben Glas, a stream that lead all the way along the waterfalls. He was very much aware that he had to avoid the mistakes that Bulgy made of the past. No trying to compete with the steam engines outright. No, his driver, name of Gotch, had briefed him on that thoroughly. His thoughts were interrupted by Sir Handel hurrying up and trying to square up him, which was hard considering his height.
"Huh." snorted the steamroller. "You're Sir Handel, I suppose."
Handel was standing for no nonsense, at least in his own head "And you-" he said, poking a imaginary finger into George's roller "-are George, I suppose, hmm? I've heard of you. Nothing positive, I must say."
"I've heard of you too." grunted George "You're a communist runt."
"Marxist-"
"And you swank around with your steam-roller wheels, trying to be one of us. It's embarrassing, for god's sake. You're pretending to be as good as me."
"Actually, no." said Sir Handel, sweetly. "I'm better, actually. Tarrah!" And with that, he steamed off, grinning like a idiot over his supposed victory over the large green monster.
George grunted, his permanent scowl not shifting once. Then, as Gotch leaned down to whisper something, said frown shifted into something that might, just might, have been a smile. Then he chuffered along, bouncing over the rails and moving like a serial killer after Sir Handel. They parted in different ways, but George kept a stern eye on Sir Handel even as he vanished around the corner.
Later in the day, Sir Handel brought a special load down in a couple of old vans, not long after the final train of the day had gone. As he reached the section where road and rail met, he noticed George trundling along besides the many roadworks. He decided to attract his attention "PEEP! PEEP! LOOK AT ME!"
George took no notice, and was actually smiling in what seemed like innocence, but any expert in facial language could easily decipher it as a malicious smile indeed. There was barely enough room to pass, especially with how bottom heavy George was compared to the average traversing person of the roads. Sir Handel drew level, and the two of them scowled at each other instinctively. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!" roared Sir Handel. "You daft pillock! You great clumsy roadhog!
"I don't move for imitation steam rollers, you little nitwit!" George snarled back. The two of them lumbered along as the insults continued, and as they rocked and rolled so hard they would have made Duncan jealous.
"COMMIE TRAITOR!"
"BIGOTED ASS!"
"LAZY SOD!"
"GRUBBY SNOT!"
"IDIOT!"
"PRAT!"
Eventually, as the insults reached an all time low on the creativity scale, there was trouble. There was a loud clattering sound and the sound of crunching, as George's roller and the middle truck made contact.
Unsurprisingly, the middle truck lost.
"Ugh! This is all your fault!" wailed Sir Handel.
"T'wasn't! It was yours!"
...
What happened next was rather ugly. Gotch and Sir Handel's fireman squared up, and began continuing the fight with fists instead of insults. For years afterwards, Bertie the Bus, who brought workmen, would talk of little but the absolutely amazing uppercut delivered onto Gotch by the fireman. Then came a group of enraged workmen ready to fight anyone and anything, and as such, everyone argued.
Until, a distinct ding-a-ling of a bell made everyone stop mid attack. They turned around to see Acting-Officer/Stationmaster/Inspector Norris, who licked his pen and opened up a notebook. He glanced up, and went for the most stereotypical voice he could. "Ello ello ello, what's goin on ere?"
It seemed to work. Everyone immediately banded together to clear away the mess, save for Gotch, who scarpered away once again, following the successful template he had enjoyed a great deal of success with from all those years working with Bulgy.
The next day, the workmen finally did what they had been supposed to do all this time, and put a fence between road and rail. It was a very flimsy fence, but at least it was something. This time,when they left, rather quickly on Bertie the Bus just in case anything else violent happened in the near future, they took George with them, to dump him in a warehouse until they needed him again. Sir Handel counted this as a victory for himself.
He would have, everyone who heard the story thought as one.
...
This made living with him for that entire day almost impossible. His ego had now inflated to the point where it was the size of Krakatoa, and was just as likely to blow as it. He talked of nothing but steam rollers, annoying everyone and making Duke long for the days where he had been buried underneath so much soil. At least it had been quiet.
"Worse than ever." glumly noted Skarloey. "Sorry it failed, boys."
"Never mind." Rusty remarked, wearily. "We'll...work something else out. It can't last. It never does."
The diesel would have been surprised how right he was, and how they needn't have done anything. Some boys from the local school sauntered across the sheds, talking to each other, when one of them pointed at Sir Handel and nudged his other friends. "Look who it is! Sir Handel!"
"I'm a celebrity!" The blue engine declared.
"You hear what happened? He tried to race a steamroller! It nearly beat him! Honestly, I think he cheated! Sir Handel, I mean!"
Everyone grinned. Well, nearly everyone.
"GRRRRRRR. WHAT BLOODY CHEEK!" roared Sir Handel, sending the boys rushing off in a hurry to avoid being eaten up by the big blue monster. He never mentioned steam rollers for a long time after this.
...
"Again! Again!"
"Sorry, Mr Edward, but it'll help him drop off to sleep!"
"Not to worry madam! The little un looks like he'll be a good boy, and no mistake! Hold on, here we go!" Edward waited until all who wanted to have the ride got on him, then very slowly, he started off, making sure that the open-topped carriage didn't come to any harm He picked up a little speed as he headed out from the siding and began to roll along the loop line.
