CUE THE THEME.
...
"Who is Ivo Hugh?"
St Eustace puffed on a pipe, which made a difference from what engines usually puffed. He had the look of an engine who was deeply contemplating many, many things, and only when he had decided you were worthy enough would he tell you what those things are. "I have had my contacts do a little research. Interesting fellow, by all accounts. Apparently he was one of the lesser known Mid-Sodor Railway engines. Helped about a bit, you know. Anyway, once the mines started to close down, he was transferred off to a number of various other railways, like the Talyllyn, until eventually our fat friend got his hands on him. He tortured him, stripped his body down to look more like Rheneas, managed to use our method of brain washing on him and then sent him off to be his spy in the Island's camp."
Jinty stared. "And you know this...how?"
"I pulled his history. And made a few guesses, I'm not going to lie." St Eustace looked grim. "How is he?"
"Not good. Well, mentally. Physically he's fine, there's no sign of any damage, I managed to stop Pug going on a rampage and doing something that we'd regret."
"That boy is a loose cannon waiting to go off, Jinty. You pick some odd engines to give loyalty to." Eustace waited for a moment, let the silence descend like a shroud before continuing. "Now, Montague-"
"Sir, don't get me started." Jinty sighed. "He's...gotten too close."
"You sound surprised. It was in the briefing. To be expected, really, I mean we have abandoned him for so long with only minor updates on what's going on. If he hadn't, that would have been cause for concern."
"He's angry at me. At us. For the stunts we pulled the other night."
St Eustace was well aware of that stunt. It had been quite complicated really. Several of the drivers and fireman that were in their employ had been dragged off of their day off, to head to Sodor and make a few adjustments. That had been the real reason why there was no brake-van that night, and the creation and destruction of the far brighter tail-lamp to act as a signal. It hadn't given them much. A few arrests of really, really low level criminals, a steam engine who couldn't be prosecuted for anything given that his mind had been irreperably damaged and a renegade electric engine on the lose.
"He's saying that we don't have anything for show for an accident that could have killed innocent people. He's more angry that we risked the life of the Number 3 engine than his own damage. Pug said some things, there was a fight, and now we're not on speaking terms."
"He's not wrong, you know."
"But...but you were the one who-"
"Oh don't worry. I'll take the fall, little Jinty. But that was a complete cock-up, really." Eustace growled. "We're not closer to finding out what the ultimate plan of Davidson's is, we can't arrest Drampf as of yet, we're making the locals suspicious, and worse of all, the one link we do have has been severed."
"What?"
"From what I can gather, the Fat Director went overboard on the brainwashing part. He wiped everything from Ivo Hugh's mind aside from his name and his purpose as the Stunt Double, perhaps to have a convenient patsy to fall back on. And then Marklin severed his control over him, and now we have absolutely nothing to go on."
There was silence for a good long while. No one was quite sure what the next move was. Jinty watched as a large parade began to move away from the edge of Vicarstown and towards Bluff's Cove.
Perhaps things would have gone a lot smoother had she noticed that, intermingled with said parade and giving rides to children, was a very, very angry Davidson.
...
Toby the Tram Engine was in a really good mood that morning. Of course, he didn't advertise this fact, for he was aware that speaking aloud was inviting the wrath of the gods down, and more than likely would end up with him floating out to sea to be used as a place for seagulls to do their business. But he was happy. He had recieved a present for his birthday, or whatever was close enough to it, in the form of a bright new bell that shone like gold.
It was very tempting to start ringing it at every person he saw, but he had had complaints about that, and he didn't want to get arrested on such a nice looking day.
And anyway, he was off to the seaside. Not to build sandcastles or have a paddle, though there were some nights where he did entertain such thoughts. No, he had no earthly idea what this was about, and he tried to listen to his driver's explanation as they passed through Elsbridge. Tried being the word here, as this driver was sometimes very long winded early in the morning.
"There's a Seaside Village near here-"
"What's it called?"
