Review time!
Duckfan13: First of all, thank you for being honest with me. I appreciate the constructive criticism, especially with the nice way you worded it. So, thanks for that, and I will say that I tried to take as much on as I could. I understand the confusion you felt, and I admit that I did perhaps go a little overboard on the story aspect of the previous chapter. I tend to do that at times, particularly as I am getting closer to the culmination of several storylines by the time I reach Magic Railroad. I completely understand that my storyline is not for everyone, and as such I have cut down significantly on story in this chapter, which was originally much longer. Therefore, the two sides are more even. The 'war' story as you put it has been marked in italics, and I suggest that if you wish to read the 'episode' proper, you ignore the parts in italics. For the most part, it won't affect anything. However, I have been doing this story since way back in Season 1, and fully in Season 2. Therefore, separating the two at this stage would be counter-productive, and more importantly, would remove reasoning and opportunities for jokes at the expense of some of the sillier elements of Thomas the Tank Engine, especially in this season where the weirdness gets amped up a great deal.. I am sorry that you find these boring, and I will endeavor to compensate by throwing everything I have into the 'episode' proper. I thank you again for the honest criticism, and appreciate that it was made in a friendly spirit. I hope that, even if this doesn't quite please you, you can understand my reasoning behind it.
Reality Rejection Service: Yeeeeeah. Just a silly cameo appearance.
MattPrice01: Thank you! I wanted very much to create a similar sense to how the story 'Last Train to Christmas' handled the idea of the community of engines, seeing them all come together to work for the welfare of the people of the Island. And also to show that even the worst engines have a heart of gold deep down.
TrainManiac: Greatly appreciated! Toby's not quite over his anxiety attacks, which are a result of his illness. I'll be going into more detail as the season goes along as to what it is. As for the Juggernaut, well, you'll see who (Or what) he is as the story goes along.
Game-Watch: Damn right he was.
AaronCottrel97: Glad you enjoyed! Rusty and the Boulder is...oh boy.
CUE THE THEME
It was a moonlit night. Well, it'd be a bit worrying if it was lit by the sun, now wouldn't it? The Fat Arse in the Top Hat had sent Henry and Edward to work in Wellsworth Yards. The big green engine, after demanding that he be fed even more pills just in case something happened, was taking a goods train to the station by the lake.
What descriptive writing, I know. They don't pay me enough for this crap.
"Why is it-" snapped Henry "-that we never get nice weather at night! It's always mysterious and foggy!"
"We're British, Henry. That's why. Britain's been cursed with bad weather, rotten dental hygiene and being poorly represented in American sitcoms since time began! And anyway, you know what our weather's like! It was snowing last week."
"What's wrong with that?"
"It's sodding June!"
"A fair point."
At that moment, a owl hooted. Perhaps he had seen a pretty female owl. We'll never know.
"Whenever that owl hoots, a mist rrrrrrrolls in!" declared Edward, his eyes briefly rolling backwards and his voice affecting a Scottish accent that would make John Laurie look impressed. "There's a legend-"
"About a lost engine?"
"Hush. When the mist's about, there's SPOOKY goings on about as well! I'd be careful if I was you, Henry!" Edward paused, and then added for extra effect a "OOOOOOOH" sound.
The owl hooted again.
"Stupid bird." muttered Henry.
"No way to talk about your missus."
"Shut up, Edward, you're drunk."
"Oh, I wish I was." Edward grinned as Henry set off, still grumbling. The smile dropped as soon as the big engine rounded the bend and was gone.
Clearly he owed James some money.
...
King Godred stood in the abandoned hall of Ulfstead Castle, completely alone.
Everyone had left. The servants, the court advisers, the citizens here to ask for sustainable living conditions (PAH! As if that'd ever catch on) and even his many, many ladies of the night had abandoned him. He had seen from his window the destruction of his army, and he was frightened. They were coming for him.
The walls seemed like they were closing in around him, and he bit back a very un-royal whimper.
"Your majesty! Thank god you have survived!"
His magician, dressed all in white, hurried up to him. Godred was impressed, and grasped his hand firmly. "By god, great one, I am relieved to have seen you here! You must assist me! I am surrounded by my enemies, and though I do not fear them, I...I wish to be able to see them hang like the cowards that they are! Please, is there any spell that you can think of that can help me?"
