Whew. It's been a slog at times, and some of the chapters are not my favorite, but we've done it! Season 4 is done with, and now I can focus upon Season 5 and Magic Railroad...and OH BOY WHAT I HAVE PLANNED FOR THOSE. Mwhahahaha.
But, might as well thank everyone again for sticking with this story and reviewing. I do see your reviews, and if I don't respond to them, I apologize, it's just been a really busy time in my life. To answer the question of Reality Rejection Service, the Magic Railroad thing will be taking place after Season 5.
Oh, and stick around until the end for a special 'trailer' for Magic Railroad! This one's a biggie, and that has everything to do with the fact that I wanted to round off this season as well as I can.
One last note. At the bottom of this chapter, I'm going to be adding a few more notes of my own, to discuss some of the choices I've made.
CUE THE THEME.
...
Opening his eyes, Thomas the Tank Engine had to admit that this was probably one of the weirdest things he had ever seen in his long life on the Island of Sodor.
He had been informed, as in someone had told him and he had completely ignored said person, that a kind fan had apparently gone the extra measure and given him something to make the day more memorable. He had smiled, and insisted that his personal secretary write a thank you letter back (A bad choice in actuality, Douglas had terrible penmanship, even worse than the other engines who only gave autographs when they found the right pen and had enough control over their mouth to make the words legible) and then moved on to more important things.
In retrospect, that was a bad choice.
"GREAT BALLS OF FIRE, WHAT IS THAT?!"
"It appears-" said Edward, somewhat more calmly than Gordon "-to be an inflatable Thomas. A giant, inflatable Thomas."
Thomas stared at the giant monster that lay in front of him. Somehow, the fan had managed to transplant his nose from the middle of his face to just where his chin would be. One eye was lower than the other, and his mouth appeared to have been placed at a vertical angle.
"We can't have that flying at Callan! It'll terrify all the children!"
"Not as much as their new Mayor will."
Thomas didn't answer. He was busy thinking. Really thinking for the first time in what felt like a proper year.
He had a rather odd feeling. He wasn't sure quite how to say it aloud.
...
"Hello there! Are you new?"
The red engine looked a little nervous. Ivo Hugh had been restored to his original shape once St Eustace had taken a closer look at him. His original hypothesis, that Ivo Hugh's change into a Rheneas stunt double was down to torture of a physical nature soon changed once he noticed some strange markings on his person. Magical runes, meant to delude the eyes, which were easily breakable by those who knew how. St Eustace knew how, and he had done so. Thus, he looked different from Rheneas. Far different. He smiled, awkwardly. "Hello, my name is Ivo Hugh. I was wondering if you had a place for me here."
"Course. This way. As long as you don't mind two engines arguing about the Communist Manifesto." Rusty grinned at the baffled look on Ivo's face. "Yeah, I know, but if you stick around, you get used to it."
...
Now, if you should ride in Bertie the Bus one morning for any old reason, you would follow a winding road that seemed to have been created by a rather over-eager jogger, cross over stone-walled bridges that passed near the railway, try not to lose your lunch as the inevitialbe suggestion of a race would be put to both Thomas and himself and then stop at the cricket pitch.
There, Bertie mocks the ever-loving hell out of Bulgy, who regularly accuses him of being a Quisling. Look it up if you don't know what it means. And then he'll often honk his horn when one of his friends passes by. His name is Tom Tipper The Postman.
No, seriously. That's his full name. His parents (Who worked in postal), his grandparents (who had worked in postal) and his great-grandparents (who were greengrocers oddly enough) had been rather...unoriginal with their names. And they had been slightly naive in thinking that naming their son 'Tom Tipper' was going to in no way effect his social life.
He drives a bright red mail van which is apparently important enough to get it's own nameboard in the opening, or whatever reason, your guess is as good as mine. Before you ask, no, he does not have a black and white cat. He's allergic.
He does, however, like Ken Barrie. And he listens to it as he trundles around the Island of Sodor doing his job. The engines all know Tom, even though he hasn't come up in conversation before, for whatever reason. He stops usually to get the mail from Thomas and Percy's mail train, and does this all the while using the slowest possible van ever created.
Bertie grinned at Thomas as Tom trundled away. "Looking forward to the big day."
Thomas began to laugh uncomfortably. Now that he was getting closer to his final debate, he wasn't going to dismiss the fact that he had doubts about it right now. Maybe it was a sign. Thomas the Tank Engine never got doubts! This must be serious.
Elsewhere, Tipper was delivering the mail to cottages far and wide. And, er, delivers a few other things to a few bored housewives, if you know what I mean. I'm not apologizing, it's a very lonely life being a postman. The engines know that anywhere their rails can't reach, Tom Tipper will collect the post and deliver it safely come rain or shine. Unless it's sleeting, in which case, you were on your own.
"Morning Old Man Henshaw!"
Old Man Henshaw, leader of the Drunken Sailor, murmured something in what seemed like stereotypical fisherman language, took his letter (which smelt of fish, which indicated that the silly old coot had mailed himself a nice haddock) and slammed the door in Tom's face.
