Part 3: The Mr Conductor is a Prat Show
Meanwhile, unaware of the shenanigans happening, the six other engines had returned to Tidmouth after a long day of searching for... anything really. Mr Conductor had found himself unable to find a room for the night, not least because he really didn't do with sleeping on his own. So he had hitched a ride back with Percy, and set up a little corner in the sheds for him to get some shut eye.
He had failed to account for the fact that there was a massive hole at the end of the shed that needed fixing, and also that the only bed-wear he had decided to pack was the most stereotypical pajamas ever conceived of. His cap, admittedly a rather childish one, also had the word 'sleeping' written upon it for unknown reasons, which was also the target for much mockery.
"You look like Noddy!" snapped Gordon.
"No, I say he's more a Big Ears." suggested Henry.
"Ha, ha, hysterical. Now let me get some sleep!"
The engines then deliberately continued to talk loudly, and Mr Conductor began to realize why Sir Topham always seemed to be losing his hair when they bumped into each other from time to time. He resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't getting to sleep any time soon, and thus began walking around yawning exaggeratedly in an attempt to psych out the other engines into giving up and going to bed. He heard some pointed remarks by James and Percy regarding his nightgown, and thus decided that if he wasn't getting any sleep, then neither would they.
So, very deliberately, he stood up, picked up his alarm clock and very deliberately began winding it up as loudly as he could. He was rewarded with a small grimace from Thomas, who was the nearest to him, and a warning growl from Gordon. Grinning to himself, Mr Conductor hurried down a flight of stairs put into place in case an emergency ever broke out and they needed to evacuate the crews, and picked up a baseball bat.
What a baseball bat was doing there has not been established to this day, and will forever likely remain a great mystery of the ages, like the Sphinx or Stonehenge, or where James's ego came from. Some things are just not meant to have an answer.
"So who dropped the ball then? Oof!" Mr C grabbed a ball and began bouncing it up and down, laughing at his own joke. "I think I'll have a nice cup of cocoa, will you two join me?" He raised the ball to his ear "No? What would you rather do instead? Go outside and play? You weird, strange ball, you! Ah well, I certainly get it." He turned to the bat "And you?" He hit the ball with the bat "Why'd you always do that? You need a time out!" And he strode over to make a cup of cocoa.
The six engines stared at Mr Conductor in alarm.
"Terrific, the only human left with even a remote chance of helping us, and he's a complete nutcase!" Toby muttered rebelliously.
"Okay, if he starts talking to the alarm clock, we run him over and put him out of his misery." Percy suggested.
"I'm with you on that." remarked Henry, grimly.
"Can anyone hear that?" Thomas remarked. "Sounds like cackling?"
"It's probably Mr C." remarked Gordon, grumpily. "He's nuts enough, I'll say that."
"No, seriously, there's a lot of cackling."
"Needs to be sweeter." remarked Mr Conductor, after trying his cup of cocoa. He headed off into the makeshift kitchen to get some.
"All right Pinchie, time to feast yourself."
"Hang on a moment-" Thomas's eyes widened. The other five engines sat up straight as well. For those who had met him, it sounded a great deal like Diesel 10. Those who hadn't could still smell a bad un from a mile off. Mr Conductor was completely oblivious to all of this, as he took a sip of his cocoa, smiled and let out a sigh of contentment.
Then the wall caved in, and Diesel 10 reached out with his claw towards the engines. Thomas screamed a rather undignified scream and rammed the shed door. It did not shatter into little splinters, much to his disappointment, but stayed resolutely shut.
"You know-" remarked Henry, in a surprisingly calm voice for the situation "-I was rather hoping that my death would be slightly more dignified than this."
"OH GOD!" James wailed, who was not surprisingly calm, as can be clearly gathered. "WE'RE GOING TO DIE!"
Mr Conductor had spilt his cocoa in the panic, and dived across for his whistle. He missed, hitting his head on the wall. Dazed, he had just enough to time to see the absolutely massive face of Diesel 10 glaring in through the area where the scaffolding used to be. Grabbing his hat, the Conductor stood to his full height...and was then knocked back down when the shed shuddered as more scaffolding came crashing down.
The engines were panicked, and were trying to get out. But the doors were bolted fast, and nothing short of a guided missile could break through them in a single blow. Somehow.
"Cinders and ashes! It's Diesel!"
"NO SHIT!" shouted the other five engines to Thomas. The laughter rang out across the sheds, Diesel's face lighting up with no small amount of joy at the sight of the fear in the engines.
"It's been a honor, lads!" shouted Toby, who was pretty sure that this was what death looked like for engines. "Well, except for you, James!"
"GO TO HELL!" James wailed.
"YOU FIRST!"
"Hello Twinkletoes!" Diesel 10 leered at Mr Conductor, while the tender engines tried once again to break the doors down. "Long time no see! Course, last time I met you, it was... well, quite a few decades ago, and it wasn't you, rather. That title of yours is the only reason I'm going to kill you, I just want you to know that. I have a problem, shall we say, with your family. I have a plan. You're not part of it."
"HA! The joke is on you, bud! You can't catch me!" And plucking his whistle out of mid-air, Mr Conductor blew on it. It let out it's shrill response...and did nothing. He blinked. He tried again. Nothing happened. He was vaguely aware of the engines getting even more terrified at this.
The claw snapped and snapped as it came closer to Mr C. "Losing the sparkle, eh? Well, what lovely timing! I'll take care of you, first, and then I'll take my time with the others. I'll rip their faces apart and mangle their buffers, and slash their boilers and tear apart their steamboxes and burn them alive in the smelter's yard, and only then, will I grant them the mercy of death!"
"That sounds nice." Percy said, completely deadpan.
"Now, out of curiosity, and this is just a formality before I end your life, Mr C, where is the lost engine? If you tell me, I'll spare- ...No, hang on, I won't spare your life, that would be stupid, but it'll be quicker. I'll get it out of Duck, anyway, and I know for a fact that the sheep over there have no earthly idea."
"You won't find her here!"
"YEAH! SO PLEASE LEAVE US ALONE!?" It must be said that James's pleading was somewhat embarrassing for the rest of the engines.
"BAA!" As last words go, Percy's were not nearly as impressive as they had been in his head. At least he'd made Toby crack up one last time, there was always that.
"Ah, bravado it is. You're not clever enough to stop me."
"Oh yeah!?" The Conductor scrambled forward, and grabbed the first thing that came to hand.