The magician looked grave, and then nodded. "I can think of one. But I shall require time to prepare it. I have no doubt that your excellent skills with a sword and your fighting prowess can hold the heathens off for a good five minutes while I ready it. But listen! In the chance that I am attacked or waylaid, there is a trap door underneath your throne. If all is lost, get under there and make your way through the caves. The boat of the vikings remains on the shore, you can still escape!"
"Ah ha! At least I have one loyal subject left!"
"There is one thing, to make this spell work, I have need of an item from the royal treasury. However, I do not know how to get past the guard."
Quickly, Godred found quill and parchment, scratched out an order and held it to the other. "Quick, man!"
"Oh trust me, I'll be quick. Everyone will get what's coming to them!"
Perhaps if Godred had been in a more receptive mood, he would have caught the innuendo in there. However, he wasn't. so he didn't. And as he hurried away to grab his best sword, he failed to notice the Fat Director sneak away to the royal treasury.
"I have an order from his majesty to inspect the treasury!"
The guard looked at the order. They couldn't read it, of course, because literacy had yet to become a widespread deal. They stepped aside, and opened the door.
The Fat Director smiled and shot them both. Then he and Captain Zero grabbed as much gold as they could, along with jewels, diamonds, rubies, gems of all shapes and sizes, money, copper, bronze, the king's entire stock. It was their last bit of business here at the middle ages before their next appointment.
I won't waste time describing the end of the battle. How Godred, the great and wise king, ran before anyone could even make it to the throne room. How in his desperate panic to escape, he ended up dragging himself deeper and deeper into a flooded area of the mine. How his final moments were spent clinging in vain to the chest that contained his crown as he drowned slowly and painfully.
And so the battle was over.
...
He was young. No, that wasn't true. Sometimes it felt like he was born old. All right then, he was younger. It was the fifties, and he was trying to make sure that both Gordon and Henry didn't kill each other in their macho posturing contests, which usually ended in Henry quitting because of a minor nosebleed and Gordon staring dumbstruck as he lay on his side through a wall.
"New engine's coming."
That got their attention, all right. There hadn't been a permanent new engine since they'd lost 98462 and 87546 some years back. "Tank or tender?" snapped Gordon, irritably.
"Tank. He's to help with the shunting."
"Henry was getting rather annoyed, this new blue coat of paint had had everyone mistaking him for the big ham himself, After a moment's pause, he asked Edward "Know anything about him...or her?"
"Him. Pretty sure he was found on a siding somewhere, half finished. So they took him back to the Works and fixed him up. Matter of fact, I came here to ask you two fellows if you wanted to go and greet him when he wakes up for the first time."
"Huh!" snorted Gordon "You talk as if we big engines have nothing better to do with our time!"
But they didn't. So off they went to Crovan's Gate. Whistling to Skarloey and Rheneas (Locked in a fierce argument about whether or not Rheneas was being too gosh darned silly), Edward waited outside the Works impatiently.
There was a long silence.
And then, very slowly, the turntable turned around. Connected to the machinery was a little tank engine, yet to be properly awakened, placed on a downward angle on a sort of slab. Then, like some sort of Frankenstein's monster, the engine gasped and shuddered and took deep, ragged breaths. Then he sort of slid down, coming down upon the rails with a rough bump and a shaken groan.
Edward rushed forward, worried that the engine would do himself a injury. "Careful, careful! There you are, okay, there we go. Can you hear me? Nod slightly if you can."
The engine nodded.
"Okay, okay, now here's the thing, this next bit's tricky. We need to make sure you can move your wheels, right? Now, very carefully, just move forward."
A moment...then the engine did so. Edward grinned, rather pleased.
"Wo ... wo bin ich? Was bin ich?"
"Oh terrific!" snapped Gordon. "A bloody Bosch! Come on Henry, we've got better things to do with our time than watch a silly little tank engine make an exhibition of himself!?"
"Since when?"
"Since now."
The engine struggled for a moment, trying hard to control his breathing and not quite achieving it. Edward sympathized greatly with this. He remembered the first time he had found out he was alive. Quite painful by all accounts.