"Well! Back to my van! You're the only one that understands me, van."
...
That night, Thomas and Percy were busy chatting away as Tom gave a hand loading on mailbags at one of the stations. Well, that was a lie, Percy was chatting away. Thomas was being remarkably quiet.
Tom finished placing the last mailbag in the back of Percy's carriage and wiped his brow. "That's it! Time to be getting off to the wife!" He looked lovingly towards his van. He had missed his van. So much.
"Thanks, Tom!" said Percy, who was of the opinion that Tom and his van had a rather...unique relationship and was best not to be commented on.
"Yes, indeed. Really useful postman." Thomas was still distracted by many thoughts, many, many thoughts that didn't involve postmen.
"Ah, but where would I be without my van?!" Tom said, getting onto his favorite subject, which everyone on the Island knew about. "We make a cracking pair, we two! Without her, my life would be empty and I'd probably shoot myself on the spot!"
There was an awkward silence.
"Well, quite." remarked Thomas at last.
...
The engines were chatting away as Thomas and Percy arrived back at the sheds. Toby was also there, resting on one of the sidings and listening to Henry and Gordon's 'I've got a bigger tender than you so there' contest.
"You know-" remarked Toby as Thomas settled back into his berth "-the important part of these things is to react to bad news with calm. Grace. Tranquility."
"So what would you engines say-" remarked Thomas, trying to sound casual "-if I was to suggest that I'm having second thoughts about showing up for the debate tomorrow?"
"ARE! YOU! SHITTING! ME!" howled Toby.
"W-what happened to calm, and grace, and tranquility?"
"SOD THAT FOR A GAME OF POLITICS! You mean to tell me that after all that stuff we went through, all the trials and tribulations and the mud-slinging-"
"Oh the mud slinging." muttered Henry, and James gave a sympathetic whistle.
"-YOU'RE BACKING OUT!"
"It was an idea, Toby, that's all! I didn't think you'd react this badly!" Thomas would have raised his hands up in a placating manner, but he didn't have hands. So he had to stick to wiggling his eyebrows.
"No wonder, considering how much he's been running about the last year or so doing stupid stuff that'll get you an edge, any edge over your opinions." Gordon grunted. "And if he wouldn't have done it, I would have. Don't bloody tell me that Thomas the Tank Engine, Mister Personality, who once insisted that he could go for ten hours on the subject of himself, and suceeded, is getting a case of STAGE FRIGHT!"
"Come on now," Edward chided. "It's a little bit of pre-speech nerves. Nothing'll go wrong. We'll get through this, and then-"
"And then what?" Thomas looked panicked. "Never mind if I lose, Edward, what happens when I win!?"
No one could give him an answer.
...
Duck was angry.
More angry than he could say.
Which was why he had ignored Donald, Douglas and Oliver's pleas to come back to bed and had instead gone for a nice long run. He fumed over and over again.
Jinty had betrayed him. She had risked his life. Worse, she had risked Henry's life, and the lives of his crew and Henry's crew. And then she and Pug had the gall to get angry at him!
He frowned. The rails felt different tonight.
This was another mystery. He growled. Terrific.
...
The next morning, Percy was surprised to see that Tom wasn't there, nor was his van. A postman they didn't know dropped the bags on the platform and walked off in search of the nearest bar.
"What happened to Tom!?" asked Percy.
"And his van?" said Carlin. He sighed. He missed his fireman, but he was still in a sulking mood after the incident with Bulstrode. And worse, the Fat Controller had finally decided that enough was enough, and issued him with an official warning. Glumly, he kicked around, flipping off the nearest bicycle. He never forgot. "No wonder that postie looks miserable. That bicycle is clearly the product of Satan! Carrying letters must be a pain in the arse."
That night, the postman passed Drampf, who was walking his way over to the nearest fueling port. There, he sat down upon a post, nearby a old rusting hulk, and waited. And waited. And waited, for a good hour or so, before at last, Davidson trundled over. "You took your time!"
"Shut up. Get in the ship I'll make sure that everything's taken care of. Your driver is under orders?"
"To keep the car moving, to take the longest route to Callan possible, and above all else, to not let the paparazzi get anywhere near the car."
"Good. Now, here's the deal. This ship may look grim and grotty...because it is. But this way, you get to watch the fireworks safely, and you get the satisfaction of getting a little show of your own. BANG! There goes Edward, Thomas, Bedella and Sir Flaming Topham Hatt!" Davidson chuckled. "Ah, it's a pity I'll be elsewhere. But after that's happened, I shall find you. It docks on the other side, around Tidmouth Harbor, and when I pick you up, you can play the grief stricken politician and ride a wave of anger that you and you alone will control!"
...
The morning came. Thomas was nervous, very nervous, so nervous that he appeared to be shedding paint. He was standing alongside the two other contenders who had bothered to show up, the erstwhile Old Man, and Bedella.