"...Uh, is that-"
"THAT'S RIGHT, DIESEL!" Mr C began to wildly improvise "IT'S SUGAR!" He paused, and closed his eyes for ten seconds. He couldn't have grabbed anything useful, like a gun, oh no, it had to be a bag of goddamn sugar. "I throw this into your tank, it'll seize you up for good!"
There was a long silence. Henry looked to Diesel 10. "You know, you can just kill us now, this is just embarrassing."
"Yes, well, there are a number of flaws in your careful and well thought out plan there, matey. First of all, you're made of flesh and I can easily crush you. Two, that's a bag of sugar, you're not fooling anyone. Three-"
"Three, he needs to actually reach your tank." Toby added.
"Thank you Toby, and four- Wait, nononono-" His voice changed in the whiny American voice "Ohhhh no! Oh, I have been bested!" And Diesel 10 began to back up. "Damn it, why is it that the engine I have to get my parts from was a total idiot and a coward! Oh well, more fun for me tomorrow! Make the most of tonight, Twinkletoes, because tomorrow is going to be a horrible day for you! And the same goes for the tin kettles in there! I've killed two engines today, I'm willing to have more than a few hat-tricks before the week is through."
His escape was somewhat ruined by the fact that part of the wreckage had gotten caught between buffers and face. And by the fact that his normal, British voice was arguing with the whining American one about how embarrassing this was and how they had had all of the pawns in their clutches. The American voice argued: BUT SUGAR. The British voice was beginning to think that clearly his perfect body had been very slightly over-hyped.
"Well-" remarked Gordon once they were perfectly sure the Diesel was gone "-that was...a thing that happened."
"It occurs to me that maybe using sugar won't work a second time." Henry said to no one in particular. "The fact that it worked somehow a first time is, in and of itself, a major miracle not seen since the time of the New Testament."
"Hardy ha." Mr Conductor stared at his whistle in bafflement. Such a thing had never happened before, and not only in his experience. The Conductor family's legacy stretched back to the time of the Romans, and yet... nothing had ever happened like this. No one had ever lost the ability to use gold dust. No one...
"Well that was terrific!" Thomas's acidic tones cut into Conductor's thoughts, and propelled him back into reality. "Nice work, Mr C, really well done, I'm so glad that this sparkle of yours decided that now was the correct time to give up on life! What the hell happened?!"
"I don't know, Thomas! I'll have to sleep on it!"
"For real this time!?" Percy snapped, his voice gradually becoming more and more higher pitched. His fear had not quite died down yet.
"On your sparkle?"
"Don't be a smartarse, Thomas. On the problem of what happened to it, of course."
"Mr Conductor, without the sparkle or the lost engine, you can't travel here and help us anymore... not that you have today. I mean, really, if you want to leave, I'm actually thinking that we'll be somewhat better off"
"I'll solve that problem when I come to it, Percy. Get some sleep."
"Easy for you to say."
And, because they had no other choice, the engines tried to fall back asleep once more. The key word being tried.
It wasn't as though the Conductor tried to keep them awake, mostly because he was himself trying to get himself off to the land of nod as fast as he could. It was just that...well, he had the unfortunate habit of talking in his sleep.
"Sparkle! Gold Dust! Magic! Railroad! Buffers! Lost Engine! Spies! Models! A movie star! Professor and Mary Ann!"
Percy bit his tongue, and forced the many, many sarcastic comments he wanted to say back into the darker areas of his mind.
"My family told me as long as there is a railroad-"
"Railway" muttered Toby, Gordon and Henry together, somehow, in their sleep
"-there is harmony! As long as there is gold dust, there is energy!"
"Sounds like a load of old tosh to me." muttered Percy, picking the least offensive insult he could.
"You will never have to worry! Hahahahahaha-" And Mr C continued in this pattern for quite a while, laughing hysterically to himself.
"Oh god, I don't know how much more of this I can take" Toby groaned. "It feels like we're in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest!"
"Yeah, sure!" Mr Conductor scolded himself, and finally drifted off to sleep. But it was not a good kind of sleep. It was unrestful, and Mr Conductor fidgeted around as he tried to find a comfortable position.
Not that the content of the dream was much better either.
He was standing on what appeared to be a newly built freeway, the tar was still wet as he trudged his way through it. His uniform was in tatters, and he was vaguely aware that there appeared to be blood dripping from his forehead. This bothered him somewhat less than it really should have.
"Mr C!"
He frowned. It sounded like Stacy. "Oh. Dream. Right." He looked down at his legs, rapidly being swallowed by the hot and sticky tar, and scratched his cheek. "Hmmm, well, I think I need to ask myself some questions about my mental state, but aside from that." He strode forward, as best as one could stride forward in hot tar, and grinned at her "So, what's happening. Stacy? Haven't seen you outside Shining Time Station for a long-" He suddenly noticed something. "-time?"
Rubbish was lying all around him, including a shattered jukebox and the remains of a old painting of what he recognized as Old Smokey. Right next to him, he could see the village square, with chunks of grass torn out of it, and a strange black mechanical device was glowing and pulsating like crazy.
The freeway was also standing right where Shining Time should have been.
"Why aren't you here!?" Stacy wept, and Mr Conductor tried to take a step forward to reach out, but the tar now suddenly seemed to solidify around him "Why couldn't you travel any more to the Island of Sodor, or stay back home with us at Shining Time!?"
"Uh uh, no way, brain, you don't get to guilt trip me!" Mr C struggled forward, trying in vain to shift the tar, which now appeared to have risen to his waist.
"The magic is broken." Stacy looked him dead in the eye. Dead being the key word, as suddenly she appeared to crumble right before him, decaying rapidly.
"God alive, what the hell's going on!?" Mr Conductor finally managed to yank himself free of the tar, and backed away from Stacy's corpse, which was now decomposing into dust at a horrifyingly fast rate. He looked around wildly, desperately looking for somewhere to run to, as black smoke began to fill the air. "I'd like to wake up now, please!"
"Why…. weren't…you…. there?"
The horrible, wheezing voice that sounded as if it was on the verge of completely shattering chilled the Conductor to the bone. He turned around, and fell backwards in horror, as the horrifying specter of Thomas the Tank Engine coughing what appeared to be a blood-like substance up. His face was gaunt and his eyes were bloodshot.