"All right, don't worry about them, they're morons. Now, listen...can you speak English?" A nod. "Okay, okay that's good. So, in a few minutes, there's been an inspector coming round to take your name. Now, you don't have to give him one, he'll assign you a number or a temporary nickname until such time as...well, it gets official, I guess. But if you do have one in mind, then...go ahead."
The engine struggled to breath again for a moment, then paused, thinking hard. For the first time, Edward saw his eyes open, and was struck by how black his pupils were. And the engine spoke, in a slightly German-accented growl-
"Marklin. Mein...My name is Marklin."
"I'm Edward. Welcome to the Island of Sodor, Marklin. I'm sure we'll be working together for a long time to come."
...
Henry chuffed on, snorting to himself. "Owls! Ghosts! Mist! AS BLOODY IF! Huh, Edward's clearly either been on the sauce for too long, or he's been listening to James's ever so spooooooooooky tales! Pah!" And so he continued in this vein for some time as he continued down the old line. There were a sudden surplus of old and undiscovered lines at this moment in time, for whatever reason.
"Besides!" Henry shouted, as if daring Karmay the Karma Fairy to lace her bow and shoot him right in the bunker "There's NO MIST!"
But Henry was wrong.
"So what else is new, Mr Angelis?!"
The mist did roll in, and at an impressively stealthy and quick rate. It was like a ninja, one minute it wasn't there, and the next it was. Just like a ninja, it overstayed it's welcome fast.
"Okay, whoever does the trimming for this place needs to be fired! I mean, have you ever seen such horrible tree branches before?! Someone should complain to someone about it!"
"Why not you? You're great at complaining." muttered Henry under his breath. The driver shot him a dirty look as they continued onwards. Then, the green engine saw something "What's that?!"
"It's a tree, Henry. You've worked in a forest. How do you not know this?"
"On the tree, you daft apron!"
"Oh THAT. Why didn't you say so!?" The fireman urged the driver to stop besides a particularly gnarly looking tree. In both the sense that it looked awful and that it looked rather cool. In an odd way, that is.
"It's an amber lamp! Odd. It's not even Halloween yet!"
"No, you idiot! It means go with caution! We should take it slow, like the omnious lamp left in the middle of nowhere on a tree tells us too!" The fireman paused "Something's wrong with what I just said, I can't quite work it out."
"WHOOOOOO'S THERE?!"
Everyone glared at Henry, who paused, slightly embarrassed. "What? I've always wanted to do that! And anyway, no one's replying! So what's the prob?" Henry paused, and despite himself, shivered. It was not a nice night to be out. He crept slowly forward.
One tree later (It felt much more to Henry) he had to stop. There was a sign hammered into yet another tree, not too far from the signal. He looked all around, but for whatever reason, there was no sign of a signalbox there. That, for the record, is why the Island doesn't get awards for being efficient. If it wasn't for British Rail being their usual efficient self, they'd have been shut down a long time ago.
"What does it say?"
"It's a tree. It doesn't say anything."
"The sign, you nimrod!"
"Ooooh, breaking out the old time insults early! It says 'BEWARE OF THE VIADUCT' if you must know." The driver paused, and thought. "Hmmm. We're clearly in Hawin Lake territory...weird that we've never seen this place before the millions of other times we've come towards the viaduct, am I right?"
"No, that's Hawin Croka. This is what happens when we name completely different places after people with the first same name. So, should we ignore it?"
"I don't know. Signal's red, that's not a good sign. Better safe than sorry."
"And the gates are closed!" Henry remarked, surprised. The crossing gates were indeed shut. But there was no sign of any thing or anyone coming up the road, covered with leaves and branches as it was. Henry jumped in shock. "A-a-a-and there's a fogman's coat!"
"Must be Cyril, he's off his meds again."
"But where is he? Mad as he is, even he's not...that mad, surely? And this is far from his old stom-OHMYGODISTHATALIGHT?"
it was. Not far from the tracks, there appeared to be an old...well, it looked like a station, but it looked even more like a toilet. A very bad looking toilet. And in the windows, shining brightly and moving from one to the other, was a bright orange light.
