Fingers crossed, this one will go a little smoother than the last episode.
CUE THE THEME.
...
The man sitting inside the office was what you'd tend to imagine the stereotypical jolly idiot politician to look like. Which made it all the more remarkable that the Fat Director was actually somewhat on edge when dealing with him.
He was, not to put a point on it, rather plump, and the suit he wore always seemed to be a size slightly bigger to compensate for that fact. He had a face that looked like a friendly uncle's, covered in laugh lines. His eyes twinkled with some hidden joke that no one had yet to uncover, and his fingers were twiddling, giving the appearance of nervousness. The suit itself was a grey one, which seemed at odds with the rest of him. The Director had always thought that he should have gone into the circus. But yet, this man was still his biggest obstacle.
That he knew about.
His name, at least the one that he gave, was Hargreaves. It was a fake one, like the Fat Director's own title. Both men had at least a hundred alias's each, all to hide their rather familiar names. If their famillies could see them now...
"So, old man, how's tricks?"
"Oh you know. Can't complain."
"Good." Silence, the Fat Director felt that Hargreaves was curious as to whether or not that was it, but when it was clear that it was, he continued "Good. Well, I'll come straight to the point then. My people, and you'll laugh when you hear this, they're wondering why the bloody hell you're still in business."
The Fat Director tried to smile innocently. It was something he struggled with, even now. "Don't know what you mean."
"Of course, I suggested that perhaps, you know, they might be talking out of their arses. Bloody liberals, these days, you know. But then they raised a very good point, which is that we've never been allowed into your compound, have we? I mean, we keep organizing inspections, but the best we get is perhaps the entire outer layer. All that tosh with the hard working steam engines and so forth." Hargreaves fumbled with a pipe. "Which is great for PR, you know, and it's a dandy figure for us to put down, but there's a new school of thought rising that perhaps you should let us into your little secrets."
"There's a rather old school of thought that's not stopped rising that it's none of their bloody business."
Hargreaves smiled, a somewhat wintery one. "That may be the case, old man, in the old days. But then there's a lot of things that, in the old days, that we don't do anymore. Police aren't allowed to off on their own with their truncheons and whack anyone about anymore. We don't try people for what they do in public restrooms any more, although considering the state of our food, perhaps we should. And the public no longer has faith in our institutions, not any more, not after Guildford and Maguire. The shadowy organization that operates in the darkness, trying to keep the demons at bay through any means necessary? That's becoming rather frowned upon. The Other Railway is living on borrowed time, unless it adapts a policy of transparency."
"Your people, you said? But it's not, is it? I know secrets that could bring men to their knees, and your people know that. They know it very well. So it's not your people at all. It's just you."
"One man can do anything, if pushed far enough."
"There, Hargreaves, we agree." The Fat Director stood up, placing his hat on his head and turned to go.
"Lovely to see you again, old man."
"Likewise. You'll not get anywhere near the railway, mind you. I'll tie you up in so much red tape that you'll be colorblind to anything else. Until the next time."
Hargreaves waited until he saw the Fat Director enter his car and begin the slow drive back to his compound, before sighing and picking up the phone.
He had a call to make. It was time to start moving into action.
...
"It worked?"
"Like a charm." Duck frowned. "Admittedly, the memory wiping process probably hasn't been fully perfected, so there's no reason why the memory blocks won't be removed as they get older. That way, it keeps the timeline intact."
Jinty sipped her ale. It was warm and bitter. As they rested besides the Endowed Mermaid, she looked out across the sea. It was a foggy and moonlit night. She had a nice enough view of the Lakeside area from here. Rheneas and Skarloey were making their nightly rounds as they did, and the massive paddleboat known as Lakesider III let out a blast on it's horn.
"Can't believe that that's OJ."
"It is." She coolly looked back. "Apparently falling the fall of Bigg City, he was left behind while the Star Fleet spread out a little more. Another of the Fat Director's experiments took away his face, his ability to move on his own, any signs that he was anything other than a normal steamer."
"You're a barrel of laughs, you are, Jinty." Duck shivered. "Anyway, I've got the Kipper run to do in a minute. I just wanted to drop by and see what was going on with you."
Jinty looked at him for a moment. She turned the idea of telling him what was going to happen tonight over in her head. No. No, he really was too close now. "Nothing much. Ask me tomorrow, and I might have a rather interesting answer for you."
Duck was taken aback. "Right...er, I'll...be on my way then."
As he puffed away, Jinty finished her ale, and joined Pug. The latter was growling as threateningly as his namesake. "You ready?"
"Ready. Good luck, Pug."
"Good luck, Jinty."
There was a moment's pause to take a deep breath...and then they moved off.
...
On this night in particular, you can hear the sound of far away ships and distant, maniacal laughter, which echoes over the hills and deep through the valleys, down calm canals and sleepy inlets. Every engine, and a few human, know that this is the sound of the workmen going on another bender.