Then, with a single blow, Thomas was torn apart by Diesel 10. Or at least, Mr Conductor thought it was Diesel 10. He had the same claw as Ten, but he seemed to have grown to a absolutely massive height now, his body was a huge, pulsating mass of black shadows that lashed out at anything and everything, and his face was larger and more bestial than any engine could ever be.
With a roar, he raised his claw and shook it triumphantly at the skies. Mr Conductor followed it up, and saw three shadowy figures outlined against the sun. he recognized them from Duck's description: P.T Boomer, Captain Zero and, in the middle, the Fat Director. And then he realized that what he was standing in wasn't tar at all. It was whatever shadowy force Diesel 10 was made of, swallowing the world up, and him along with it
He jerked up in the bed, gasping aloud. He looked around, patted the ground to make sure that it was still there and wasn't about to swallow him and the engines up whole and wiped the sweat from his brow "What the heck's happening to our railroad and our world?! My universe, all of our universes are in danger! I've got to find more gold dust!"
"GO TO SLEEP!" roared the engines as one.
...
"We have a problem, Skarloey."
"Another one, boyo!? We're not out of the nectar of the gods, are we?"
"No, Skarloey, the alcohol is still well stocked up." As Skarloey breathed a sigh of relief, Rusty continued onwards. "No, it's just that I've been unable to find a way to contact Bertram up at the mines. I asked Ivo Hugh to head on up and look out for him after the meeting with Mr Condiments, or whatever he calls himself. He's not back yet, and with all the rumors flying about with regards to this new Diesel, I don't want to take chances."
"Quite right. How about this? You hold down the fort here, while I mosey on up there with Peter Sam to try and see if we can't find something out."
"...You want to take Peter Sam with you."
"Yes."
"To potentially fight against a serial killer."
"Uh huh."
"On your own."
"Look, boyo, Peter Sam could probably baffle the Cheshire Cat in a battle of wits!" At the expression of alarm on Rusty's face, the red engine sighed. "All right. I'm taking him to get the boy out of your hair for a bit, mate. You have enough worries dealing with Duncan and Sir Handel without having to be nursemaid, or the gender neutral equivalent of one, to Sammy boy. He'll be safe, I promise."
"...If you are sure."
"See you later! Smoke us a kipper, and all that!"
...
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!"
It was a rather strange thing, Duck decided, that he couldn't decide whether or not the fact that Diesel 10 was enraged and slamming his claw into everything he could find was terrifying or somewhat hilarious.
Diesels rushed forward to help him, amongst them Arry and Bert. "What is it, sir?" Arry asked, his voice the very epitome of concern for his master's well being. He noted internally that there were many ways for him to interpret Ten's question. There was the honest one, the brutally honest one, the technically lying one...he could have been there forever had Ten not slammed the claw into the ground.
"I had them, Arry, I. HAD. THEM. I was on the verge of snuffing out that miserable little Conductor and taking the lives of those little tin pot pests, when-" He used his claw to point at himself "-The other fellow comes in, the American, the idiot backed us away from a bag of sugar. SUGAR! I once managed to convince an entire village to eat itself, bones and all, and I've been scared off by a bag of SUGAR!" He was taking it well, all things considered. So far, not one person had been boiled alive.
"Hmmm." Arry frowned, his brow wrinkling in interest. "That is a interesting fact, my lord. The process was obviously a work in progress, but I never expected something such as this to go down." He hemmed and hawed for a moment, then appeared to hit upon a idea "This is a side effect, as you have already worked out, no doubt, of using parts from the experimental diesels that the Americans were attempting to perfect. And from the Juggernaut, and from the Metropolitan Vickers we scrapped for parts a year or so ago."
"Obviously."
"Well then, the high amount of magic that you possess, coupled with the...unusual nature in which those who donated parts to you donated them, combined to produce this effect. Think of it as an after image of all those who came before you. Ghosts, or voices, depends which one you'd prefer."
"I gather that, Arry. Now, how do I make it stop!?"
"Simple. I put a bullet in your brain!" Duck's mirth was interrupted rudely when one diesel with a cattle prod slammed it into his face. Even so, it was worth it.
"Why, sir, if I may be so bold, are we keeping that one around?"
"He has knowledge of the way the Iron Circle work. Once my powers are fully recharged, and once I have a proper grip on this body, I can...remove the information I need. His compliance isn't a factor. But, in the meantime, Arry, while you and Bert consider a way to reduce these...annoying attacks of mine, you can play with him."
A smile crept over Bert's face. Arry continued onwards, simpering."Oh, thank you, sir!"
"Excuse me, mate, but what do you want me to do?"
Ten smirked. "Ah, George, my friend. For you, I have a rather important job. I want you to flatten the rails. Destroy the buffers. Kill every truck that you can."
The idea of magic was lost on George the steamroller, so the diesel had decided to not tell him much about that side of things. Instead, as reward for his services, George was to gain control over the turntables of the Island, to be used as his own personal roller rink. Clanking away, the steamroller chugged off, followed closely by the three Horrid Lorries.
Duck sighed. "Well. come on then! Let's see what the grim reapers of the scrapyard have in store! If I'm not impressed, I'm asking for my money back."
...
A YEAR PREVIOUSLY.
"It's a flaw, to be sure." Gotch remarked, as he cut into a nice juicy steak. "We could have just as easily gone for a normal Warship class and saved ourselves a hell of a lot of trouble."
"Of course we could have." Boomer agreed, tucking into his own steak. "We could have made the ultimate fighting machine. We could have done a lot of things different. But here is the thing about the Fat Director, Gotch. He looks at the ultimate devil, the creature of dark and shadow that can destroy nearly anything in it's path and thinks "I can use this to my advantage!". So he creates these flaws that'll hamper his ability to think."
"Voices in his head?"
"Exactly. Now, with all the souls he'll be powered with, the Malevolence will be unstoppable. But at the moment, he will not be the Malevolence. He'll be Diesel 10, and Diesel 10 is stoppable, and controllable. It would take a lot of effort, but he can be stopped. The voices are a Trojan horse, meant to be a way of stopping him in his tracks should he start to rebel."
"If you know all this, then why aren't you working alongside him?"
Boomer grinned. "Thing is, Gotch, I have my own agenda. You know what the most obvious thing to do is? The thing that no one has thought of doing because if they did, then they'd have a monster they couldn't control?"
"What?"
"I'll let you figure it out. On one side of the world, Diesel 10. Most of the Malevolence in him. On the other side, Marklin. He also has part of the Malevolence inside him."