"OOOOOH NO, I'M DONE, THE TRUCKS CAN DELIVER THEMSELVES, I'M OUT, I'M DONE, I'M BOTH! IT'S G-G-G-GHOSTS! EDWARD WAS RIGHT, I WAS WRONG, I DON'T CARE! SCOOBY DOOBY DOO, WHERE ARE YOU?! ANSWER, NOT F*CKING HERE!"
"Something strange is happening, I think we should go back-HEY!"
"NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE-!" Henry had begun reversing even before the driver had finished his sentence, and kept screaming that word over and over again and backing away until they reached Edward's station.
...
The next morning, the mist had cleared. Gordon arrived at the station in bright spirits, chortling over how Henry was clearly an idiot for falling for such cheap tricks. Henry had responded by mentioning broken safety valves, jammed whistles, ditches, cows, mud, domeless engines, Sir Handel, panoramic views and Dowagers. This shut Gordon up something fierce.
"So, yeah, that viaduct was unsafe."
"And we didn't get warned about this...why?"
"Because they hate you, and they think Henry's the least marketable of all the characters. Lucky you didn't cross it then."
"Indeed. Still don't know who warned us."
Henry tried to relax with some of his, er, usual ways of chilling out, but unfortunately his hookah was broken somewhat, and most of his powdered substances were wet. Thus he spent the rest of the day sulking and listening to James, Gordon and Thomas mocking him. As per usual. That afternoon, as Thomas pulled his somewhat smudged looking coaches along and hummed a few bars from 'Thriller', his driver came up to the green engine.
"The viaduct's been repaired-"
"Well that was bloody quick! What did they use, sellotape and glue?"
"-so we've got to take our train back over there tonight! So, yeah, that should be a ton of fun!"
Henry looked miserable. He didn't really want to. At all. He'd rather take a job listening to political debates than have to do this.
...
"Mr Carlin."
Carlin glanced backwards. He and Benn were off to their next destination, so he was a little surprised to see Catweazle looking at him with...well, it was rather hard to read his emotions. "Yes?"
"I have held back on telling you what I am about to tell you because...quite frankly, I have no reason to cause a paradox." Very calmly, he handed Carlin the various pictures and blueprints with which he had constructed the machines.
"What?"
"When you meet me again, you'll know what to do with these."
Then he turned and walked away.
"Oi! Catweazle!" The wizard paused at Carlin's shout "I don't know if you have any clout, but keep an eye on Lady. She's...I don't doubt she'll need to be kept in check."
Catweazle stood still for a moment, and then walked away once more. Carlin sighed, stuffed the paper into his pockets and walked on, towards the portal, and to his next destination.
...
When nightfall came, Henry was in a much better mood. Probably because he wasn't sandwiched between Gordon and James whinging away at how unfair all the things in the world were that didn't quite benefit them. For whatever reason, he was pushing the trucks this time, and there was no brake-van. He felt less than a hundred percent confidence wise, but he was feeling far better.
Then the owl hooted. "Oh bog off!" snapped Henry.
At that moment, Gordon thundered on by with the express, whistling long and loud, as he plunged into the inky blackness of the night. To say that Henry jumped was an understatement, he practically did a three point turn mid-air.
"OH LOOK! HENRY'S SPOOKED! EVERYONE LAUGH!" cried a truck, and the others did, in their silly way. Henry growled, pulled himself together and banged them rather aggressively.
"Be quiet, you bloody hooligans! I'm not scared, you should be, if you push me like this!"
But he was. As he started off from Wellsworth, his mood was not improved when the trucks began singing a variety of appropriate songs, including 'Grim Grinning Ghosts', 'This is Halloween', 'Thriller', and even 'Accidents Happen'. The fog came down hard, and the trees once again began to spook him out.
"Can we please get someone to do a better job trimming these?!"
"Scared, Henry?!"
"Shut it, U.L.P, or I'm giving you to James to practice his new beauty products on! Oh, hang on."
As they approached the same area again, they saw the amber light hanging from the old tree. This somehow did not warn the driver or the fireman that things might be slightly problematic going forward.
"Here we go!"
And on they plunged, into the night.