But tonight, it was different. It was the sound of the busy work going on at the big station near the sea, Tidmouth Harbor. On this night, the calmest of the year according to most seamen, a special delivery of fish had been ordered. There had been more than usual, and as it was of vital importance that this fish was delivered as soon as possible (roll with me on this), the Fat Controller decided that extra vans should be added to the train the workmen call the Flying Deathtrap.
Sorry, wrong script. They call it the Flying Kipper.
And because Hatt was a cheap son of a gun sometimes, the only vans he could bother to buy were the old ones that were put out to pasture a long time ago. They had not been used since the days of the Second World War. This, in retrospect, was practically asking for trouble.
Of course, no one would learn until later that two engines matching Jinty and Pug's description had picked these vans out for Duck to shunt, which he did. They were coupled on to the end of Henry's train.
And oddly enough, no one bothered to put a brake-van on. Where's the campaign for that, eh, Thomas fans? As Duck puffed back, planning to make his way to Wellsworth to get a quick pint in before his proper job started, he saw Thomas passing by with the mail train. The blue tank engine looked weary, but cheerful. The campaign was drawing to a close, and so the infamous 'bicycle' speech would be done with soon enough.
"Hello Duck. Going fishing!?" Thomas chuckled at his rather unfunny joke. "I'd take care of you! Duck's may be fond of water, but-"
"Why?!" snapped Duck, who was in a rather tense mood considering the job ahead of him, and the little jibe at his name was, in his opinion uncalled for.
"Well, if you must know, Mr Huffy Pants-" Thomas growled right back, drawing on personal experience. "-for one thing, fish get into your boiler, you're going to feel sick as a horse for a few days. Trust me, that happened one time, and I was constantly rushing for fresh coal every hour or so to make sure that I still kept what passed for my stomach. And for another, they are awfully smelly! The other engines kept making fish and chip jokes for weeks afterwards! But, since you're in a shit mood tonight, I'll be on my way doing actual important work! Goodnight!"
And with that, Thomas steamed away. Duck felt bad, but he shrugged it off. He had work to be doing.
...
"Mr Boomer, glad to see you."
"You took your sweet ass time getting to me!" Boomer looked angry, his mouth locked in a rather nasty combination of a scowl and a sneer (A sceer, if you will) and his calloused hands clasped together anxiously.
"That is because I have had excellent news!" Marklin practically beamed. "The time anomalies have started up again!"
"What?!" P.T sat upright. "Son of a bitch!"
"Indeed." Marklin looked excited, more excited than he had in years. "And I saw something! I saw us winning, Boomer! We win!"
Boomer suddenly grinned. It was maniacal. "Well then, my news almost seems to pale in contrast!"
"What news is that?"
"Ah, well, it has to do with Lady. I've worked out that perhaps we're not doing it correctly. We've been spending all this time and money canvassing the places where we're sure that Old Ones visited in the hope that we'll find her. What we haven't done is looked for where her driver has visited. I've just bought myself a brand new house down in this hick town, er, Shining Time Station. The people here are ungodly cheerful, but it's probably the best place to start looking."
"Good on you." Marklin's smile dropped. "How is the Fat Director?"
"Well, so far, he has yet to feed any more of his employees to the Fakers. So that must mean he's on the up and up. He's been spending a lot of time away from the Other Railway lately, I'm beginning to think the government's putting pressure on him. So Zero's in charge for the moment. The time anomalies mean that we can begin moving things along a great deal more, doesn't it?"
"Oh yes." Marklin grinned. "Definitely. I'll be leaving here soon enough. Davidson's got all he needs to take care of things on the Island. Drampf won't be a problem anymore."
"What a shock, you're betraying him."
"I know." Marklin chuckled nastily. "I'm terrible."
...
Henry grunted dreadfully. Not in that kind of way, let me assure you, but in a way that indicated great strain and stress as he waited for the couplings to be checked, all boxes loaded onboard and all the little details that bugged him.
"Almost done, chum." remarked his driver. "Grin and bear it. It's a shorter run tonight. At least the extra load gives you another engine to help you up Gordon's Hill and take any of the stress that this might cause."
"Small comfort." growled Henry. He didn't want to be doing this. He still had knightmares about the last bloody Kipper run.
Eventually, the guard waved his flag, blew his whistle and panicked because he realized that there was no brake-van to climb aboard.
"At last!" growled Henry as he puffed away.
...
"So I said to the tailor, I said-"
"Duck, fascinating as this is, don't you have a job to do so I can please go back to sleep?" whined Edward, who looked as though he was about to drop dead from sheer exhaustion. The ticking noise that seemed to follow him everywhere was driving him up the wall.
"Fair enough." Duck was at Edward's station waiting for the Kipper to come around. He was the back engine for the night, since Edward had thrown a hissy fit and argued about why it was that he was always the one who had to buffer up behind and do the dirty work while the big engines sat up front grinning madly. So Duck was going to help Henry by pushing the heavy train from behind. His lamp was attached, and he was checked a final time.