"Er...Pentref-glan-Môr."
"...That's just Welsh for 'seaside village' isn't it?"
"They were very uncreative were the townsfolk. Every year, they hold this big and massive parade thing with a special attraction for all the visitors. I'm pretty sure that Trevor played the part last year. He, er, enjoyed it."
"You don't sound too sure of that."
"Oh he definitely enjoyed it! He said he'd never seen anything like it!" The driver didn't tell Toby that Trevor had mentioned this after ten drinks and had proceeded to rant at great length of the complete lack of gratitude from the villagers. But a bit of extra cash was a bit of extra cash no matter how you spun it, and he needed cash fast.
A few lies to the missus about how much he actually had in the bank account that they shared and she had somehow had the nerve to put down money they didn't have for a bloody pool. So, anything went.
He continued onwards as they rattled over Gordon's Hill. "And this year, Toby, because I put in a good word for you and the Fat Controller thinks it'll do you good, you get to be the special attraction!"
"Thank you sir." said Toby, warily. "But what does a, er, special attraction do? Exactly? I mean, I'm pretty sure that this is a job that suits James much better."
"Oh, he just smiles and blows whistles at everyone, as you do."
"Definitely more of a job for James then-"
"LISTEN TOBY!" said his driver, loudly. "We must be almost there! You can hear the seagulls!"
"Aye, and smell them too."
"Shut up, you're only a fireman, what do you know?"
As Toby approached the station (and stared in complete bafflement at the palm trees that seemed to grow near it) he noticed that instead of a big welcome, there was just one man.
"Ah, see, they were expecting James."
The driver hopped off, chatted to the man and snarled, while the man himself sadly turned away before he could get his throat ripped out. "Well if that doesn't take the bloody biscuit?!" snapped his driver.
"Who'd want to take a bloody biscuit? Sounds disgusting."
"That arse masquerading in human form was one of the townies in charge! They've run out of room in the parade and they don't need a special attraction after all! Some trumped up nonsense about a new fangled stream-lined engine or some stupid stuff like that! We've got to go home, Toby! Sorry old boy!"
"So am I." said Toby, sadly. Or at least, he pretended to be sad. He hadn't really gotten that invested in the idea, and he was rather of the impression that his driver was the one who was going to harp on about this for years to come.
...
As Toby arrived back at Elsbridge, he met Percy who had just finished shunting around another load of trucks. His was a charmed life full of excitement. He was greatly surprised to see Toby again. He had been prepared to not see the tram until tonight, where they were going to run through the final draft of Thomas's final big speech before voting started.
"Toby!? What are you doing back so soon?!"
"I lost a contact here."
"Hysterical."
But before Toby could tell him what was really going on, the Fat Controller waddled up, looking officious as per usual. Percy rolled his eyes, hiding it as best as he could. "Leave these trucks, Percy! There's an emergency at the harbor and we need you there ASAP!"
"My name isn't Asap, it's Percy! And if there's an emergency, wouldn't you rather have a fire engine or the police or-"
"Oh for f**ks sake, Percy, come on! It's Bulstrode, he's acting up again." snapped Carlin. He had had to come to work on a bicycle today. It had been rough and bumpy and painful, and had only solidifed the hatred that Carlin felt towards two wheels transport. Therefore, he was particularly angry today.
"Who and or what is a Bulstrode?" Percy wondered. He was still in surprise about Toby turning up, and now he had two puzzles. As much as you can call the former a 'puzzle', really.
"Bulstrode's a disagreeable old barge, and don't make any smart comments about taking one to know one, thank you very much. He never stops complaining, whining or bitching, and thus is kept at the harbor solely because no one else wants to deal with him or his crap for longer than is necessary."
...
He wasn't wrong. Bulstrode was in an especially foul mood on this particular day. The heat had begun to get to him, and the rusting old tramp steamer (A distant relation of someone called Izzy Gomez, and looked it too, minus the offensive stereotype) was beginning to smell.