The two shook hands, or rather, a hand shook buffer. "Good luck, Mr Thomas."
"Likewise Mr Bedella. May the best man or engine win." Thomas didn't add that he hoped that in this case, it was the better man who won this election. He looked over to see Percy come up. There, on the platform, was Tom.
He looked glum, and was holding a rather rickety old bike that Carlin was shooting daggers at. "Postmaster said that my van was too expensive to keep! They wouldn't let me pay for it out of my own money! My only true love in the world and they took her away from me! It takes twice as long anyway on this bloody stupid bike! But oh no, it's Callan, they've got to have a bike! Blow actual efficiency! Sorry, I can't stop to help you. Good luck, Thomas."
"I'll bloody need it."
"I wish I could help Tom Tipper." Percy remarked.
"When I become Mayor, I shall make sure that the budget for the post offices is increased." Thomas agreed.
Their thoughts were rudely interrupted by a call "OI! TOM! Fat Controller wants to see you in his office right away! Some important papers to sign, or something like that! I don't know, I'm off to see the show!"
"Oh dear. This is going to make me even later! And do they care?! No!" He was in a hurry, and being careless, and so tossing his bike right near Percy's mail carriage seemed like a good idea.
Leaving it in the sight of Carlin seemed like an even better one.
Both would turn out to be not so good ideas.
Bedella had just finished his speech, and all the engines had gathered together in the yard to listen. Some whistled in approval, and others honked their horns. Edward and BoCo were right in the thick of the throng, next to Duck, trying to calm down the two China Clay twins. Duck was uncomfortable, and Edward noticed.
"Something wrong, Duck?"
"Ah, it's nothing."
"No, go on."
"Something about the track doesn't feel right. Does that make sense?"
"Oh yes, I quite understand. There are a few bumps that shouldn't be there, and one or two areas where it's a bit higher than usual." Duck nodded, and Edward continued. "Perhaps it is another prank."
"Another?"
"Oh yes, I didn't tell you, did I? That ticking noise? I figured it out! It's one of these two little rascals playing a trick on me! It's quite impressive really. They even went to the trouble of making this fake tender, did it up all nice and fancy, and while I was off having a funny five minutes, they swapped it! Quite ingenious, even if I do say so myself. The ticking was probably some horrible surprise or what not. Ah well, got my old one back, and I had the other tossed away."
"Ah."
Duck didn't start connecting the dots together until about halfway through Thomas's speech praising the strength and amazing technological skills of the bicycle.
"-and furthermore, let me not dismiss the fact that, er, there are some really nice bells on bicycles, and that, er, these bells make a pleasing sound to the ear, no mistake about that, and, er, well, you all know, don't you-"
...
Drampf was cold. He could see a slight bit of mist fading in around the Island. Already it was getting harder to see. He shivered, stamped his feet and walked up and down like a soldier. Soon. Soon he'd have the power. Soon it would be he who made the place run. And then-
And then...
And...then...
It occurred to Drampf suddenly that he had no idea what it was he actually was going to do with the power once he had it. That had somehow managed to completely skip his mind until this very moment.
Almost to distract himself from the distressing thoughts, he walked over to one of the items the boat was carrying, and pulled off the tarpaulin that was covering it.
Tick went the fake tender.
Tick.
Tick.
The last recorded words of John Drampf have never been written down for posterity.
Ti-
But for the record, it went something like this.
"Holy shi-"
...
"EMERGENCY, EMERGENCY, CLEAR THE AREA IMMEDIATELY!" came the alert. Duck looked wildly around, as people ran as best as they could, trampling over each other in a mad scramble to get out of any potential harm. Everyone rushed for the station, crowding in even as the Fat Controller began to make sure that the anti-air guns were readied.
The engines were in a terrible state.
"DUCK! WHAT'S GOING- Duck?! DUCK!?"
But Duck was gone. Racing away from Callan, he rushed over bridge after bridge, over hills and through stations also packed to the brim with struggling people. He had finally put two and two together. The assassination, the sudden lapse in retaliation from known agents of the enemy, the complete abandonment of Davidson and Drampf-
"Montague! An update on the situation would be nice right about now!"
Duck looked around. St Eustace was leading Jinty and Pug forward, drawing level with him. Swallowing down his anger (This was no time to let his personal feelings cloud his judgement) he took a deep breath and told them what Edward had told him. "Guessing that what Drampf and Davidson intended to happen was that the bomb itself would wipe out every political opponent that Drampf had in this election, and get rid of several of the engines who have caused trouble in the past into the bargain." Duck swallowed, wetting his dry lips as they took a turn. "But the thing is, I think they've been played!"
"Who?"
"I don't know yet! But this all seems really out of sorts!"
"How? We know that Marklin and Davidson were working together under the Director's orders!"
Duck was about to answer when a sudden crack, like thunder, echoed across the Island, and a warm blast of heat tickled his face. He looked, horrified, towards Knapford Harbor. "Bloody hell! Another one!"
