Before we begin, a quick note. Thanks very much so to the good Mr genericuser22, Thomas Abridged now has a TV Tropes page. Anyone who wants to, feel free to add tropes there if you want, or just look it over. By the way, there is a reference in this to Percy, James and the Fruitful Day. Henry's secret, as it was, is related to that. So, go back and read if you don't get it.
Cue the theme!
...
"We've got good news, Thomas."
"Drampf's called it a day?"
"Lower your expectations a bit, Thomas, Drampf's not the type to abandon his leaky, rusty, foul smelling ship, even if it is going faster and faster into a very nasty whirlpool." Edward looked back at the various papers resting neatly on his bufferbeam. "No, but I've got the next best thing-"
"Some very pretty young coaches?"
"Thomas, if you don't stop, I will punch you. And anyway, trains can't have...that sort of thing. No matter how many people suggested that 'biffing' is some sort of bizarre sex act that you can find in the Kama Sutra
"A engine can dream!"
"And sometimes, I think that's all you do. No, the news is that in the polls, you are officially ahead for the first time! Bedella's not too far behind, but both of you are miles ahead of Drampf! Oh, and then there's the drunken sailor party that's just sort of...there. I guess."
Thomas grinned. "Must have been that awesome speech I gave last night!"
Edward smiled to himself "It was rather good, I think. I'm actually impressed that I only had to come up with a quarter of the stuff, you just kept on going making good point after good point!"
"It was a pity-" James slyly remarked "-that you ended up putting the audience to sleep around about the two hour mark, and they didn't get to see the next two hours of that speech."
"Well!" said Thomas, defensively "-I think that it, er, shows determination! And grit! And that I am taking the race seriously, and that-"
"That you love the sound of your own voice?" asked Toby, quietly.
"Well I thought it was great...the bits I could stay awake for, anyway" Stepney was enjoying his visit immensely, not least because it was rather amusing to watch the Infamous Eight Engines bickering amongst themselves. "Almost a shame that I'll be leaving soon enough, I'd love to see how this election goes. It's more interesting than whatever the hell they're doing back on the Bluebell Railway."
"I assume that's why we're here" remarked Duck to no one in particular "I mean, so that Fat Hatt can say some nice things about Stepney and then give us any special announcements."
"He does this often, your controller?"
"Not much, no," Henry said, dourly, still thinking of the threat Drampf had made to leak something that would destroy Thomas's campaign completely "Sometimes he does it, you know, every two months or so, to get us up to- Oh, here he comes!"
Sir Topham struggled out of his car, and limped over. He had rather badly strained his left leg the other night, after a brief attempt at, ahem, canoodling with Lady Hatt had gone terribly wrong. I won't give specifics, but it involved a episode of the Herbs, a watering can and several jammy dodgers. "We shall miss you." he said to Stepney, before skipping that conversation and turning to the other engines. "Since Daisy has apparently refused to come back to the railway unless she gets her own private masseuse to clean her wheels every hour-"
"Amen to that sister!" James said with great glee.
"-we've got a problem. My railway is very busy, and I am pleased with all...with most of you-" He glared at Gordon here, who looked innocently around "-but you need some help. All the help. So much help that it hurts. A diesel is all that is avaliable." The Fat Controller rolled his eyes as several of the engines sharply breathed in. "Now, do your best to avoid any...um...disturbances."
"What does that mean?" asked Duck as Hatt left. He had to play dumb so as not to give away the fact that he knew already.
"That means that this engine will be difficult!" hissed James.
"Racist" muttered BoCo.
...
Unfortunately, for once in his life, James was right, and the diesel was, to put it bluntly, difficult. In next hour or so, most of the engines that were staying at Tidmouth were resting, along with the Scottish Twins and Stepney, and were thus there to meet...well, he didn't offer a name, and no one bothered asking him.
He surveyed the shed, and then the engines in it, with a cool and calculatiing glance "Not bad," he remarked, his voice somewhat nasal "At least you're all clean. For your kind, I suppose."
If one was to measure these kind of things, the diesel were already on about a six or seven on the 'James' scale of hatred. The engines offered glares that would have caused lesser diesels to self-combust almost instantly.
"It's not your fault of course-" Class 40 continued "-but your controller should really scrap you. They have to fiddle around with you for ages and ages, and make your passengers wait. But with me, it's just a touch of oil, a touch on the starter and I'm off, no problems. No bother. I mean, they have to fuss around for hours with you until you're ready. And even then that doesn't work."
It should go without saying that the 'James' scale was now completely broken in two, as the engines were more furious than they'd been about nearly anything in their time here, apart from that one time someone insisted that they watch Joe 90 marathons endlessly. This was a very close second, however. James was quite possibly the reddest he'd ever been. The Scottish Twins were immediately picturing just how one could disembowel such a diesel without drawing too much attention to themselves.
As for Duck, he was beginning to feel less and less bad about using the Bowler Hat method.
Stepney, on the other hand, was very carefully looking at Class 40. He had seen him somewhere before, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where.