Gotch frowned. "They haven't thought of making the Malevolence whole again?"
"Nailed it."
"...And is that your plan?"
"Only the tip of the iceberg. Besides, we have a long way to go."
...
Elsewhere, the Rainbow Sun backed into the large station at New Bigg City. There had been rumors floating around that the stationmaster was a complete and utter nut who insisted upon greeting passengers with a loaded gun, and thus all trains had been postponed until such time as they could take him off to a nice and quiet padded room. Lily wandered forward, looking around blankly. Her mother had been called back for an important meeting regarding her pregnancy, and so she had trusted that Lily knew her way around.
She did, usually. It was just that the entire station had never been this jam-packed before, and it was a little confusing considering how many trains looked similar.
As fate would have it, Mutt had traveled with Billy to the big station that morning. Now, we will never know exactly went through Mutt's mind at this particular junction, for the simple reason that he is a dog, and that a great deal of his thoughts consisted of 'Food', 'Sit', 'Fetch', 'Chase cat' and variations of those themes. However, something (Or someone, someone with a kind female voice) had spoken to him on that particular day, saying that perhaps Lily could help him, and that both could help Mr Conductor. But only if she met someone special at Shining Time first.
This was a tenuous link even for a dog's brain to make, but as he was a good dog, Mutt spotted the girl named Lily wandering around the many platforms in bafflement.
"Attention!" The voice over the speakers called out "Last train for Muffle Mountain leaving now! The last train for Shining Time Station will be departing at track 4! Also, for the love of God, we're aware that our numbering system is terrible! We don't need a constant reminder of it! We're depressed enough as it is!"
Lily frowned, and looked around for the number of the current platform she was on. But so many people were jostling and shoving each other, it was impossible for her to see. She spotted the dog, and noticing that he had a lack of owner, hurried over. "Now, I don't suppose you'd know where track four is, would you?"
Some people would have considered this to be a bit...odd. Lily said that dogs were far better conversationalists than people.
Mutt barked.
"Do you?" She looked at the nearest train "Is that it? …. Oh, why not?" If it was the wrong train, then she could just as easily phone home or get Uncle Burnett to get her. She grinned at the dog, aware that most people were looking at her oddly but not giving a single care "I hope you're right!"
Mutt felt no guilt. True, he had sent Lily on the wrong train, but it was for the right reasons. At least, that was his view on it, as a dog morality often didn't come into many of his decisions. There were usually three sections of his brain: Bones, walks and food. He rarely considered what his grand place in the cosmos was, and he was quite happy not to.
He jumped on the front of the train just as it began to pull out from the platform, as Lily relaxed back and began to listen to the latest song by Dayna Manning, 'I Know How the Moon Must Feel'.
….
Burnett parked his car on the lane besides his farm, and wearily climbed out, holding onto the door as he gingerly levered himself out. There was always a bit of phantom pain sometimes when it came to driving. He attributed that to his growing up during the war. He had got off lucky, though.
He didn't bother locking the car. It was an old beetle that he had managed to get as a birthday present from his sister in law, and it hadn't been in tip-top condition when she had 'generously' dumped it on him. If someone were to steal it, they would probably send it back with a full refund.
As he went inside, a sudden thought lead to him rifling through the set of old books on his shelf. He almost smiled as he leafed through a copy of 'The Romance of Railroads'. It certainly took him back. He glanced at the clock. "Funny….Lily should be here by now." He tried to calm his mind by thinking about how responsible Lily was supposed to be. But even so, in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but worry. He headed over to his phone, and reluctantly dialled Stacy's home number.
"Hello, Stacy? Uh, yes, this is Burnett. Look, I'd hate to call you right now, but I'm expecting my grand-daughter, Lily, to be coming- Yes, I know, I don't look old enough to be a grandfather, but, please, she was supposed to come about half an hour ago, and I haven't seen her. So, could you just head back to the station and check, please? Thank you. I'll be out fixing up a car if you do, so if you can pick her up and drop her off by the signpost, that'd be….right, thanks."
He groaned as he placed the phone down, and reluctantly headed back out to the car. He had reluctantly agreed to fix up an old pickup truck for Schemer, the owner of the arcade in Shining Time, just so he'd get off his back.
He wasn't to know that, as Stacy left the phone booth and headed over to the station in her own car, P.T Boomer was playing back the call and listening with great interest.
…..
"I can't believe this is how we're spending the day after we were all threatened."
"Truly, this is a fate worse than death."
Both Gordon and Henry were trapped in the sheds until James could use the turntable, and James couldn't use the turntable until his two-hour long transformation into the fabulous red engine was complete, and this couldn't be completed until Mr Conductor finished scrubbing his face with a broom. It was a…unique way of washing James's face.
Much had been made of Duck and Edward's disappearance, a fact that worried all of the engines a great deal. Even the bigger engines, like Gordon and Henry, were worried. In fact, those two probably more than most. In their own way, they were aware that they and Edward were amongst the oldest engines still left on the Island, and even though Gordon especially still argued a great deal, they were still fond of the blue engine. Everyone was searching the island whilst doing work.
Save for James, of course.
"Left a bit! Aaah, right a bit! No, up a tad! Oh, yeah, that's the spot!"
"This is obscene."
Gordon agreed with Henry's statement.
"There, James." Mr Conductor put his broom down, wondering vaguely why it was that he had somehow completely forgotten his mission about saving the collapse of his universe or some such rot. "Tickle all gone?"
"Oh yes!" James hadn't a tickle really, he was lying through his teeth to get special treatment. "I mean, er, no. Still itchy, so if you could just-"Mr Conductor yawned, and James saw an opportunity to guilt Mr Conductor into doing more buffing on him "Mr C! Why do you look so tired? Is it because I'm red?! It is, isn't it!? Diesel says red is a tiring colour- "
"Are you sure he wasn't talking about you?" Gordon muttered.
"-but I think it looks so nice against the snow! …It's not green, is it?"
"OI!" Henry shouted. Percy shot James a dirty look as he pulled a line of tankers and the breakdown crane away from the sheds.
"Oh no, James." Mr Conductor saw through James's attempts to get him to do more work very easily. James wasn't subtle in the slightest. Words like subtle were meant for other engines. "I think that red is bright and cheerful! Like fire, and chicken pox, and Communism! But it reminds me a lot of my gold dust. Or at least it did. It must be again."
"Oh get over yerself." snapped Douglas.