"But according to you, there was only one bomb in Edward's tender!"
"I know!"
...
"What's he doing?!" Marklin roared, as the news crew focused their cameras to catch the devastation of the harbor. "This wasn't the plan! We didn't agree on this!"
"What the hell is he playing at?!" snapped Captain Zero. "He's trying to bring down the whole Island with him?!"
"We have a slightly more pressing concern, gentlemen!" shouted Gotch over the intercom. "Look outside! It's like the Fourth of July out there!" Everyone hurried to the windows, and ghost and humans alike gasped in shock.
Outside, pandemonium was reigning down upon the Other Railway. Engines were being tossed into the air and slamming back down to earth with enough force to cause several craters. Others were cooked alive by the heat of explosions and by some of the more high risk areas of the railway that were catching alight. And still there were more engines exploding into tiny pieces.
"What's happening?!"
"Marklin, what did you say the little beetle did during the war?" Gotch looked horrified, though more by what he had just remembered than what was going on in front of him.
"He worked with the Ministry of Defense, to take of-" Marklin froze, his lips moving for a second without making any noise. "-taking care of munitions! Get me over there!"
...
"How?!"
"It's clever." Duck was grim. "It's really bloody clever. You told me yourself that the Ministry of Defence sent Davidson here in the first place to make sure that munitions were stored away from anyone who might want to steal it. Where better to hide it than in ground that would soon be covered by rail?!" Duck frowned. "Actually, don't answer that, there's probably quite a few places that would be better. But Davidson must have gotten his hands on the controls for the detonation devices. The bumps are a result of the explosives priming themselves! Well, he's going to sink us one way or another."
"Which means that we need to get down there and stop him! Where do you think he-"
There was a bright flash of blue and Jinty fell to her side, volts coursing through her body. She twitched occasionally, but otherwise remained totally still. Davidson smiled, in a deranged manner, and let out a hysterical laugh as he rushed towards the flaming Knapford Harbor.
"Is she hurt!? I'LL KILL HIM!" screamed Pug.
"Calm yourself, Pug, she's a bit singed, but she'll live! I need you and your crew to get rid as much of the explosives as you can!" Eustace looked at Duck. "Montague, get after him. I want him stopped. By any means necessary."
Duck understood. "Right. Good luck."
...
Back at Callan, Carlin timidly poked his head from out of Percy's cab window. He looked left. He looked right. He looked up. He looked down. No one was looking. They were all still in the station, trying to calm down. The engines were all in a tizzy, Thomas and most of his political team trying to stay positive, and Bill and Ben arguing furiously with Edward as to why they couldn't just start burning shit if the world was about to end.
"Oh no, don't do it!" said Percy, seeing what was about to happen before it did. But Carlin didn't care. He'd later argue that he had no idea that Tom Tipper had placed his bicycle near the mail train. He was lying.
He started off.
"Oh here comes trouble." said Percy over the crunching of metal. Funnily enough, this got all the engines to focus their undivided attention as Carlin stopped the train, a wild glint in his eye. And also funnily enough, everyone rushed out and stared at the shattered remains of the bicycle.
"HA! IF I'M GOING TO DIE, I'M GOING OUT ON A ******* HIGH NOTE!" laughed Carlin maniacally.
"No, that's wrong." said the Callan stationmaster far too calmly. "You're going to go out screaming like a banshee."
It was quite impressive, reflected Percy, how fast the human being could run when under threat of death. And it was even more impressive that the Callan people had such easy access to weaponary befitting a mob storming Frankenstein's castle as they rushed after the rapidly retreating Carlin. He turned to Tom. "Sorry, Tom, I didn't mean to."
"I know. Don't worry. It's not your fault. Just have to make my rounds on foot."
But as he said this, Duck rushed in. "Lads! Lads listen to me! They're saying that there are bombs underneath the rails! One of Marklin's associates has gone mad and-"
"That's all we need to know, thank you, Duck!" snapped Thomas. Already he seemed a great deal older. "Listen to me lads! We've got to make sure that everyone gets out all right! There's no Mayor and there's no way for us to contact Hatt, which means that as the Number One engine, I am in charge, temporarily."
"Is that how it works?!" muttered Henry to James.
"Listen up! We're all going to do our bit! We need to evacuate as many people from here as possible! Duck, any idea how these bombs work!?"
"Well..." Duck considered. "My guess is that this associate is a bit of a psychopath, he enjoys taking his time. So as he's started his attack near the harbor, that means you'll have plenty of time to get everyone away from here. But it's the Great Western way to not leave anyone behind! I am heading to Knapford. Anyone who wants to come, come."
There was a split second pause, then Edward, Henry, Gordon, James, BoCo and both sets of twins sounded their whistles and horns respectively. Thomas cut in. "Okay, but all of you can't go! Gordon, I need your speed to get the people from both Knapford and Callan to somewhere safe."
"Fine!" Gordon would have snapped a salute if he could.
"James, Donald, Douglas, the trucks here need to get out of the way. They may be bastards, but they don't deserve to be blown up."
