Chapter 3.

"Gentlemen," said the Fat Director, "we have lots to talk about."

The Board's saloon coach had just arrived at Vicarstown, and it was being shunted into a siding. Inside it, Sir Topham, and the rest of the NWR's board of directors were discussing the acquisition of a new heavy goods engine.

"I fail to see, Topham, why a new engine is needed: Selena is quite capable of handling the goods work."

"Not anymore she isn't," said the Fat Controller. "It's gotten too much: she's really exhausted."

"So what? You have other engines, like Lily, Max, and Payne."

"Those three have been punished for their misbehaviour," the Fat Director said sternly. "I don't trust any of them to help Selena. And when Thomas tried to help her, he ended up becoming a runaway."

"Even so, another goods engine is very unnecessary," said the board member.

"Not to mention costly," added another. "We've hardly the funds to buy anything else!"

"If we do not buy said engine, gentlemen," said the Chairman of the NWR Albert Regaby, also known as Lord Harwick, "we shall experience a drop in goods contracts, and our passenger services would not be enough to cover that loss."

"What will these two demand next?" muttered a board member. "Smokeless welsh coal?"

"Maybe they'll begin to save engines from scrap!" added another. Unfortunately, they were overheard.

"Get out!"

"Huh?"

"I said get out! You're fired!"

"You can't fire us!"

"Yes, I can! This is my bloody railway, and I say you're bloody fired! Now leave before I have my security show you out."

While the argument between the Fat Director and the board continued, Conan was knee-deep in a mountain of assorted mail, looking franatically for something.

"Where, where…" he muttered. "Where is it? He told me he'd write once a week!"

"Where is what, Conan?" Thomas asked.

"The letter from my brother!" Conan answered. "It's not here!"

"Maybe it's coming on another post train?" Thomas suggested.

"Just how many post trains are coming today?"

"Around 5."

"Great."

Thomas left Conan to wait for another post train and went to find some coaches. When he returned, Conan finally found it.

"Here it is!"

"What does it say?"

"Dear brother…I'm afraid I've been lied to. This war won't be over by christmas.

Flanders has turned into a field of fire and death. Many of my friends have been killed by merciless artillery. None of us Sudrians, although I don't know how to feel about that.

Yesterday, the jerries made a push on our position. We fought them off at little to no cost to our men, but thousands of them died. My fellow men, wounded and dying, crying for their mothers, wives, and children. That made me think about my own mortality. I've written a letter for our grandparents. Please deliver it. As well as a package for my girlfriend. Don't open it unless you see it broken.

I'll find a way out of this. I promise. I'll be home as soon as I can. I can't stay much longer on these bloody trenches without losing my sanity.

Stay strong. With love–Noah."

Conan had to wipe the tears from his face. He really missed his brother. He'd hoped to see him again by Christmas, but that had just gone up in smoke.

Thomas could sense his partner's feelings. Sadness mostly, but also rage. It was understandable, yet worrying.

"I-I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. He'll be back soon. I know."

Standing up, he took the letters for his grandparents and his brother's girlfriend.

"I'll be back. Gotta deliver these."

As soon as he left, Thomas heard a whistle.

"Could that be the new heavy goods engine?"

As luck would have it, he was wrong: a few minutes later, a tank engine pulled into the station. Said engine also had no face.

"Who's this engine?"

"A dock tank that the caledonian lent to us," explained an inspector. "Not sure why it has no face. Maybe it will develop one over time?"

"There are rumours of faceless engines developing a face later," Thomas said. "Who knows? This might be one of those late-bloomers."

"Maybe so," said the Inspector. "Whatever the case, this one was loaned to be used at Tidmouth Harbour."

"I see. The W&S gang will focus on building at Brendam, then?"

"Of course, one at a time," the Inspector replied. "There are other jobs on the Brendam line after all."

"When do you think the new goods engine will arrive?"

"Hard to say: two of the board members got fired for some rather insulting words they said after dismissing the idea. Not sure where the other directors stand, though I heard Lord Harwick supports Sir Topham: a heavy goods engine is needed for the railway."

"Especially since without one, Selena is overworked," agreed Thomas. "I sure hope an agreement is made soon."

"As do I," said the Inspector. "You're right: Selena is overworked."

As they spoke of the subject, Max arrived with his rubbish train, looking rather embarrassed.