"Preach, Douglas." Henry muttered. "You weren't here last night! Do you know, this fool wrote an entire ode to his gold dust, weeping as he did so?! I swear to God, I've heard old Anglo-Saxon poets that go on less about subjects than he did!"
"You just don't appreciate art!"
"And you just don't appreciate how much you are beginning to grate on our nerves!" Henry groaned. "Douglas, let's go get drunk. It's a damn sight more enjoyable than whatever...this is!"
"Right on!"
Mr Conductor acted very maturely and stuck his tongue out at the two departing engines."Sorry James, can't do anything else, got to go to the windmill to search for something important. Off you go to work!"
"Keep your steam up!" James puffed as he left the sheds, finally. It wasn't until he had reached the station to fetch his coaches that he realized that Mr Conductor had gotten away with insulting him.
...
"God damn it!"
Trying to follow the map in Sir Topham Hatt's office that Mr Conductor had stolen was a bit like trying to run through quicksand. It was certainly doable, but only by certain types of people.
In retrospect, Mr Conductor thought, I should have taken up that offer from Percy to just take me there. But no, I just had to be the man, didn't I? I had to have a goddamn inferiority complex about steam trains! What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I climbing a wall? I regret a lot of my life choices!
Finally, he flipped himself over the wall, twisting his ankle as he did so. He mopped his brow, and glanced around, expecting to smell dough, or flour, or well cooked pastries.
Instead, he smelt cow dung.
"Where's the windmill?" he asked aloud. "Shouldn't-" He consulted the map, and then realized that he was reading it upside down. Which he should have noticed a while ago, perhaps. "I'm supposed to be by the windmill and I am instead by...Here there be dragons. Huh. Well, shit."
He kicked out. His foot made contact with a large stone, and he hopped around in anger until he tripped and fell ass over teakettle. "Well-" he said, face muffled by the dirt "-now I've completely lost my sense of direction!"
He sat up, wiped the dirt from his face, and pondered. Out of curiosity, he tried his whistle once again. Nothing. Not even a flash, this time. He tried once more, and then reluctantly slipped it back into his pocket. Dejectedly, he sat down on the wall, and pondered what to do. It was foolish, he reasoned, to go climbing on back down the wall. He could fall, or worse, ruin his designer clothing.
"All gone. Really. All gone. If I don't find the source and make more, then I know what the consequences will be. In retrospect, telling the engines who actually live on this Island may have been a fair idea." Mr Conductor cursed his brain for not being it's usual idiotic and forgetful self.
"No one's ever told me what to do in a gold dust crisis. And I can't believe I'm saying these words. If you can't remember the clue, then the windmill will remind you...where's the windmill? ...What's the clue!?"
No one answered him.
He wasn't exactly sure why he was speaking aloud in such a manner.
Still, he had to start somewhere. He boldly strode off in the direction that he had deduced from a very ingenious solution (Eeny-Meenie-Minie-Mo) was the correct path.
Right into a pond.
...
Later that day, the engines gathered together to hold a meeting to discuss progress on the disappearances. Percy couldn't attend, and Toby could only stay for a few minutes, due to a call from Peter Sam that he needed to take care of.
Bertie, in a remarkably cheerful mood despite the fact that he had no passengers, rushed by. "Why so glum, steamers!? Smile, it's a sunny day! Brm brm!"
Yes. He actually said that. The sun was beginning to get to his brain.
"Not sunny. At least not in a metaphorical sense, which I am...for some reason interpreting it as! Mr C's not at the windmill, I've checked. All of them. And there's still no sign of Edward or Duck on my end." James looked worried, actually worried about what was going on. This was the sign of the apocalypse, in the humble opinion of the other engines.
"Silly yank's probably lost the last bit of his sparkle." grumbled Thomas. "Probably got himself lost in the forest somewhere, and he's curled up somewhere whimpering." He had little tolerance for Mr Conductor at the moment.
"The hell is Bertie on about! My smokebox doesn't feel sunny!" Henry blew his rather red nose on a over-sized tissue "Feels like it's stuffed up!"
"A rather sudden cold, if I may say so, Henry." noted Toby. "I saw you earlier on and you looked fine."
"It's the nasty fumes from those dingy diesels- er, no offence, Mavis." Gordon quickly attempted to put Mavis, who had come along to make sure Toby was okay, at ease.
"No, Toby, you're right. It is sudden." Henry suddenly began talking more earnestly. "I think it's the Island. I've always been somewhat in-tune with it, you know-" He growled at the loud groans that came from the assembled engines. "-Well I have! I have been the one most concerned for the safety of this Island, and as such, my cold is clearly a sign from the great Earth Goddess Gaia-"
"Okay, Reverend Sharpton, unless Gaia sends these messages via fax machine, I really don't care." James clicked his tongue, and attempted to appeal to Mavis to back him up.
She rolled her eyes, and looked at Toby, who quickly spoke up.
"No sign on our behalf of Edward."
"Ye don't think he's gone off in a huff like he did back during the events with that dreadful electric engine?" Donald asked.
"No. Edward would never abandon us when we needed him this much." Thomas looked around "And of course, no sign of Duck."
"I don't like this." muttered Douglas "I haff a feeling that it's a diesel related issue!"
"Perhaps he thinks that they know something about the lost engine?" Henry suggested, sneezing once again.
"If he finds her, I fear that's the end for us." Toby looked grim "I was able to find a couple of things out while I was going about looking for our chums, you know, to see what we were up against. Found an old jotter that Duck had been hiding." He paused. "The jotter itself are very old, a lot of the ink's faded and it was originally written with a quill which makes it hard for me to see it properly, but-"
"Yes?"
"Well, according to the book, if Diesel 10 is this...Malevolence that Duck was talking about, then he's currently in the first stage of his transformation into the ultimate world destroying evil creating entity that people keep saying he is. He's not yet at his full power."
"What'll get him there?"
"Nothing much. Killing Lady should help. All that ancient power and magic without a vessel to hold onto it, it automatically seeks out the most powerful being in the area at the time. Absorb that, and he's got the power to remake the world as he sees fit. The first phase, however, is characterized by a great deal of...er-"
"What?" Gordon laughed nervously "Fun? Party planning?"
"Killing."
"Even an engine as big as me! Surely you jest!"
"Yes Gordon. Even you. Anyway, there's another section that suggests that fusing with his 'other half' will fix everything. Though god knows what that means."