"I disagree with you on that, but sure." James scowled. Thomas whistled once, and everyone began to move into action. Trucks, coaches, even some non road vehicles were moved out of the way by the engines. People crowded into the express coaches pulled by Gordon.
"Come on lads!" Duck whistled, and together, they set off.
"You're not coming!"
"But Edward-"
"-we have to! We can be really useful, can't we Bill?"
"We can, Ben!"
"Listen, it is not safe for you!" Edward looked to Duck for back-up. "Right, Duck?!"
"Actually, they might be able to help." Duck grinned. "I have...a plan."
...
Davidson had officially crossed over the line into cloud-cuckooland. So furious was he at the sight of Drampf's ship going up in flames, and of the lack of death at Callan that he had resorted to his final plan. A plan so secret that he himself hadn't known it until a few minutes ago. And now, he was being beaten down by four trucks, viciously attacking him. He was still winning, but he couldn't land a solid blow to save his life.
The Spiteful Brakevan waited a moment, then called U.L.P, Rickety and Fred Pelhay off Davidson and made their retreat. Davidson had no idea why, and he didn't care. He may not have had a driver, but he had just enough control to gently ease one of the buttons on a control panel inside his cab.
Knapford Harbor shook, and the great crane from Bigg City, known as Big Mickey, wavered for a moment, and then, slowly...collapsed backwards. The wharf itself was shaking itself apart, pieces of concrete splashed into the water as the front began to crumble, the foundations sinking back into the water. There were shouts from workmen who hurried as best they could away from the chaos. Some weren't so lucky however.
And into this madness came, on one side of the harbor, Duck and Edward. The two recoiled at the sight of so much destruction.
"Ah!" Davidson smiled, desperately. "You have come to witness me in my hour of victory!"
"Hour of vic-Listen to yourself! This?! You are not victorious. Not in the least. You're desperate. You're losing, and you want to drag everything down with you." Duck looked around. "You can't even get that bit right, can you? Because I'm guessing that whatever doo-hickey you've got rigged up inside your cab only works when you're in range of the bombs! You're the most incompetent terrorist ever...Beetle!"
Davidson's eye twitched. "Don't call me that-"
"Beetle beetle beetle beetle beetle beetle beetle-"
It was coming from all around him. From Edward, from the trucks that were escaping, from some of the workmen who had cottoned on to the scheme, and from Bill and Ben, who were now on the other side of Davidson. He was trapped. There was no way out of this!
Very well then.
There was a very soft clinking noise. Suddenly, like an iron skirt, sideplates clattered down to cover the wheels of the small engine. They too glowed a bright and dangerous looking blue. The twins backed up, and with a grin, Davidson advanced towards Duck. "Come on then, Great Western! Let's finish this, once and for all!"
"Duck, don't listen to-" Edward's words were in vain, for Duck had took off the second that he had seen Davidson make the decision that right here, right now, was going to be his last stand. As he raced, the ground beneath his wheels began to crumple. Both engines were effectively walking on air, with only some loose rails supported by stilts, a tightrope.
For a moment, neither did anything.
Then they were on each other!
...
"Come on, come on!" The crew were digging up the munitions as fast as they could. Henry and St Eustace watched with nervous tension as more and more of the explosives were removed and deactivated.
"So, why are you on Sodor again?"
"Needed some repayment. James's digging up of Drampf's info didn't come cheap." It was a good lie.
"What?"
"Oh, didn't you know? To get the public back on your side, James asked me to dig up some old documents. To get Drampf off your back."
"HE DID WHAT!?"
...
Sparks flew as the engines locked up. Davidson's entire body was glowing, electricity rushing down towards the buffers of Duck. But Duck was no ordinary engine, as has been previously discussed, and his buffers didn't conduct the electricity. No, it just made them very, very hot. He winced and tried to work through the heat, slamming all of his wait down upon the smaller engine. Davidson was buffered back, snarling. Bill and Ben increased the shouting of the derogatory term, and Davidson seemed to be foaming at the mouth in response to this.
"You know something, Beetle? When I heard of you, I began to think you were a challenge. But you're not. You're just a very lucky thug. You're not special, you're not powerful, you're not even that smart. You got created into a position of high-power, and that has made you think that you are unstoppable. But you are not! Not even close!" Duck grinned.
And that was when Davidson flipped.
"I'LL SHOW YOU THUG!" he screamed. And so saying, he charged at Duck once more. The Great Western Engine readied himself, but this time Davidson did something different. He turned, twisting his weight around, and at the same time, his wheels popped suddenly, changing form, from flanged to tires, and he off from the rails, dodging from side to side of the swaying bridge. And he got lucky, with a single blow from his buffers that managed to slip past Duck's own buffers and smack him right in the face.
For a moment Duck knew nothing but searing hot pain.