"Look who's here! Having fun, Max?"

"Shut up!" Max snapped. "It's not funny!"

"That's odd: I find it hilarious!" Thomas laughed all the way back to the yards, while Max seethed in fury.

"Wretched tank engine!"

"Is everything ok, Max?" Payne asked, steaming alongside.

"Better now that you're here," said Max. "I'm surprised you aren't pulling any rubbish train with you."

"I pretended to be ill," Payne answered. "Works wonders if you'll believe it. Shedmaster was easily duped and had Olive take over."

"Thomas laughed at me earlier," Max replied. "Do you think the shedmaster will give him my rubbish train if I fake being ill?"

"Worth a shot," said Payne. "Might have to stay in the shed all day, but I'll tell you: anything's better than pulling that goddamn piss-smelling rubbish!"

Soon, Max slumped back into the shed, pretending to cough.

"What's wrong?" asked his driver, who'd been out for drinks during the exchange with Payne.

"I…don't…feel well!" he groaned.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" the driver asked.

"I don't…know!" coughed Max. "I just…" He coughed again.

"I don't want to risk it getting worse," his driver said to the fireman. "We better leave him here for now. If he's not better by tomorrow, another engine will have to take his rubbish train."

The crew dumped his fire and left. Max waited until they were gone, then smirked: the plan, it seemed, was going perfectly.

"You're hiding something, aren't you?" Edward asked suspiciously.

"Me? Hiding something? I can't help it if I've suddenly become sick!"

"And yet, you were perfectly fine this morning," replied Edward. "Engines don't get sick all of a sudden."

"Well this one did!" Max snapped. "Now shut up and let me rest!"

Edward gave a sigh: he clearly wasn't going to get anywhere.

"I'll be watching you," he warned. "If I find out you're lying, I'll make sure you'll wish you were a tank engine."

Normally not one to make threats, Edward was determined to make the Caledonian 55 know that he meant business, and in his mind, a threat was the only way to do that. He steamed out of the sheds, having a train to pull. Max kept smirking.

"What does that Old Iron know?" he huffed. "Everything's going swimmingly."

Meanwhile, Thomas found his partner slumped against a goods van, looking rather depressed.

"Noah's gonna get a nasty surprise when he asks about his girlfriend," he muttered, sadly.

"What happened to Noah's girlfriend?" asked Thomas.

Conan jumped!

"Thomas! Where did you come from?!"

"Well, I felt something tighten inside earlier, figured it was because of something that happened to you. I came looking and here you are. Now then, what's wrong with Noah's girlfriend?"

"I went to her house to deliver his present to her, would you guess what I found?"

"She found someone else?" asked Thomas. "I've heard about that happening before: the fireman who came with me to this Island had fallen in love with a local girl and divorced his wife to be with her. My driver also fell in love with a local girl, but he was a bachelor."

"No, she wasn't with someone else. She was…well…"

Conan said no more, but Thomas was quick to figure out the rest.

"The worst thing is, this was his gift for her." Conan held up a ring, causing Thomas to understand the gravity of the situation.

"My god! How awful! But why?! She didn't do anything wrong!"

"Sometimes, innocent people get caught in the crossfire," said his driver sadly. "Maybe she wasn't the intended victim. Or maybe she was, and we won't ever know the reason why. I'm sorry, Thomas, I don't know what else to say."

"I swear, if the person responsible was one of those white-feathers…" sobbed Conan. "Noah's girlfriend was a very nice girl. She didn't deserve to die!"

Thomas could feel his firebox tightening as he too began to cry. Eventually, this sadness turned to anger.

"They won't get away," he said, his voice now in a cold tone. So cold it even frightened Conan! "I swear to Billinton, I'll find them and make them pay for what they did to her!"

"And what good will that do?!" Edward asked, steaming alongside.

"You seriously siding with murderers now Edward?!" Thomas shouted in fury. "I thought you were better than that!"

"I'M NOT ON ANYBODY'S SIDE!"

Edward's outburst shocked everyone present, it was enough to snap Thomas out of his rage!

"Look, you're right: the girlfriend didn't deserve to die," Edward agreed. "But what will killing the ones who did it do? Will it bring her back?"

Thomas couldn't reply: he didn't have an answer!