"AT-CHOO!" sneezed Thomas, so loud that the entire ground seemed to shake. "Oh thanks a bundle, Henry!"
"Say it, don't spray it, Thomas!"
"Stop using Americanisms, James, it makes you sound like a twat! I think that sneezing powder's still up my funnel! Now, while chatting about our impending doom is fun and all, I'd rather go about and start looking for the chums. Oh, and Mr Conductor, I suppose."
"Let's get back to work." Toby suggested "That's what he would have wanted. But as the oldest engine here with Edward missing-"
"Who put you in charge?!" demanded James.
"I did. Now listen. Considering how big the island is, Diesel 10 can be anywhere, and can strike at any time. What I suggest we do, is that we make sure that we arm ourselves as best we can with the help of the Pinchers, just in case something should happen. The Fat Controller left anti-aircraft guns all over the Island when the COld War ended, and I have no doubt that the Pinchers can find us any old bits of tat that we can use to protect ourselves."
This was agreed upon as being a wise idea indeed, and soon both Toby and Mavis departed to meet up with Peter Sam.
"How bout a race, Thomas!?"
"Have you got a problem, Bertie? Can't today, anyway, I have to solve a mystery!"
"All that's missing is the cowardly dog, you meddling kid! Oh, by the way, I win! Brum brum!"
"Why do you keep saying that?"
"I've been drinking some weird oil recently."
...
"I'd thought, see, that the boyo should get you because, well, you were the one who found him, right bud?"
"I understand, Skarloey." Toby didn't, in all honesty, but he was aware that whatever it was, it must have been serious. He glanced to Mavis, who was looking a little nervous. "You didn't have to come, Mave, I was fine to do this on my own."
"I'm fine." Mavis grinned. "Can't get rid of me that easily, old timer."
"Oi!" Toby chuckled. "Less of that, if you please!" He suddenly stopped. "Okay, is it just me, or can you hear that?"
"What?"
"That screaming."
All three paused, and then hurried forward.
Peter Sam was looking on helplessly as he reversed around the corner, looking terrified. He caught sight of Skarloey and began babbling. "Oh! He...He just sort of...got worse! I tried to keep him watered and fueled as best I could, but all of a sudden he started howling, and-"
"It's fine, Peter Sam, it's okay. You've done your best." Toby was firm, gentle, but with the distinct tinge of authority. "Listen, Skarloey'll take you back to Crovan's Gate, I'll deal with...with whatever happens, kay?" Peter Sam looked nervously, but did as he was told. "Good lad. Skarloey, I should be back in a hour or so with news."
"Thank you, boyo!"
As they left, Toby looked grimly round the corner. He took a very deep breath, and tried as best he could to steel himself. "Mave, I'm not sure either of us is going to like what we see around the corner."
"I know. I'm still giving you a hand though."
"Good. Forward, m'dear." And together, the two rounded the corner towards the Mine Fairground.
Even Toby couldn't have prepared himself for what he saw. He let out a gasp, and felt Mavis shudder behind him.
In front of him was Bertram. Or rather, what was left of him. If you were to get up close and scrape away all the dirt and soot and ash that was emitting from his funnel, outwardly there would appear to be no sign of trouble. And yet black smoke was pouring from his funnel, from his wheels, even from his cylinders, which was not supposed to happen even at the worst times. A strange, blood-like substance was leaking from his whistle, and from the sides of his boiler.
His face...his eyes were wide open, and both Toby and Mavis could see just enough to know that the same blood-ish substance seemed to cover them, just a tad. The black smoke was coming from his mouth as well, and with a horrified moan, Toby realized that Bertram appeared to be cooking from the inside out.
Then, the Old Warrior caught sight of him. And despite everything...he laughed. "You came to help!" he howled with pain and amusement in equal measures in his voice. "Help me, like Stuart did! Help me!? His blasted manager and that damn tender engine are the reasons why I'm here!"
"Mavis, get me...get me-" Much to his horror, Toby realized that there was no one Mavis could get. There were no fitters, no men at the works, no way to contact anyone via telephone...all they had was the Pinchers, and even then, getting Bertram to the works was going to be nigh impossible. "Get me...Duke! Get me Duke!"
"Yes, of course!" Mavis hurried back, refusing to look at Bertram. Toby didn't blame her, but he forced himself forward. If Bertram was to die, then he didn't like the idea of him being on his own. "Bertram? Old Warrior? Can you hear me?"
"Course I can."
"Look, what happened! You were fine last I saw of you!"
Another cackle, but this time one of bitterness. "Silly old fool that I was, thought that I could stop them."
"Stop them?" Toby frowned. "Stop who?! Diesel?"
"No, no, no... the Fat Director."
"What?!"
"... My name isn't really Bertram at all. I'm Old, but I'm no Warrior. I was in those mines for about three years, if even that. But I have been trapped for far longer elsewhere. My real name is Smudger. I came here when I was younger to work on the Mid-Sodor Railway. Well, that obviously didn't work out. Maybe I did ride a little rough. Maybe I was ruder than I should have been. But...of all things, a generator!?"
Toby stared, this time in pity. "You're Smudger? From Thomas's story?! ...You poor thing. God alive, I forgot that was what they used to do to...disobedient engines. It was cruel, and barbaric!"
"Someone who gets it! Falcon never got it, too busy looking at his bloody manifestos. And Stuart, whenever he wasn't off on his own little world, was always swayed back by Duke. Duke!" Bertram- or Smudger, Toby had no idea what to call him -spat, a hard lump of something that looked like tissue. "Duke, his grace, rattling on about how 'they' did things differently over here. Silly old fool. Set in his ways. To him, I was a traitor. I just wanted to ride a little rough, was that really so bad!? ...So...So I waited. And waited. No one picked me when it was time to divide up the assets of the railway, so I was left along with that old rustbucket."
Toby looked around at the sound of chuffing. Mavis had been there a while, and Duke, standing unsteadily in front of her, puffed forward, having heard everything. Whether or not it went in or not, though...
"But people came, as they always did, and began to tear the area up to get at HIM! Duke was lucky. People cared about him. Not about me. Sentenced to rotting in some ditch somewhere while he got to go home, get repainted and given jobs to do...but they took me. To the scrapyard. That's when he found me. Gotch. He took me back to this...odd looking railway. He sat me down, and oiled and greased me, all the things that no one had done since I was torn apart and put back together. And he brought this man in, this Fat Director. And we talked. He said he understood my plight, and the plight of others. Others whose legacy it was to be forgotten, to be the ones who didn't get episodes centered around their exploits, and books written about their foibles and positives. Engines whom you'd be lucky to get down as a footnote in history. Atlas, Alfred, John, Jennings, Albert, Jim, Tim, Jerry...we're just fodder for the rest of you."