It wasn't too bad, he thought to himself. For years now, the Fat Controller had politely denied any Day Out with Thomas events being held on the island, seeing as the actual engines had a great deal more work when compared to the steam engines used on those events, who were mostly in preservation at the time. However, he had managed to convince Sir Topham to give him a few days off (mostly by pointing out that he had at least a year's worth of holiday days built up over his long time working on the Island, and that he needed a break from any and all engines) and since no one came to Crosby that much anymore, buffers crossed it would be a great deal more peaceful.
Yes, everything was fine.
Until suddenly it wasn't.
It had been quiet at first, a faint sound far off into the distance that he didn't even know was there, or if he did, he had chosen to ignore it subconsciously as being not very important in the grand scheme of things. But now, as he drew closer, he was keenly aware of it. The unmistakeable whine of a drill being fired up. And suddenly it all came rushing back to him, the coarse laughter and the wailing and the screams and the pleading for it all to stop why why didn't they stop it-
"Edward?!"
Edward jolted. He looked around in panic. Behind him, he could make out Henry and Gordon, and a group of very confused passengers. He looked around, gasping for breath, breath that he was suddenly in short supply of. He let out a wheezing laugh. "Sorry kids, think I overstretched myself! Gordon, mind giving me a push back to the station? Be a change for once, eh?" He laughed nervously, so hollow that even he could pick up on it.
Henry and Gordon looked at each other, then Gordon buffered up without a word and began to push. Those inside the carriage were chatting away and having fun, so none of them noticed anything really out of the ordinary.
And so, when the last of them had gone, and Edward headed off towards the Crosby sheds, located a mile or so away from prying eyes, he reluctantly found himself in the company of Henry and Gordon once again.
"How'd you find me?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.
"Henry's idea, really. He figured out pretty quickly that you wouldn't have gone too far, and all we had to do was start asking a couple of the kids around Knapford if they'd seen you." Gordon looked at Edward. "You know, not that Thomas didn't deserve it, but you bailing on everyone like that...not something I've seen you do."
"Well." Edward shrugged, or the engine equivalent of and moved ahead a little faster. "It gets to a point, doesn't it. A point where you have to stand up and say "No, I'm not taking your crap anymore". And I reached mine."
"Edward...we know."
"You don't know a damn thing Henry."
"We saw the way you reacted to that drill. Simple thing, really. Just them putting up some new signs. You froze like it was a gunshot...how long have you been-"
"Have you told anyone?" Edward's voice was sharper, more on edge, than the others had heard in a while. "You promised, all right? It was our little secret. No one else need know. It's not important."
"Edward, if you're suffering from this, we need to-"
"Gordon. I keep your secrets. I don't tell anyone when you get depressed, or start crying over Daisy leaving you for the seventh time in a week, or that one time you accidentally managed to compliment Thomas and you locked yourself in the shed for three days to recover. Listen to me, please." Edward sounded on the verge of tears. "We can't tell them, okay? Please, they won't understand! They'll just laugh and say "Oh that Edward!" and move on with their lives. Or worse, they'll...well, you know what'll happen. I can't imagine they'll go easily on me."
"You did nothing wrong."
"Gordon, this never leaves the three of us. Same goes for you, Henry. Please..."
A pause.
"Only if you come back and start making up with Thomas." Henry remarked at long last.
Edward let out a long, long sigh. "Fine. I'll come back tomorrow."
Henry raised a eyebrow.
"Fine. Tonight. Let me turn around."
...
That night, in the offices, Drampf was staying up rather late. He scratched at his eye, reached for a piece of cotton wool and dabbed it on his eyelid. He glanced around, and yawned. He hated this. He hated not being able to just go to bed and wake up feeling refreshed, and he hated the fact that he had to wait for so long for someone who he didn't even like that much to come to him.
At last, the door swung open, and in walked Adrian Gotch. In his hand, he had a large canister of film, protected by a great deal of bubblewrap and tape.
"You're late!"
"Been up all night, haven't I? Getting the stuff together, as it were. The camera work is a bit shoddy, but it gets the message across, and combined with the audio we've got...well, let's just say that this'll change the way they think about Edward forever. ...You wanted a tool to discredit him? This is it. I haven't even watched it, the film's that likely to be destroyed during the first viewing. But I've seen just enough to know that it's what you wanted."
"Excellent. And even with the film being destroyed, once it's seen once, every news station in the country will be taking the footage straight from Trainspotters and airing it worldwide."
Gotch shrugged, and left Drampf holding the film in his hands. The very film that Drampf knew would expose Edward the Blue Engine to the Island, and indeed to the entire world...
...as a murderer.
TO BE CONTINUED.
...
The picture mentioned in this story, BTW, is the very first illustration inside the Three Railway Engines book by Awdry. Just a heads up. I would also like to note that every engine mentioned by Gordon and Henry from their past is based on a real engine from the Railway Series (Thanks Thomas Wikia!) and I went for ones that are probably never going to appear in the TV series as a whole for reasons that will become apparent in the next chapter, as my final one before i take a small hiatus. Quick run down, Flying Thistle is from a magazine story and is being used to represent the Red Engine in Edward's Day Out/Edward and Gordon, Albert the Tank Engine is from one of the stories in Thomas and Victoria, the penultimate book from Christopher Awdry, 8783 is a engine who makes a cameo in the RWS version of Toby's Seaside Holiday, and finally, Eagle is the red engine in The Sad Story of Henry, whom Thomas wikia tells me is a seperate entity from the one in the previous stories, so I'm using the name commonly associated with that red engine in fanon to represent him. Hope that sorts things out, and if not, next chapter'll hopefully provide some reason.