"Exactly," said Edward. "I'll admit, revenge does feel good in the short run, but if you kill her murderers, the loved ones of those will want to kill you. Then your crew will want to avenge your death, and the cycle will continue endlessly. Revenge isn't the answer Thomas."

"Then what is the answer Edward?! What is?!" Thomas shouted. The K2 gave a sigh.

"I don't know, Thomas," he admitted. "I really don't know…"

"Big bro will be heartbroken…" sighed Conan. "I'll see if I can sleep in the sheds for a week. My grandparents will be very angry…no, not angry, furious."

Nobody replied to this: there was nothing that could be said.

Hours later, when the police took the case on, Conan's grandparents were asked to testify. Henrietta's parents were heartbroken. The Fat Director could tell this was having a great effect on Thomas: he was not steaming well. In the end, the Fat Director had the E2 brought back to the sheds.

"I know the death of Henrietta was very traumatising for you," he told him. "I'm therefore giving you a rest from working for the rest of the week."

"Thank you sir," said Thomas sadly. Max couldn't believe what had happened: his plan had backfired! He wasted no time in making his displeasure known.

"Sir, you can't be serious!" he shouted. "If Thomas is taking the week off, who will look after my rubbish trains?! I'm still too ill to work."

"You don't sound ill to me," the Fat Director pointed out. Realising he was right, Max began coughing, trying to sound like he really was ill. "I'm starting to suspect you're not really ill…" the Fat Director said. "First you shout, then you cough. Do I look stupid to you?"

Max didn't reply: he just kept coughing.

"Go collect trucks and take the waste to the dump at once! And should you find Payne, tell him to stop coming up with bad ideas!"

"Well…I can't move…without…a crew!" Max wheezed.

"In that case…Wilson!" he shouted, turning to Thomas' driver. "You'll be driving Max. I will be the fireman!"

"WHAT?!" Max shouted. "Sir, you can't!"

"And why ever not?" the Fat Director asked with a smirk. "I WAS an apprentice at Swindon Works, I know how to fire up a steam locomotive." Max couldn't answer! "Just as I thought," said the Fat Director. "Now let's get going."

Max tried all he could to prevent his fire from building up, but it was no good: the Fat Director knew all too well what he was doing. Before long, his fire was burning well, and he was steamed out of the sheds. Max kept on wheezing and coughing, but nobody was fooled.

"No games!" the Fat Director ordered.

Max buffered up to some empty trucks and took them to Vicarstown Station. As he waited for the waste to be loaded in, Payne steamed up alongside.

"I'm surprised to see you're not in the shed," Payne remarked. "Surely, you're too ill to work?"

"Payne, I need you to stop coming up with bad ideas," said Max: he knew he couldn't lie in front of the Fat Director.

"Why, I don't know what you're talking about," said Payne innocently. "Why, my ideas are never bad."

"Oh yes they are!" the Fat Director shouted. Payne paled.

"S-S-S-SIR!" he shouted. "What are you doing in Max's cab?!"

"I'm his temporary fireman," said the Fat Director. "I knew all this time he wasn't really ill, and I can assume you've done the same."

"I promise you, I…"

"No more lies!" the Fat Director ordered. "Since you aren't ill, you'll double-head this train with Max. I will have very severe consequences for both of you when we arrive at the dump!"

Payne said nothing: the game was up. He just backed down in front of Max and allowed himself to be coupled on.

"I don't think we'll ever bounce back from this," Payne whispered. Max had nothing to say.

Once they arrived, Whiff shunted the train into a siding, while the Fat Director spoke severely to Max and Payne.

"You two are apparently immune to learning common sense!" he said. "I had a good mind to send you both away, but we need all the engines we can get, and I'm sure no railway would accept you. Therefore, until I decide the time is right to trust you again, I'm stripping you both of your names!"

The two engines were horrified.

"SIR, YOU CAN'T!"

"OUR NAMES ARE OUR INDIVIDUALITY!"

"As the director of this railway, I CAN take away your names," the Fat Director said. "And that's exactly what I'm doing." With that, he took their nameplates off. "If you want your individuality back, shape up! That's my final warning!"

And with that, he walked away. The now nameless-engines felt very helpless indeed!

"This is your fault!"

"How is this my fault?!"

"It was your idea to fake being ill!"

"Well, if you have had common sense…"

"Oh, shut up!"

As the two engines argued, a letter was shipped over the canal, and then to the front, arriving a few days later. The quartermaster would receive it, and then call for Noah Owens.