And then Davidson fell backwards, yelping in agony. Duck couldn't turn around, the pain was too much, but had he turned he would have seen Charlie Sand and Sidney Heaver taking control of one of the Fat Controller's anti-aircraft guns, shooting at the undercarriage of the beetle's body that had been left open to attack by his lucky shot. Screaming in pain, Davidson staggered back, then with a roar slammed Duck backwards. The thin support under him began to sway and topple.
"I heard ducks like to swim!" snarled Davidson.
"I hear beetles are not too fond of it, really."
That voice...everyone froze, Davidson turned his head and-
With a great deal of force, the truck possessed by Marklin slammed into the smaller engine, sending him head over heels towards the water. With a final scream, Davidson tried to shut his eyes.
There was a massive blue flash that blinded nearly all who remained. Davidson jerked and spluttered and wiggled like a fish on a hook for a few seconds. And then, as everything shattered and smashed...the circuit was complete. Water and electricity didn't mix.
And he was gone.
Marklin grinned and looked up at Duck, who was swaying from side to side. "I'd say that was rather shocking." He paused. "No? Nothing? I thought that was a good one."
"I laughed." offered up Ben. He didn't notice Henry shoving BoCo as fast as he could through the harbor until he was right besides him.
"Know this. It's a temporary thing. Nothing more. Nothing less. And one day, you'll-" Marklin was sent hurtling through the air from the momentum of both engines smashing into him at high speeds.
"Are we late?" asked BoCo, innocently.
"I think I'm gonna be sick." moaned Duck.
...
With the controls having shorted the second that they had hit the water, the munitions had ceased to be a problem. Even so, the Fat Controller had ordered that certain areas be put off limits for a time so that they could remove every last speck of explosive devices there was. They took no chances with Bill and Ben on this Island.
As the police took statements, and the new breakdown truck, name of Butch, began to clear the mess away, Henry stole away to pull up next to James. The latter looked at him with clear concern, and Henry laughed. "It's, er, minor injuries."
"Oh."
"I punched Marklin in the ass."
"Wow."
"I mean, I was pushing BoCo at the time, so he actually got to be the one to send him flying, but I was there, so that counts, right?"
"Right. You did good."
Both were silent for a moment. Then Henry spoke again. "For the record, St Eustace told me what you did."
"Son of a-"
"Thank you. You didn't have to hide it from me, you know. I am eternally grateful for you trying to help me out and make it a...non issue. It means a lot to know that you care."
"Ha, well, er, don't...don't expect this to change anything. I'm still busting your arse ever single time you screw up. I just didn't tell you because I thought that they'd give me grief. Trying to steal the spotlight again- Not that it needs stealing, it's firmly mine, by the way. Just forget about it, you don't owe me anything other than a pint. Really. I mean it."
Henry grinned. There was a few seconds of silence. "You know, no one ever says this enough to you. So I'm going to say it now. James, you're my friend. And you're a good engine."
James looked away, as if trying to make sure that Henry didn't see his eyes watering. "Yeah, well, don't go telling anyone."
"Secret's safe with me."
Not too far from that, Duck was getting checked over by the Works Diesel and the crew. Jinty, Pug and Eustace looked at him. They had given him a rough debriefing and a promise that yes, they would be in contact sooner than the last time. And then they slipped away. Duck sighed. He had wanted to talk to them, to at least try and make peace. Clearly that wasn't happening any time soon. He watched as the two new diesel shunters, Arry and Bert, took away what remained of Davidson, minus the bufferbeam and sideplates, which Toby's driver apparently wanted to hawk online for a mint.
"You know what, Edward?"
"What's that, Thomas?"
"I feel confident. Did you see me back there?! I slipped in the zone so easily, I was awesome! Was I not? I tell you, this Mayor thing'll be a cinch. And of course, I'll have my good friend helping me."
Edward grinned. Thomas was right. Everyone was cheering for him, the threat was over, and now there was no doubt in his mind that Thomas the Tank Engine was going to come-
...
"-THIRD?!"
Everyone stared at the newspaper. The headline: BEDELLA BEATS THOMAS. The man himself went on to praise Thomas extensively, admitting that it was a close run thing, and that he would be happy to continue working
"Are we sure that this isn't some Harry Truman, Thomas Dewey stuff?" asked Toby, desperately.
"No. We're pretty sure. We came third. Apparently the ones from Callan didn't appreciate Carlin trashing the bicycle, and effectively mocking their culture. So they gave all their support to Bedella. And apparently the Drunken Sailor party was quite eloquent when making their speech. Somehow." Edward's tone was calm, but judging by the fact that he appeared to be blowing smoke from his nostrils, it was only a facade.
"Well, at least we beat Drampf." said James, in a desperate attempt to give some optimism back into the conversation. Drampf's entire phony business deal had been exposed, and most of his party had quietly disassociated themselves from such a maniacal idiot. They had fished what remained of his body (which consisted of a few bits of tissue and one soggy looking rat's nest of a toupee) out of the sea. Luckily, no one else had been hurt. "And we didn't come last!"
"Well, considering that Drampf didn't actually make it. we kind of sort of did." glumly noted Duck.