And then, unbeknownst to Henry, the crossing gates closed by themselves, and the signal turned red. Now, how this was done has never adequately been explained. Rumors that the ghost of King Godred wandered these woods, where he'd often hold rather Roman-esque orgies, have never been substantiated, but it makes a nice enough explanation.
Unfortunately, the trucks had seen this, and they were spooked out of their tiny mnds. "FASTER! FASTER! FASTER! THERE'S A GHOST ABOUT!"
"Ohhhhhhhh slow down!" wailed Henry, who had his eyes firmly shut. U.L.P tried to restrain the trucks, but it was no good. There was a loud crash as they smashed through the crossing gates ("OHHHHHH I'M GOING TO GET MY ARSE ROASTED FOR THAT!" wailed the driver) and continued onwards. No one noticed the mysterious figure in the window watching as Henry sailed gaily through, towards the landslide that blocked the track.
"Ohhhhhh I should have listened to my maker and become a concierge!" Henry shut his eyes as the trucks plowed through the rock, off the rails and into the deep ravine below, somehow not shattering into itty-bitty pieces of wood via the magic of plot convenience, I guess.
Henry stared uncomprehendingly at all of hte carnage. He felt somewhat dazed, and was very curious as to why the flatbed before him hadn't gone over. Were flatbeds not considered good enough for faces? These questions kept up philosophers at nights. His driver stared as something incredibly odd appeared around the corner. "What the hell is that?!"
The fireman laughed. "Well, that's our ghost! It's either a leftover model from Camberwick Green, or it's Old Norris Bailey! You remember Norris, right? Policeman, inspector, stationmaster? Apparently he went slightly insane with all the pressure and took to the bottle and escaped to the woods to commune with nature."
Old Bailey was cross, and drunk. He sounded as though he had inhaled seventeen cigarettes for breakfast each day for the past three years. "I tried to bloody warn you about that bloody viaduct, you bloody fools, and you're bloody lucky that I'm not a bloody idiot! Why didn't you bloody well pay bloody attention!?"
"Perhaps if you had, oh, I don't know, gone through any of the official channels and actually done what you were supposed to, instead of randomly leaving your jacket lying around with a weird-ass sign nailed to a tree?" Henry said without taking breath.
"We're sorry we ignored your warnings! Is there anything we can do to thank you?!" The driver was aware that Old Bailey would probably run over him with the pushcart should he argue with him.
"Gimme the old station, promise I won't spook the bloody green berk and all the whisky you can supply."
Henry thought this had disaster written all over it.
...
In a little while, his wish was granted. The station was all done up, and the Fat Controller gave the newly reappointed Stationmaster Norris a big celebration."You shall be really useful! Let's hear it for the friendliest ghost on the Island!"
Everyone cheered, especially Henry, who was the happiest of all.
Three months later, and the Fat Controller politely insisted that Norris Bailey take a sabbatical after accidentally setting the wig of the Mayor's wife on fire. The station was promptly forgot about by everyone.
Which goes to show...something.
...
"Bloody stupid, is what I think of it."
"Come off it, Gordon."
"You come off it, Henry!"
"Heheheheheh-"
"Shut it, you red prat. The bloody wireless is on the fritz again!"
"And this is news, how? It's always on the fritz! It's been on the fritz since the word 'fritz' was invented! Our reception here is a whole load of bull if you haven't noticed yet!"
Carlin sat up. For a moment, he felt a sudden feeling of confusion.
For he was back on Sodor. Almost as he knew it. The rough gravel on the ground, the weeds growing in amongst the cracks in the line, the smell of booze and despair. He felt as though he was back home.
Then he looked in the sheds, and he realized that he wasn't home. He knew this for a number of reasons. There were six engines in the shed. Three were instantly recognizable. Edward, Gordon and, shockingly, a blue Henry, looking miserable. The other three? One he recognized from the picture as the one known as 'The Flying Thistle'. The other two were blue engines of similar length and height, though different class types. Both had stuck up sneers on their faces, and looked like Gordon's nastier cousins.
98462 and 87546, he realized grimly.
And then he saw the date.
May the 1st, 1944.
Which was, of course, when karma decided that the bomb should fall upon the sheds.