"Come on! Come on!" he snapped to the trucks. "Why aren't you where you should be?! This is MUTINY! That's what it is! Disgusting!" And he continued in this vein for a further three minutes before the trucks could get a word in edge-ways, which was somewhat impressive.
"There's no engine, so we can't go! We can only go where we are put! So, if you think about it, you are in the wrong place, you great silly bastard!"
Bulstrode growled impotently. Aside from a steamroller, being a barge was probably the worst thing to be brought to life.
"Well 'e's cross." muttered Fred Pelhay, the orange truck. The other three agreed. "But Bulstrode's always been a bit of a nag, 'asn't 'e?"
"A frightful one." agreed U.L.P, the pink box van. "But what can you do about it?"
"A great deal." creaked the one who had taken up the title of the Spiteful Brake-van. "If you know how."
"How, boss?" gabbled Rickety, the blue truck who was rather quick of tongue and short of actual intelligence. The Brakevan gave an odd little noise that sounded half like laughter, and whispered their plan to the three. It was a good plan. A very good plan, as a matter of fact.
And it was lucky that at that moment, Percy rolled up. The word was passed amongst the trucks rather quickly, or rather, part of the word. It was best, thought the Big Four, that the 'front line' trucks, for lack of a better term, knew little to give away the endgame to the engines. So all they merely said to Percy was:
"Our stone is for Bulstrode..."
"Any reason for that big, confusing pause there, mate?" said Percy, as the lead truck appeared to be processing how to think.
"Please! Put us in a siding where he can get said stone and be done, we're sick and tired of having to deal with him!"
"Don't have to tell me twice, I want to get off home. There's a repeat of Colombo on tonight, looks great!" And so Percy buffered up to a rather long train of trucks. All so far was going according to plan for him.
But what Percy didn't know was that another message had been passed along, this time directing the trucks to turn onto a siding for a bit of fun. And what the trucks didn't know was that the Spiteful Brakevan had picked THIS siding in particular because it was faulty. They were being careless as well, which was what the Big Four had intended.
As Percy shunted them, they broke through the nearest set of buffers before they realized what was happening. Carlin had jumped clear the second that he had realized Percy had been unable to stop, and therefore was now watching helpless as Percy prattled on off the rails for a good thirty seconds.
"OO-ER!"
"I DON'T LIKE THIS!"
"HELP! HELP!"
"What's going on up there!? You sons of a-" Bulstrode looked up and saw the trucks moving at a speed which indicated that they weren't going to be stopping at any time soon. His face promptly drained of what little color there was and his mouth flopped open.
Percy, meanwhile, had jammed his eyes so tightly shut that they'd need a crowbar to pry them open. He knew this was the end.
One truck fell.
"OW!"
Followed by another.
"OW!"
Followed by a third.
"OW!"
And a fourth.
There was a pause...and then the last truck toppled over slowly.
"OW!"
Percy slowly, very slowly, opened his eyes up. He looked down, and then wished he hadn't. It looked a little bit dizzying from up here, and watching Bulstrode bubble repeatedly with both pain and rage was somewhat weird to behold. Not least because the trucks were all moaning in agony and were repeatedly asking "OH GOD, WHY WAS THIS A GOOD IDEA? GOD, THERE GO MY INTERNAL ORGANS."
The fireman, who was responsible for Percy coming to a rather sharp stop, let go of the brake-lever, made sure Percy was all right, and then walked back over to Carlin. The driver looked somewhat sheepish. "Now, now listen to me-"
It was an impressive right hook. If Percy was brutally honest, it was even better than the one that had occurred followed Sir Handel and George's race, which had been memorialized as a photograph replacing that of Duke's in the engine shed.
"We're done here." The fireman informed Carlin, and walked off in search of a telephone.
"OUCH!" wailed Bulstrode. "I'm sinking!"
"Shut up." muttered Percy, He had a headache.