"Sorry Thomas." said Percy, with great shame. "If stupid Carlin hadn't ruined that bike, you'd have won for sure."
"Oh, stuff and nonsense, Percy." Thomas looked around and sighed. "You know what, I've realized something doing this. I'm...not cut out for this. At all. And I think it reflects well on me that I realized this. Because if I actually did make the full thirty minute speech, I was thinking of just admitting that I had made a mistake. The truth is, Bedella's better in every way. He has his skeletons, probably, but his skeletons aren't engine sized and won't crush someone when they fall over. So...I think I should be the bigger man and congratulate the guy. He's in for a hell of a time of it."
"Well said, Thomas." Edward remarked.
"Plus, I get to be the one doing the criticizing instead of the receiver!"
"And there it is."
Tom Tipper rushed up to Percy. "Hey! Guess what, buddy!?"
"Peep peep! Is that a smart new van I see?"
"It's my old van repainted, made as good as new!" proudly exclaimed Tom. "She's a beaut, isn't she?! That accident gave me a good turn, Percy! Manager realized that a good old fashioned van would do the job far better than a smelly old bike."
"Don't say stuff like that here, mate." moaned Carlin, applying an ice-pack to his head.
"Now I can always be on time again! Ta guys! See you round!" And as Tom Tipper took off in his bright new van, he loving caressed the gearstick with great affection. Freud would have had a field day.
"Well, I did help! But by accident as you might say." Percy paused. "Hey, er, Carlin, where's our next job?"
"Ah. About that, Percy." Carlin scratched at his beard as he stood on the platform facing the engines, who all looked at him. "There's...er...damn it, why is it so hard to say? ...There isn't a next job. Not for me."
Gasps rang out.
"After I got back home, I got called in to see Fatty, and he, well, was very kind about it all. Said that he'd pay for any expenses and would help with my recovery and so on. And then he...well, he said that he thought we'd come to the end of the line." Carlin shrugged. "He'd been getting complaints from Callan all morning, apparently. And he was really angry at them for making him do it. I get the feeling that he didn't like what he had to do. But that act of vandalism means I wasted my last chance. I've been here for nearly ten years and I end up getting fired over a bicycle."
"But...where are you heading?"
"Well, if I stay here, I'm likely to get into trouble with Callan again at some point. Angry mobs, molotov's through my letterbox, you know, that sort of thing. So I've decided to head back to America for a bit, see the sights, think about it." Carlin smiled. "But you better ******** believe I'm coming back to see you again." He stepped down and patted Henry's boiler. "It was...interesting being your driver, Henry. Having to stay up all night, listen to you moan, nearly die in a freak accident-"
"Good times!"
Carlin smiled. "Don't take anything I wouldn't. Which in my case, isn't much." He stepped back and grinned at Percy. "And you, you little green caterpillar...we had a good run, bud. You better damn well send me a Christmas card."
"I think we're supposed to call it Winter Holiday's now."
"Screw that noise." Carlin paused, and after a brief hesitation, the fireman got out and shook hands with him. "Thanks for putting up with me. All of you. I would not have traded my time with you lot for anything."
He looked. His taxi was waiting. "Got to go. We'll chat. Good luck, lads! Living on this Island, you'll need it!" And then he darted across, paused to give a final wave, and was gone.
In the silence that followed, Thomas looked to Percy. "Are you okay?"
"Ah. I will be. Give me time." Percy smiled, and sniffed a little. "I'm going to miss him."
"You know, I think we all will." Everyone sighed. There was a long pause.
"Well." remarked Thomas. "Back to work, then."
...
Hargreaves had sent him a letter officially giving him condolences for the loss of over forty engines and god knows how many crew members. It had also officially declared that the future of the Other Railway was under review, and that his team would begin to look into it at some point.
The Fat Director washed his brow, and frowned. It was...It was a sobering experience learning that he wasn't invulnerable. It was a sobering feeling to actually know that he had lost a battle. Before there had always been something, some little victory, some little piece that he could snatch from the jaws of defeat. The first time, it had been the fact that they had gotten Marklin onto the Island. The second, that he had been able to secure Stepney.
But now?
Stepney was gone. He was officially on the watchlist of a high ranking government official. And they had lost several good workers because of a stupid decision made by Marklin and himself.
They should have swept every diesel who went there, who worked with Davidson, who set up the machinery. Because that had been when he had planted the munitions on them. That had been responsible for their destruction.
As he sat down, the Fat Director took comfort in only two things.
The Malevolence was coming. And he had two very, very good agents working for him now on the Island.
Arry and Bert had better not screw this up.
...
Carlin sighed. He looked across at the rapidly disappearing Island with some melancolia. What was he going to do now? He could always try stand up again, but apparently someone else named Carlin was doing that sort of thing at the moment. Gimmick-stealer.
He strolled to the front of the ship, where barely anyone was. They were all sea-sick. Carlin had a strong stomach, he had to, working on a railway for so long.