"You called me, Sir?"

The quartermaster gave him the letter.

"What is this?"

"A letter, private. From your brother." That was all the quartermaster said.

Noah opened the letter, reading the part about Conan now working for the NWR…and then, he got to that dreadful last bit.

"No…no…no…no…This can't be!"

"What can't be?" asked the quartermaster. Noah didn't reply: he was in too much shock. He then dropped the letter, which the quartermaster picked up and read.

"I see…sorry, lad."

"She's dead…she's dead…she's dead," Noah muttered, dropping to the ground onto his knees.

"Look, I'm sorry for your loss, I really am," said the quartermaster, "but this is war, you can't just…"

"Can't just what? What's the point? She's gone…my sole reason for living…"

"Get a hold of yourself, private!" the Quartermaster shouted, grabbing Noah's shoulders and shaking him. "Your girlfriend wouldn't want you to give yourself up to despair, she'd want you to keep going! You can give in to despair after this is done, but right now, you need to be strong for your late girlfriend. I know what it's like to lose someone, but you must keep going! Please, if not for your country, do it for her!"

"Alright," said Noah, still shaking, but slowly, he began to stand up. "I'll be strong, I'll do it for her! I'll fight until…"

A familiar whistle sound interrupted him.

"Incoming!"

Noah ducked for cover, just as the artillery shell flew over the trench. More impacts caused the ground to shake. The sound was deafening. Such bombardment meant that a ground assault was soon to take place.

After some minutes, the bombardment ended. But the fight was far from done.

"Here they come!" screamed someone.

Noah picked up his rifle, with determination filling his body.

"This is for you, Henrietta."

He charged into the battlefield, ready to fight. Joining the other soldiers, he tore into the enemy lines, fighting like a man possessed. And by the end of the day, the Germans had been pushed back, their trenches captured at great cost to the British. Many friends of Noah were wounded, some severely.

"I'm not going to make it…" Much as Noah didn't want to say it, that was likely true: He'd been shot three times in the back. "Noah," the friend said, "keep fighting…for my sister…for our nation. And when you get back…Swear to me, that you'll make Henrietta the happiest girl in the world…" As he said that, he went limp, with his eyes staring blindly into the heavens.

"I will, old pal..I will," he sighed. "I hope you're alright, Conan."

His brother was unharmed, but not completely alright: Thomas could hear him arguing with someone while resting in a siding, having asked to be moved there so he could get out if he was needed during his week off.

"I won't, and that's final!"

Conan was being chased around by a girl, holding a white feather in her hand. She was around Conan's age, maybe a year younger or older, had black hair, was wearing a white dress, and blue eyes.

"That doesn't look safe," Thomas said. He quickly blew his whistle. "Alright, quit running around: you're in a very dangerous area!"

"Why should I? Since when does a lady like me take orders from machinery?"

Conan stopped when he heard this. The girl didn't, though, and ran into his back! The two tumbled down to the ground! Conan ended up banging his chin, and Thomas felt the impact on his too.

"You ok Conan?" Thomas asked. He was an engine, meaning he could handle pain better, but he was worried for his partner.

"Could've been worse," Conan admitted. He then got up and turned to the girl, who also got up. "Rebecca, Thomas isn't just a machine," he said firmly. "He's my friend."

"Yeah right," said Rebecca, rolling her eyes. "What would we have to gain from befriending machines?"

Conan and Thomas looked at each other in sheer disbelief. Before they could say anything, however, both noticed that Rebecca was standing in the same track that Emily was barrelling towards with the express.

"Emily, stop!" Thomas called out. "Person on the line!"

Emily heard Thomas and applied her brakes. Sparks flew from the tracks as she slowly lost speed, before finally stopping inches away from Rebecca.

"What were you thinking young lady?!" Emily scolded. "Railway tracks are no place to stand around and play! Honestly, I thought your parents would've taught you that."

Conan pulled Rebecca aside before she could say anything. Emily began to steam off. But as she did so, her wheels made a strange "clunk" as she rolled along, causing her pain.

"Ouch!" she cried.

Her driver stopped her and got out, examining her. The problem was soon found.

"Well that's gone and blown it," he said. "That stop made the tyres on your wheels go flat: they're square now."

"What're you talking about? Trains don't have tires!" Rebecca pointed out.