The next morning, the engines gathered together and did what they did best: Held a meeting to bit-I mean, a Indignation meeting round the turntable. Duck had deliberately put himself on the turntable, as he enjoying spinning himself around.
It was just something Duck did from time to time.
"Disgraceful!"
"Disgusting!"
"Despicable!"
And if you don't know who said that by this time, then you need to freshen up on your Thomas history. The three big engines briefly dropped their anger to grin at each other. Eight years on, and they still had the knack of saying it at exactly the right time.
"Well, if you're not going to contribute anything else, and you're just going to keep on trying to make that a meme, then how about we get on with actually working out a way of getting rid of that prat?" suggested Thomas, acidic tones making it very clear that he would have preferred to be asleep at that point.
"Ta say such things to us!" cried Donald and Douglas
"Neat trick, that talking in unison thing." remarked Stepney
"It's ta teach him a wee lesson is what we'd be wanting, now how are we gonna do it?"
No one had any idea. At least, ideas that wouldn't get them thrown in jail or barred from the Sidings. And so, they eventually realized that they had actual work to do, and so headed off to get back to work. Duck and Stepney were the last to leave.
"Well, I'm sure we'll think of something." Duck said, innocently.
Stepney knew that Duck had something up his sleeve, so to speak, and so only warned "Well, you'd best get a move on then...I mean, to think of something."
Their chance came sooner than expected.
...
The Bowler Hat trick, as Duck referred to it, was quite simple. It was a way not only of getting the enemy out of your own way, but it also served as the occasional bit of morale boosting for any steam engines that were around.
Class 40, as he seemed to be called, was resting in the yard, looking on with smug contempt at the steam engines bustling about. Stepney was in the corner shunting trucks, and trying very hard to place where Class 40 had been seen before today. The diesel was purring comfortably in the hot sun, as a fitter began making final adjustments.
An inspector had called, and had asked to see the new engine. This was very odd indeed, for no scheduled inspection could be found in any of the logbooks late that afternoon. What was overlooked, in the eagerness of the yard manager to give a good account for himself, was what had happened to Duck's fireman, who was the same height, size and pretty much everything as the inspector.
The fitter replaced the air intake cover and wiped his brow "Bloody hell, felt like hell's nadgers down there!" He glanced to the driver "All right mate, take him out!"
The Diesel noted several of the coaches that were waiting for him at Tidmouth station. "Oh finally" he purred "Look at me, Goose and, er, Shadnell, was it? Now I'll show you something."
it may have been a hot day, but the wind was picking up. This made what was about to happen next all the easier. The Inspector even appeared to blow a slide whistle to make the fact that his hat had blown off even more obvious.
The diesel started off towards the coaches, the completely deadpan Duck and the rather annoyed Stepney watching. There was a wrenching sound, like something jamming in the gears of a great clock. And then it happened. Class 40 advanced three yards in all, then coughed, faltered, choked, made a face that looked as though he was having bowel trouble and then came to a undignified stop.
"Well-" said Duck, struggling valiantly to stop laughing "-that was certainly something."
Class 40 growled, and then gave the most panicked expression he'd ever made, as the prompt realization of what was in his intake became apparent. The 'inspector' was still searching for his hat, doing a great pantomime as he did so. The diesel seethed with uncontrollable fury as Duck and Stepney shoved him back into the shed. The Fat Controller and the 'inspector' stared at the air pipe. The fitter turned a deep shade of red as they watched the Inspector's hat vanish up into the gears.
"My HAT!" cried the 'inspector', delivering a Shatneresque performance at the sight of it.
"Oh blow your hat!" said the Fat Controller crossly, and suspiciously "You're not one of our usual's, are you?" Duck coughed, and Hatt turned his attention back to the problem "The heavy train is due out in ten minutes! Duck, you're going to have to take it!"
"Can I help, sir?" Stepney asked, trying to sound innocent, but in reality, very much wanting to get Duck on his own. The Fat Controller was very pleased, and hurried away to make arrangements. And maybe have a chat with the cafe about supplying him a few extra buns or so. The engines carefully backed up together, and their drivers threw down sand so as to give them proper grip. Before they set off, the Fat Controller gave them a few last words.
"Listen, all you have to do is take the train to the halfway point at Crovan's Gate. The passengers'll get out there, and take Gordon's train back to wherever it is they need to go. Get the train there in one piece, try not to break any records or bones, good luck all!"
"We'll get there!" Duck grinned.
"And early, too!" agreed Stepney. The two of them waited, eagerly, until at last, the whistle blew, the last door banged, the guard showed his green flag and they were off! The cavalcade started slow, but soon as they reached the open line, they picked up speed like no one's business. "Now for a sprint!"
"Ready when you are!" Duck's smile was almost maniac as they began to go faster and faster, their wheels flying so fast that the side rods were blurs and sparks seemed to fly out of them.
They flew through Edward's station, the engine himself whistling them on. As they charged in the general direction of Gordon's Hill and beyond, Duck tried to see what Stepney's expression was. "All right, we're alone."