Perhaps Shining Time would have him back. He still had his house for rent there, even if there was a long line of relatives baying at the door to try and get their grubby little hands on it. Little being literal in this case.
He ran his hands over the whistle in his pocket. Still enough gold dust in there to last him a rather long time.
"Oh Mr Carlin?"
Carlin turned.
A shot ran out and there was a dull thud, followed by a body-sized splash.
TO BE CONTINUED IN SEASON 5.
WOW. I have written a lot of stuff, haven't I? But then again, this has been my most ambitious 'season' yet of the story, and I felt it was only fair to bring to a end a few things before we get into the more continuity heavy Season 5, which is...oh boy. It's going to be weird. Season 5 is a weird season in and of itself, so I've adapted the story to do so as well.
Carlin's departure was meant to reflect the final season of his narration in the real world, and while I don't hold a particular fondness for him, he does a good job and clearly is well loved by many. So that little bit at the end was paying tribute to him. But as to whether or not he's dead? Well...season 5'll set the record straight.
Ivo Hugh's arrival at the Skarloey railway is actually meant to cover up something that occurs in Season 5, in that I feel more emphasis is put on the Skarloey crew working up in the mountains. So he'll be working down with Sir Handel and Duke at Crovan's Gate, for a time. And it gives me an excuse to keep writing Sir Handel for another season while I decide where he goes for the next episodes.
Davidson's death was originally meant to be a much bigger affair, with Duck and he battling all over the Island, and Duck being the one to land the killing blow. But then I figured out that it felt a bit...wasteful not to have Marklin included in there. Plus, there was originally going to be a scene that i'm moving into Cranky Bugs where it's explained what the deal with Davidson's changing wheels were (Think Flynn's wheels from Season 15 onwards) and other stuff. The munitions stuff was actually a addition at the last minute, because there was no real threat otherwise, and I figured I could work with it more. Marklin is, by the way, still in the story. He just got sent sailing back to the Other Railway.
The destruction of Knapford Harbor, apart from providing a way to write what I think is a really nice way to get rid of Davidson, is also to excuse the fact that it doesn't appear after this season and gets replaced by Brendam from here on out.
All in all, thank you so much for reading, and if this chapter is too long, I apologize. I wanted to give you the best chapter I could. Oh, and I believe I owe you a little teaser of what's to come. I slammed on the music for the first trailer for the Jungle Book for this one, so that might get you in the mood. Or might not. Hope you enjoy, and see you very soon! We're almost there, folks!
It's a beautiful night at Knapford. As the lights go out, all goes still.
Unknown: He's always up to mischief.
The wind begins to blow across the Island, along Thomas's branch-line. Some trucks shiver, and a shadow passes over them.
Unknown: That cheeky little train.
The Vicarstown Bridge lowers down. More shadowy figures cross it, on all available lines, all heading towards the mainland.
Unknown: He chugga-chugga-chuff-chuffs everywhere. He's always playing games.
At Tidmouth, every engine is asleep. They don't notice as Oliver pass by with the mail train. Nor do they notice a diesel rushing after him.
Unknown: The Fat Controller scolds him...
The Fat Controller is still writing at his desk. As he looks up, he stares in horror, and quickly scribbles something...just before he completely vanishes from sight.
Unknown: But loves him just the same...
The engines all gather. Every single one of them, at Crovan's Gate, as Mr Conductors steps off and awkwardly smiles. He's met with accusatory glances from nearly all.
Unknown: Our favorite little engine.
A claw snaps. And we see the speaker.
Diesel 10: Thomas is his name.
And he begins to laugh. Cut to a screen with the following names on it:
Peter Fonda
Mara Wilson
Alec Baldwin
Didi Cohn
Russel Means
Cody McMains
And Doug Lennox as P.T Boomer.
Over a black screen:
Duck: It's time I told you everything. You can't stop him. No one can.
Toby: ...Well, you clearly haven't met us, have you?
And now we see more of what's going on. Edward dragged off screaming by diesels, watched over by Marklin. The Island in flames, Ten bringing down a shed upon himself and his cronies, Arry and Bert watching over a trapped Duck in the smelter's yard, truck on truck violence, while bombs explode everywhere, Splatter and Dodge watching the magical buffers and George and Butch going at it like cats and dogs. We see Gotch, Zero and the Fat Director, shrouded in black, watching as P.T Boomer and Marklin reign down hell upon Shining Time Station. But before he can do any real damage, Lady finally appears and unleashes a wave of white energy that clashes with a wave of black directed by Ten. And on that note, the title fades in.
THOMAS AND THE MAGIC RAILROAD.
Edward pops his head up, looks from left to right, and then makes an addition to the title via writing with his mouth.
ABRIDGED. WITH 100% MORE EDWARD THAN ACTUAL MOVIE.
Finally, we cut back to the shot of the windmill, turning as it always does, from the intro. Thomas, Annie and Clarabel pass by it. The opening notes of the theme play. The last one is distorted.
COMING SOON.