"Actually, they do, just not like road tires," Conan responded. "These tyres are metal rims sitting on the wheels used to maintain contact on the rails so the train stays on the tracks."

"And if it gets flat, it causes severe damage to the axles, which leads to motion damage," Emily's driver put in. "We better call in a crane: if she keeps going under her own power, the motion and axles will be damaged even more. This wouldn't be an issue if her wheels were still a little bit round."

"I'm on it!" said Thomas. Emily's fireman quickly lit a fire into the E2 while her driver turned to Conan. "Keep an eye on Emily for us, Conan: make sure nobody tries to drive her."

"Will do, sir," Conan promised. The guard, who had been informed of the situation, informed the passengers of what had happened, then went to the signalbox to inform the signalman. Thomas, by this time, had gotten up enough steam. He steamed out of his siding and went over to the crane.

"What were you thinking, Rebecca?!" demanded to know Conan. "You could've gotten killed!"

"Why, my sweet little angel," Rebecca said sweetly, grabbing his arm and hugging it, "you…"

"I'm not your angel, and I never will be!" Conan snapped, releasing his arm from hers.

"Oh, you will be…sooner than you think." Then, she tried to forcefully kiss him, but was quickly pushed away.

"You're not my type of girl, we've been through this before," Conan said.

"If someone says no, that means no," Emily put in. "Honestly, you wouldn't like it if somebody kept forcefully-flirting with you."

"On the contrary, fat wheels," Rebecca said snootily. "If a boy tried to forcefully flirt with me, I'd be over the moon!" She gave a dreamy sigh. "Especially if it was my dear Connie!"

Conan blushed. "I already told you. Don't call me that!"

"But you're blushing," Rebecca pointed out. "That means…"

"Knock it off!" Emily shouted. "He said no! And that doesn't explain why you stood in front of me while I was running at full speed! Conan is right: you could've been killed! Engines can't stop at once!"

"You stopped just fine," Rebecca replied, unconvinced.

"That was luck! If the tracks had been slippery, or if I hadn't seen you in time, you would be nothing but red paste now!"

"That couldn't have been more true!" boomed a familiar voice. "You're in trouble, young lady!" It was, of course, the Fat Director, who had travelled on Thomas alongside the crane and flatbed brought with him. He stepped out of Thomas' cab and walked on over, an assistant coming with him. "Railways are no playground, they are dangerous places that need to be taken seriously," the Fat Director said sternly. "I'll be sure to inform your parents: they'll have choice words for you."

"Go ahead, tell them," Rebecca said, without a hint of worry.

"Alright then, what's your last name and where do you live?"

Rebecca didn't answer: she simply reached into her pocket, looked through her purse, and pulled out lots of pounds. The Fat Director slapped them out of her hand.

"I do not welcome bribes!" he said firmly. "Now answer my questions."

Before she tried something else, Conan stepped up.

"Her full name's Rebecca Fernby. She's the daughter of Samy Fernby. She lives at 150-King James St."

"Connie! Why did you tell that to the fat bastard?!" She slapped him hard on the cheek, and Thomas felt it too.

"I thought you didn't care if your parents found out," Conan reminded her.

She promptly slapped him again. Much harder too, enough to leave a bruise. A similar bruise showed up on Thomas' cheek as well.

"Jesus, no need to slap him!" he said. "That really hurts you know!"

"Stay out of this puffball!" Rebecca shouted, and turned back to Conan. "Considering you're my future husband, there's some things I'll need to teach you."

"I'd rather marry a squid," Conan snarked.

"I second that," said Thomas. "Anything's better than a violent rich bitch like you."

"How dare you! I'll have you scrapped for that!"

"No you won't," the Fat Director said firmly. "That's my job, not yours. And I'm not scrapping him now or anytime."

"How much would it be, then?"

"He's not for sale!"

"Anything can be bought for the…"

"I said he's not for sale! That is final and nothing you do will change my mind!"

"How dare you interrupt me!"

"Funny coming from you," said Emily.

"Shut up, grandma!" This has nothing to do with you!"

"Considering the fact I'm the one who nearly ran you over, I'd say it has EVERYTHING to do with you."

"It has not! I just wanted to give my dear Connie a gift…speaking of which, where's that white feather?"

The Fat Director paled.

"A white feather?"

"Yes, why do you care?"