"So we are."
"What do you know? About time here? What do you mean that Truro and Scotsman-"
"Let's just make sure we understand each other here. Am I correct in that you're searching for Lady? The lost engine of legend?"
Duck paused. "Yes." it felt good to say it out loud. "I am looking for her. Haven't found her yet."
"You won't. Trust me, if she was hiding anywhere, it wouldn't be where she was...for lack of a better word, born."
"No, now it's your turn to talk."
Stepney concentrated as he puffed around the bend. "Very well. i suppose you know that old story is true. They took some liberties with the details, but for the most part, a lot happened that the mythmakers got right. One thing that research into the myth has allowed me to realize is the nature of magic. It's powerful. Very powerful." He began attacking the hill with everything he had, puffing out short bursts of the next sentence "Now, imagine for a...for a moment that you have all this power, like Lady does. All this- Bloody hell, this hill is big- all this raw and dangerous power. And as you grow older, you refine it, you learn how to multiply it, to the point where it grows worse and worse in what damage it can do."
"Right. You're also correct in that this hill is ridiculous." They felt the drag of their coaches weighing them down, and it was a great deal of hard work. But at last, the top was in sight. The last ten miles or so was plain sailing. "So, what, she was able to stop time?"
"Yes. Partly. As I'm sure you are aware, she was a being of amazing power. She poured as much of her magic as she could into the Island itself. Everyone on this island has a portion of her magic. And that's affected them, too. They don't age, or at least, not as fast as every other normal human. Modern technology, anything that's older than the day she vanished, doesn't work properly, with a few exceptions. Only thing that isn't affected are the trains and rolling stock. Her legacy."
"I...won't pretend that makes any real sense-"
"Good, because it doesn't, whoever comes up with this stuff is stupid."
"But what about Truro and Scotsman?"
"...You ask them. Ask them what they really want. And then ask yourself...do YOU want what they want?"
They were silent as they coasted into the big station. Thomas, James, Percy and the Narrow Gauge engines whistled to them, as Bertie the bus took off from the car park across the bridge. James shouted something to Stepney, as Gordon puffed forward with a huge grin on his face.
"You're early! One in the headlamp for that old silly bastard, isn't it?"
"James says that he's sick as boiler sludge and sulking in the shed!"
"Well, that'll serve him right! Out of date are we? Ha!" And so saying, Gordon pulled out of the station, chortling to himself.
He ran back a moment later when he realized that he had forgotten the passengers.
...
Jinty and Pug sat near Crovan's Gate and watched and waited. This was the day Stepney was going home. The Fat Controller and the Bluebell Manager had made speeches thanking each other, and as many engines as could be expected had arrived to send him on his way.
"Come back and see us soon!" said the engines.
"And bring gifts, next time!" shouted James above the rest.
"And you are all welcome on my railway!" Stepney said, grinning. And then he started off, and soon he was out of sight of all gathered there.
"I'm going to miss him." remarked Edward to James.
"I suppose. Bit of fresh air." James sighed. He looked over to Henry, who looked horrified. "What's wrong, big guy?"
"James, Drampf's just..."
James puffed over to join Gordon at looking at the front page of the newspaper.
"What's he done?" Edward sounded sharper now.
On the front page was a picture. It was a picture of Henry getting rather friendly with a male engine. And below it, read the sub-title: THINK OF THE CHILDREN, SECRET SEXUALITY OF TOP CABINET MEMBER.
"Oh please!" scoffed Gordon. "It's 1994. What's the worst that can happen?" He gazed into the distance. "Uh, are those...pitchforks?"
Everyone paused, and began to move sharply away.
...
Jinty and Pug rushed to the Vicarstown Bridge, followed rapidly by a panicking Duck. "You don't need to do this!" he shouted, but they paid little attention to him. They reached the bridge, with no engine in sight. Jinty went up to the man on duty. "Did you see a well spoken engine, a goldenrod one?"
"No. I did see a cockney engine with that color though! Told me to leave this for someone called 'Duck'? I think."
The letter was a short one, it simply read:
Sugar and spice try, ya Hoppin' Pot. better Donald Duck next nickle and dime. catch ya 'round!
"The hell does that mean?"
"I think-" said Jinty quietly "-he is jokingly saying 'Nice try, you lot. Better luck next time, catch you round'. He's gotten away. Pity. We would have had a good chat, I believe."
Duck grinned despite himself.
...
What of the diesel, though? He left too, but with no one to even whistle after him, or care that he was gone. He left two things without saying goodbye to no one: A rather nasty smell of bad manners, and a rather battered bowler hat that rested on a barrel of diesel oil.
As he reached the bridge, and crossed over it, he shuddered for a moment, buckled...and then gazed up into the furious eyes of Marklin.
"Why, oh why, did I pick YOU of all diesels to possess?! Why couldn't I have got someone with a little charisma!? Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. Let's head home, D6. Tomorrow is another day.