The smoke had died down now, but Toby was fully aware that Bertram wasn't getting up again. "And what happened?" he asked gently.
Silence. Then "He told me that I could go back and have a proper life again. I could pull passengers, I could take trucks, I could be as reckless as I wanted and I'd only get punished for it. It is a far better thing to be locked up in the sheds for a week or so, than to be condemned to a slow, agonizing living death as a generator. All I had to do was pass on a few bits of information when it came my way, I wouldn't even need to take it to him, my new crew could. What the hell would you have done? I took the deal. And then they buggered it up. Couldn't work out if I was a tank engine or a tender engine. They messed around with my insides so goddamn much, it was a miracle that they got me there at all. They scrapped the old plan of presenting me as a new engine and shoved me in a dingy mine shaft for years. But I got out eventually, and...well, stuff happened. They passed on info, don't ask me what, I can't remember."
Toby gently began to push Bertram back into the shade. "But then...why this?"
"I...I was listening last night at the meeting, and I heard my driver and fireman talking about the army he's gathered...this Boomer fellow. They said that he'd used a spell in a attempt to completely eradicate the Island. I never wanted that! ...He'd messed it up somehow, some magic countered it, and so he was only able to get the humans. But my driver and fireman had been off the Island when that happened. When they got back, they said they were going to...to...I...I couldn't let it happen. I attacked them. Didn't see it coming. The fireman got off a lucky shot in the cab, and...and here I am. Pretty sure that the Fat Director put a killswitch in me."
Another cough. "But listen to me! That quiet one, the one that didn't do anything aside from hard work...the Stunt Double! Ivo Hugh! He was here, on the night that the humans were taken. And...and something happened. He got knocked off the rails, and when my crew got here, they teleported him back to the Other Railway! He was innocent! I never wanted to harm anyone!"
Duke watched Smudger, or Bertram, write in agony. He stepped forward. "I'm sorry, old boy. I...I don't quite remember you. It's all gone, you see. My memory. I only get flashes of it now and again. Silly, really. When you've gone through so much and I had it relatively easy. I am sorry. So, so, sorry."
The engine didn't seem to notice. "Toby."
"Hmm?"
"Do you think...if I prayed hard enough...God might forgive me for my sins?"
"I don't know, Bertram. But it can't hurt to try." Toby looked back, and gestured for Mavis to come forward.
The four of them sat together and prayed aloud for a very long time.
Until there was only three of them, as a matter of fact. Until the black smoke had died down completely, until the last ragged breath had been drawn...until the final words, an acceptance of a apology overdue for decades now, had been spoken. Until it was that Bertram the Old Warrior, formerly known as Smudger, finally died.
...
And now, back to the comedy!
It had been five hours, and Mr Conductor was rapidly beginning to be of the opinion that he would never get out of this damn forest. He had drunk something that looked and smelled like water (Actually a new form of moonshine cooked up by Carlin in the eighties. It tasted like it had been there since the eighties too) and was now convinced that he was in Wonderland, chatting with the White Rabbit over tea.
As he stumbled through yet another clearing, he began to think of the many things he had wanted to do with his life before coming to the Island. Go fishing, tend to his flowers, have sex at any point...he was missing out on so much.
It was then that he noticed something upon the floor. "What's this?" He bent down to pick it up. At least, in his mind. In reality, he was currently spinning around on the floor like a turtle on it's back, foaming at the mouth, as he waited for the inevitable descent off the high it had given him.
The note, which was in fact real, had been left by some other people of dubious standards when it came to what they put into their bodies. Mr Conductor read aloud "Noticed you left your thinking cap behind, try these instead, they're good for the brain. Ignore the smell of vomit, it goes away after a while. Gone fishing, Rabbit!" To his addled mind, the idea that a six foot rabbit was somehow walking around the island and leaving random notes with remarkable penmanship made more sense to him than what the actual explanation was.
Throwing himself on the floor, Mr C reached out, clawed randomly at the dirt for a few minutes, before at last reaching a random collection of vegetables that were somehow there. Of course, in reality, these were not actually vegetables, because despite the magic restorative power that they have (can you tell who we're sponsored by?) even they are not capable of making the following leaps of logic that occurred now. No, these were miracle drugs, drugs that were supposed to open up your minds to find the answers to all the most pressing concerns there were.
For example, can one make an Alec Baldwin lookalike go absolutely off the chain nuts?
"How very thoughtful!" Mr Conductor declared. His current definition of the word 'thoughtful' was different from nearly everyone else's, being high as a kite at the time does that to you. Logic suggests that you don't eat random things that people have left behind without at least washing them first. So naturally, Mr Conductor took a big bite out of one of the 'carrots'.
"PLANE! DRAIN!" he bellowed, scaring away the birds. He blinked. Perhaps this 'carrot' was a magical one, like the ones his grandpappy had grown in a special greenhouse and which the police officers were very interested in taking from him. He took another bite. "MOUNTAIN! FOUNTAIN! Might be something! I'll try the celery!" This was truly the best idea he had ever had.
What was happening, though Mr Conductor would have no recollection of this by the time night rolled around, was that the drugs were unblocking his memories, in a way, of things his parents had told him. An actual rabbit watched with bafflement as Mr Conductor continued his Yellow Submarine style trip with the 'celery'.
"Sausage!? Bicycle? HIC! Toothpaste! BEACH! HIC!"
He paused. "Beach...Beach... BEACH! AH HA! THAT'S IT! I HAVE TO MAKE A CALL!"
The rabbit watched as the mad fool jumped high in the air in excitement, and then fell down a hole.
Humans, it thought to itself, and disappeared.
...
"I can keep you safe here for a week, maybe week and a half, tops, you got it?"
Etienne nodded, and Axel let the workmen shut the door. The French had helped to create a secondary base for the Iron Circle should the first one fall for any reason. It was a bit more cramped, but the thirty or so survivors of the massacre didn't mind. All in all, they were a sorry lot. Mallard and the Duchess of Hamilton moved amongst the wounded, trying their best to see if they could assist in any way. Iron Duke and Stephenson's Rock were too old to do anything more than rest up at the moment, which left Green Arrow in charge of trying to raise a signal from his cousins Dominion of Canada and Republic of South Africa.