Before he could answer, a fancy car pulled up. Out stepped one of the Fat Director's assistants, followed by two other people, a man and a woman, dressed in fancy clothes.

"What are you saying of my daughter?" demanded the woman.

Rebecca ran towards her mother and hugged her, while childishly sticking her tongue out at the Fat Director.

"Your daughter ran in front of one of my engines," the Fat Director answered, ignoring Rebecca's behaviour.

"I can back that up," said Thomas. "I saw the whole thing."

"He's lying!" Rebecca said. "Don't trust him, Daddy!"

The man took a long inhale of his cigarette, before using Thomas to extinguish it, and exhaled the smoke in the Fat Director's face. The Fat Director waved it away.

"You got some nerve accusing our perfect daughter," he said.

"Nerve? She could have killed herself! Due to her actions, Emily will be laid up at the works for two weeks!"

"That's not my fault!" Rebecca shouted. "The train just came out of nowhere!"

"That's another lie!" Conan shouted. "She was chasing me and trying to give me a white feather!"

"Good," said the man. "You deserve one."

"Nobody deserves a white feather!" the Fat Director scolded."Do you even know what it means?!"

"Of course I do," the man answered. "It's the perfect gift to give somebody. My wife gave me a white feather when I was young and I've kept it on my hat ever since."

"Aw, thank you, Samy," said Mrs. Fernby, blushing. The engines and people, other than Rebecca and her parents, gave a groan of frustration: it was clear these high-society people were very ignorant.

"A white feather is a symbol of…"

"A symbol of purity and innocence," Samy interrupted. "That's why it makes the perfect gift for anybody."

"That's not what a white feather is," the Fat Director responded.

"Of course it is!" Mrs. Fernby cut in. "White's the colour of light and represents everything good. White feathers bring good luck. And my pure, innocent daughter is just like a white feather: clean and proper."

"Thank you, mommy," Rebecca grinned.

"I beg to differ," said Conan. "She's been…"

"None of your lip!" Samy shouted.

"Hey! Let the boy speak!" the Fat Director shouted. "Go ahead Conan."

"Thank you sir," said Conan, he then turned back to Samy. "Your daughter isn't perfect: she's been harassing me."

"No I haven't, Connie," said Rebecca, leaning her head onto his shoulder. "I've been a darling little angel, you just can't see it." She then began trying to kiss his cheek, only to be held away by Conan.

"You see that?! She's harassing me, I don't have any interest in her: she's a cruel, mean bitch!" And with that, he pushed her onto the ground. Rebecca got up and ran crying to her mother.

"My hubby hurt me, make him apologise!" she wailed. Her parents glared furiously at Conan as Mrs. Fernby hugged her daughter. Samy stroud over, and used his cane to strike him clear in the face, causing him to bleed from the nose.

"How dare you hurt and insult my daughter!" he scolded. "Now I know why she wanted to give you a white feather: you're a coward, too afraid of being in a relationship with my angel!"

"How dare YOU hurt a child, mongrel!" roared a signalman

"What kind of angel invades someone else's personal space?!" Emily shouted. "Your Rebecca isn't an angel, she's a devil!"

"Nonsense!"

"You don't even know what nonsense is," said Conan. "Rebecca being a devil isn't nonsense, it's the truth. The way you raised her, on the other hand, is nonsense. You raised her wrong!"

"I've had enough of your attitude, Gardner Boy," Samy said with a scowl, and turned back to the Fat Director. "You will apologise to my daughter right now."

"I've nothing to apologise for," said the Fat Director. "She ran in front of one of my engines and harassed one of my employees, not to mention, she threatened to scrap another engine of mine, then tried to buy him off of me. If you want to keep your position, YOU will stop your daughter from ever coming here."

Samy glared angrily.

"I'll make you pay for that," he said with a dark tone. After that, he and his family went back into the car and drove away.

"I'll never understand why you hired that sod as CME," Thomas huffed.

"He doesn't even do much anyway!" agreed Emily, as the crane lifted her up.

"He's the CME?" asked Emily's driver. "Didn't know we had one. All our engines are imported."

"I've noticed that too," Conan replied. "I wonder why that is?"

"I don't know why he imports things," the Fat Director admitted. "But I will tell you this: He's a top member of the labour party, and he got a large number of workers behind him. They began to go on strike, refusing to stop until he got the position. Something about better wages and not having to work on engines 24/7."