The workmen, who had been hired by someone matching Pug's description for the special purpose, grabbed the tail-lamp and waited for Henry to arrive, which he did with much grumble and bustle. He had been making good progress as he rushed along Bluff's Cove, thankfully devoid of any time portal, and drew into the platform in good time.
His driver stopped the train beyond the platform, and opened up the water tower to give Henry a quick top off before he headed off. Henry gave a special signal, which was to bellow aloud his demands. It was a Gordon style warning.
"Peep peep! I need help, please! Move your arse!"
"Peep, peep! I shan't be long! Get a grip!"
Duck buffered gently up to the van, and was not yet coupled on. This way, when he was finished giving assistance, both engines could roll down their respective sides of the hill and finish the job. Henry would have a nice clear run back down to his final destination. The workman hurried forward, checked the tail-lamp and covertly swapped it, before stepping back and letting the train set off once more.
...
At the quarry, Jinty and Pug waited outside. Their black paint meant that it was almost impossible for them to be spotted by any guards that may be watching. There was a faint hum as Davidson rattled around, muttering darkly to himself. And in the siding, stood the Stunt Double. He had been mute and unmoving since droppng off the Fat Director to the meeting at the quarry. For whatever reason that was.
They had a decent enough view of the hill. All they needed to do now was wait.
...
Both of the engines had approached Gordon's Hill in good time. It was a beautiful night, and the moon shining down gave Henry a confidence that he hadn't been feeling before. "Push hard, push hard!"
"We're doing it, we're doing it!" called Duck.
From the hill, the tail lamp could be seen by those who were keen of eye. Henry was pulling the train harder than he realized, and had thus pulled a little ahead of Duck as he did so.
Duck felt the weight of his buffers slacken. Henry's either lost weight, he thought, or something's happened.
And then, with a sudden crack, the lamp vanished from Duck's line of sight. The keen of eye would (and did) notice that, and instantly, Jinty and Pug moved ahead. But Duck was instantly panicked beyond capable thought. The moon may have been shining but it wasn't on he, and it was becoming harder and harder to see. "I can't see a thing!" he shouted to his driver and Henry, but only the former heard him. He whistled, but again, there was no reply.
Henry was having problems too. "My train's getting heavier." he remarked, a side-effect from reaching the steeper part of the hill. "I'm slowing down! Duck, what are you doing back there-"
"Hang about, I think we're almost-"
There was a rather nasty crunching sound as Duck smashed through van after van. Henry braked to a sudden stop, and proceeded to shut his eyes tightly and repeat in a madness mantra "Not again, not again, not again, not again-"
No one was hurt, but a strong smell of fish hung in the air.
Duck had been in many tight spots over the years. This was probably the most unpleasant. And that was saying something. He tried not to inhale, else a kipper would go right up his nose.
...
The quarry was in chaos. If anyone had looked out that night, they would have seen fireworks going off. Literally.
Jinty had rolled straight in and smashed through a long line of trucks. Workmen scattered and ran for their lives like Linford Christie as the Flash. But they didn't get far. Pug growled at them, his crew rushing off and smacking them around like they were putting down a nasty riot.
But there was no sign of Class 40 or Marklin. They had caught a brief sign of Davidson, scuttling off down one of the tunnels, and Jinty had given chase. She had rushed through the dark and dingy place and came out on the other side to find...
Nothing.
It was a labyrinth of tunnels and various different holes in the ground. He could have gone down any one of them. He had lost them. But the important thing was that they had made a statement of sorts. We're onto you.
As the crew dragged the workmen off to be interrogated in an old coach, Pug shifted up and pulled the Stunt Double out viciously. "All right, mate, you're about to start talking!"
The stunt double gazed at him with deadened eyes. There was nothing there.
Nothing that is...except for a second later, where he suddenly let out a rattling gasp and shook from buffer to funnel in...something or other. Fear? Shock? Whatever it was, it was rather disconcerting.
And then suddenly he stared at Pug with actual emotion.
"Who...who are you? Where am I? Where am I?"
"Do you recall your name?" Jinty asked.
"Yeah, it's...it's, er...Hugh. Ivo Hugh. Why?" Ivo Hugh looked at them in genuine terror. "Where am I?! Please!"
...
The following day, the breakdown train was still clearing up the mess. At the bottom of the hill, two workmen found the remains of a broken tail-lamp lying in the ditch. They kicked it, just for good measure.
Henry had been taken away to have some intense counselling over yet another Kippastrophe, as the media was now calling it, and Duck was left to stare miserably at all the sodding fish. The Fat Controller looked at the lamp and tutted. He spoke kindly to Duck.
"The accident wasn't your fault, we should have checked that this tail-lamp was fixed on properly. We should really have gotten some vans that don't crumple at the first bash. We'll get you fixed up in no time, don't worry."
"Thanks sir." said Duck wearily. "Thomas told me to be careful about fish. They put me in a right pickle now, didn't they?"
"It's a, heh, fishy situation and no mistake."
"...Really?"
"Too soon?"
"You think?!"