"Serves you right!" giggled Rickety. "You were always barging in where you weren't wanted!"
"Ohhhhhh that's not funny." groaned Percy. It took a very long time for them to clear away the mess, and most of the trucks, who were now sans wheels, were not making it very much easier. Bulstrode, however, had stayed remarkably quiet throughout the entire exchange. Percy watched as he was towed away towards the beach. The little green engine sighed. It had been a long day.
On the beach, angry workmen surrounded the barge and groused at it endlessly. Bulstrode felt as though this was what it meant to get a taste of your own medicine, and it tasted foul.
At last, the head foreman remarked "There you are, then! You're going to be staying here for a while, so I hope you like the bloody view! Children can play in you at all times, and at long last, perhaps there'll be a really useful spark in your body! I doubt it, mind!"
Bulstrode sighed. "Ah well. Today can't get any worse."
Then he spotted a rather antsy bunch of seagulls, who settled on his body. He groaned, and waited for the inevitable.
...
When Percy got home, after a long and thorough interview with the dockside foreman and after several expletive filled rants at Carlin, who was rather subdued after the fireman had told him point-blank to his face that they were done, he and Toby chattered away as they rested at Elsbridge.
"Rough time of it, old chum." said Toby fondly.
"Our drivers have both been through the mill, haven't they?"
"Mine's going between elated and devestated at the moment. It's rather painful to watch. But in his happier moments, when he isn't trying to move to Luxemborg, he told me that me and you, we're both special attractions really. Every time we go on our own lines."
"How's he figure that out?"
"Well, apparently, all we do is smile and blow whistles."
Both engines considered this for a moment.
"He's talking balls."
"He is that. Still, I agreed just to get him to shut up for a bit. Fancy a quick run to Tidmouth. I want to get front row seats to Thomas's speech reading."
"Why not? Exactly half an hour, did he say?"
"Oh yeah. That should be rich."
...
Davidson was angry.
So. Bloody. Angry.
It wasn't enough that he had to endure the agony of being alone for almost forty odd years. It wasn't enough that he have a spineless wimp for a driver, who was turning out to be making a right dog's breakfast of politics. It wasn't enough that when he had finally gotten something resembling a plan underway, he had been saddled with a bunch of turncoats and traitors. It wasn't even enough that they had abandoned him, left him alone with Drampf on this god-forsaken island.
No, what really made him steaming mad was the fact that he had had to spend all bloody day hiding in a goddamn carnival just to get a fix of the electricity.
Oh well. Couldn't grumble. At the very least, he had more than enough now. It had gone on for too long. It was time to end things. Permanently.
Drampf was nervous. "So, what's the plan?"
"I have told you the bloody plan, you bloody nuisance." Davidson stopped, and took a deep breath. "Fine. Here's the plan. Everyone gathers at Callan. They start making their ridiculous speeches, right? Now, at this point, a representative has said that you are late on your way there because of a traffic accident. You'll be nice and far away from anything dangerous. Then, while I am hidden away in a safe location, I activate the bomb inside Number 2's tender. Then you get the Mayorship, we get any agents off our back, I get to be free and bob's your uncle, they'll feel sorry for messing with us. Got it?!"
"All right, no need to shout."
"Right, now get ready!"
Drampf scampered away. Davidson grinned, unhinged.
There was no possible way this could fail.
...
"There is every possible way that this can fail!"
"Thomas, breathe."
"YOU BREATHE!"
"Yes I do, thank you for mentioning it."
"See, do you like the new song, Toby?" Percy grinned at the look of happiness on Toby's face. "See, it was meant to be a surprise after the election, but considering the day you had-"
"It's perfect! Wish they'd have given it a jazzier title than just 'Toby' though."
"Will you just FOCUS!?"
And so Thomas began to speak again. Everyone listened and gave advice, and passed comment, and overall spent the night working together, which was a miracle at this point.
It was almost over, anyway.
It was time for the big day.