"Definitely wasn't lying with the latter," Emily said. "All the same, surely he could at least try to make the effort to build an engine!"

"You're right, he could have," the Fat Director admitted. "I suspect he thinks he's too rich to do any actual work. Many times, I did plan to fire him, or at least demote him, but each time, the workforce would go on strike! I tell you, it's frustrating having an employee who's too lazy but is too popular with workers to be kicked out."

"Sounds like a pain," said Conan.

"Trust me, Conan, it is," the Fat Director admitted. At that moment, Emily had been loaded onto the flatbed and secured. "Right, Thomas, take her to the works. I'll have to find another engine to do her jobs."

"Right away, sir!"

As Thomas pulled away and towards the works, the Fat Director went over his list of engines. Much to his dismay, he could think only of one that could cover for Emily.

"I really hoped it wouldn't be her," he said with dismay. But there wasn't any other choice, so he drove down to Wellsworth and walked up to Lily's crew. "How has she been?" he asked.

"Grumbles, but she hasn't caused any trouble," said her driver.

"We make sure she always does her job, no matter what it is," the fireman put in. "She can't order us around!"

"That is very good. I now have a new job for her."

The crew listened as the Fat Director explained everything, from Emily's flat tyres to the lack of available engines. "Therefore," he finished, "I must ask: with you two driving her, do you think she'll be behaved enough?"

The crew looked at each other, nodded, and turned back to the Fat Director.

"If she doesn't," said her driver, "we'll make her!"

"Excellent! I'll relay this information to Lily at once."

He walked up to Lily, who was sulking.

"I know you're upset Lily," said the Fat Director, "but this is what happens when you refuse to behave." Lily didn't say anything: she just kept sulking. "As it turns out, Emily has received flat tyres while braking to a stop. You're currently the only engine who can take the express. IF I let you do so, do you promise to behave and not order others around?"

Lily beamed with joy!

"Uh, of course sir! I will behave, I promise sir!"

"Excellent!" the Fat Controller smiled. "You're to report to Vicarstown at once!"

He left soon after.

"Well, girl. Seems you're back on track."

"Indeed I am! Now, it's time to prove myself."

Soon, Lily was in Vicarstown, and despite that she had to fetch her own coaches, she was soon ready at platform 5.

"Get in quickly!" she called. Soon, the guard blew his whistle. And off she went.

Each station passed by quickly, she whistled cheerfully at every engine she passed by. She'd missed feeling the wind as she sped by. She had to stop to let goods trains pass on occasion, but she didn't mind: she knew full well this was a result of the war.

As she sped down the hill and crossed Wellsworth, Edward saw Lily back on the express, and couldn't help but smile. It seemed he'd actually managed to teach her sense.

Finally, Lily arrived on Tidmouth. Just in time, to boot.

"The next train is due in 15 minutes," said the Stationmaster. "You can rest until then."

It was a happy day for Lily, who was so excited and tired that when she returned to her lone shed at Wellsworth, she fell asleep before even touching the buffers.

"Tomorrow's gonna be a great day…"

The next morning, the Fat Director sat at the table having breakfast with his wife and kids. Suddenly, a knock on the door was heard, and a few minutes later, the butler walked into the dining room

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "you're wanted at the front door."

"Who would be seeing me at this hour?"

The Fat Director walked over to the front door. There stood a lawyer and two police officers behind him.

"How may I help you?" he asked.

"I represent your CME Lord Samy Fernby," the lawyer answered. "He's saying you assaulted his daughter, Rebecca, by trying to strangle and punch her. She even has the black eye to prove it."

"That's preposterous!" the Fat Director exclaimed. "I'd never do such a thing!"

"Nonetheless," said the lawyer, handing him an envelope which the Fat Director took, "you are required by law to attend this summons by the date listed on this envelope. Failure to comply will result in serious consequences."

"She was the one who was harassing someone! One of my workers, to boot."

"That's not what Lord Fernby says," said the lawyer.

"Well you can't trust anything he says," the Fat Director responded. "Fernby is lazy and refuses to do actual work. And even if he wasn't, there are plenty of witnesses who saw the whole thing, and they'll tell you I did nothing."

"I'm not paid to listen to your story, I'm paid to summon you to court," the lawyer said with a groan. "Now we can do this the easy way, or I can have these cops arrest you."