Scotsman, Truro and the few remaining international heads of state gathered round, discussing what to do next.
"This is bad. How much do you reckon they've gotten away with, intelligence wise?"
"Luckily, sir, most of it was located at the Tower of London, so they haven't got their hands on anything vital. Just timetables and..."
"And what, Truro?"
"...And all records of our contacts with Shining Time."
There was a sudden, horrible silence. In the middle of this, a workmen walked up. "Scuse me sir, but there's a diesel outside. He claims to be from the Island of Sodor. Says he has some news for you."
"What's his name?"
"It's rather hard to make out...at first he said it was Nigel Thornberry, then Jeremy Paxman. I finally got him to admit his real name was Derek, only for him to start smoking from the engine."
"Is it a trick?"
"A bloody strange one if it is, sir."
"Hmm...at this point, I'm willing to try anything. Bring him in."
...
It was a beautiful day at Kauai. The sun shone down, the water was a peaceful and beautiful looking blue, the sand was soft and warm under the fingers of the beach bum lying down, and there was nary a seagull in sight.
However, no one else was on the beach, save for the one beach bum previously mentioned. He had many names, but usually he was referred to as 'Hey, You with the surfboard' or Junior, for short. He was an expert in beaches, and a long time examiner of how to avoid work and enjoy himself. He hummed to himself as he slathered more sunscreen over his arms and legs, and tried to stop his gold dust from teleporting himself away.
If he had had his eyes open, Junior would have seen something very, very strange indeed. One of the clouds suddenly seemed to tear itself apart, as a strange navy bluish hole appeared out of nowhere, with strands of red, green, orange and purple energy rippling out faster and faster until at last, with a rather loud crashing sound, a single hot air balloon tumbled out from the spiral, fell to the beach and smashed itself to pieces. A second later, the strange hole in the sky seemed to fix itself, and vanished without a trace.
Five seconds later, a bedraggled figure stood up from the wreckage. He brushed himself down, looked around and his surroundings and bellowed to the sky:
"I'M BACK YOU F**KING BASTARDS!"
Guess who's back
Back again
Carlin's back.
Tell a friend.
REVIEW TIME.
Game-Watch: Yeah, you're not wrong. I actually wanted to think of an explanation for why the hell the portrait keeps changing, but I got nowt.
MattPrice01: Thank you! I appreciate that, really did want to make the reveal a big and dramatic one. It's actually why I left the scene on that note, wanted to have it feel more powerful that way. Oh, the Power Rangers analogy was a shout out to that, but the idea that I actually had will come into play next time. I hope.
Kamen Rider Necrom: Oh don't worry. He'll suffer. Mwahahaha.
Bronze Shield: Sorry mate. But those secret agents, eh? So weird.
bigyihsuan: Oh it's going to get really bloody insane! And Edward is...absent from this chapter, but you'll see him next time! Hopefully you'll find what I've done interesting!
Reality Rejection Service: Edward's arc in this was one of the things that I really wanted to write. I'm compensating for the lack of Edward episodes/appearances since Season 3 in many ways.
Radical sandwiches: Thanks! Comedy is still important! As you can tell from this chapter, there's a bit of whiplash, but I want there to be something for people to laugh at. And that's a decent idea. I'll think about it!
TrainManiac: I appreciate that. The stitching together is not the first time that I'll do that, but I can promise you it was the most painful one to do. I've done what I think is a better version in this chapter with the meeting of all the engines, so I hope you appreciate that. Yeah, emotions are running high!
Reid007: Thanks! Wanted to get that feeling. She will be appearing in this chapter! I hope you like this.
AaronCottrell97: Ah! Someone who remembers that! Yeah, same here. Can't believe I was ever that young. But I have fond memories of watching the VHS. And yeah, Edward going nuts was meant to be pretty damn cool.
UGX7: Thanks for the kind words! Yeah, Jinty at the very least I wanted to give some redeeming features to, because I wanted her last stand to mean something. That, and I wanted to very much shake up the idea of there being a force that would help make everything all right. The Iron Circle isn't coming to the rescue this time. The Island is mostly on it's own.
All righty, let's crack on with these facts! Again, this part is slightly shorter than the second part, that's primarily because I figured that ending it on the return of Carlin was far more entertaining than dragging more stuff out and trying to find a good end point from there. Next chapter should be a bit longer though, so there's that.
-First off, let me deal with the elephant in the room right away. Bertram is DEAD. Period. He's actually the second character who was actually canon to the TV series that I've killed off, but I did it because I really didn't see a potential future for him in my series. He doesn't pop back again in the series proper, he's a one shot character in every sense of the word. Some of you may find his death a bit underwhelming, and that's fair. It was essentially me getting rid of yet another plot point that I felt tangled up the series a bit. I really did enjoy writing his last conversation with Duke though.
-Ivo Hugh going missing is leading to something, I swear. The original plan was for him to have a bigger role in Season 5, but that went out the window when I realized that there were surprisingly few episodes with the Narrow Gauge characters.
-The shed scene is probably my favorite scene to write thus far, primarily because of how genuinely fun it was to make fun of Diesel 10's weakness. I mean, I know it's true to the type of engine he is, but still, it's pretty stupid.
-As can be judged by the somewhat cynical title, this is where the film really begins to show it's flaws in my opinion. It's far too human centric, and the Mr Conductor stuff is just weird. I mean...even by Thomas the Tank Engine standards weird. I swear, writing for him getting into all of these random situations is so much fun, because it means I get to make fun of all the random shit that I was confused of when I was a child. For example, the hell is in those vegetables he's eating? Can rabbits write? How can they write?
-You've also seen a bit of Lily in this chapter. As I do like Mara Wilson on the whole, and i feel as though her character deserves it, I did add a bit more personality to her. As in, she might be legitimately insane. That is the only reason I can think of for why she's trusting a dog to tell her the way. So, yeah, I hope you like her. And if not, then...I'm screwed!
-And finally, the return of Carlin. Right from the beginning, one of the things I wanted to do was to have the two Conductors teaming up together, because when I think Mr Conductor, I think either Carlin or Baldwin. You'll find out a bit more about what happened between now and the last time we saw him, in which he was giving chase to the Malevolence, next chapter.
And next time, we'll see more of our chum Carlin! Until then, have a great day!