It was January 1915. The NWR found itself buried under a recent snowstorm. Needless to say, the engines, save for Thomas, were NOT happy.
"All this bloody snow…" complained 87546. "Wears an engine out, it does."
"Pah!" grumbled Thomas. "You're just lazy, that's what!"
"Lazy indeed!" fumed 87546. "I've been working hard all year!"
"No you haven't, you've just been smelly," said Thomas cheekily.
"How dare you!" growled 87546. "One of these days I'll give you smelly, just you wait and see!"
Thomas DIDN'T wait and see: he steamed out of the sheds to do his shunting.
In the station, the Fat Director was trying to light his office fireplace. The cold outside was becoming unbearable, and he felt the need of something to keep him warm while inside.
Meanwhile, Thomas was playing around in the snow, covering coaches and trucks alike on it: he liked how it made everything look pretty. The coaches and trucks, however, felt most uncomfortable.
"This snow is too heavy, this snow is too heavy!" they wailed.
"Oh, lighten up, it's pretty!" said Thomas.
"You wouldn't be saying that if you got stuck in snow," one of the coaches warned.
"Pah!" snorted Thomas. "Snow is silly soft stuff, it would never get me stuck!"
"Ask Olive," another coach said. "Or most other engines, for that matter."
"What do they know?" scoffed Thomas. "They're all stick-in-the-muds who don't know how to have any fun!" And he continued with his game of getting snow on the coaches and trucks.
Later, he brought a rake of Suburban coaches for Emily, who'd returned from the works a month ago.
"Thomas! What have you done to the coaches?" she scolded.
"Why, I've covered them in snow," Thomas replied. "It's pretty, and it looks like they've grown hair."
"It may look pretty, but look at them! They're shivering!"
Indeed, the coaches looked like they had caught colds. One even sneezed!
"They'll get over it," said Thomas. "They're only coaches, they don't have heat inside them."
"They do," said Emily firmly. "I'm the one providing it."
"Oh! Are these coaches somehow steam-heated?" asked Thomas.
"Of course they are!" Emily snapped.
"Well, then there's no real problem," said Thomas cheekily. "They're already warm, extra snow won't do them any harm."
He quickly steamed off before Emily could reply.
"I really don't understand him sometimes," she groaned.
"He's young, and learning," soothed her driver. "He'll understand eventually."
"I sure hope so," said Emily.
She then backed up towards the coaches. Once her steam pipe was connected, the coaches began to fill with warmth. So much so, it started to melt the snow on their roofs.
"This is much better!" they sighed happily.
Emily liked to think of herself as a mother of sorts at times. Especially when she warmed coaches and passengers.
As Thomas returned to shunting in the yard, he noticed 87546 taking a nap. He decided to play a trick on him. The E2 looked for any snow-covered vans and buffered up to them. Then, as quietly as possible, he shunted them alongside the H2. Afterwards, he reversed and gave the vans a bump. The snow flew off the vans and landed all over 87546!
"Lord Jesus Christ!" he shouted, opening his eyes rapidly. "Whatever is happening?!"
Thomas laughed.
"Look what's crawled out of the snow: a slumbering blue bear awakening from hibernation!" And the E2 ran off, still laughing. 87546 was furious.
"How dare you wake me up with snow!" he shouted, but Thomas didn't respond: he just went back to the yard. The H2 started to think of ways to get back at Thomas for his prank.
Later on, he took a slow goods train, stopping at Wellsworth to drop a few trucks off. Lily was also there.
"What's got you so furious, Payne?" Lily asked.
"That blue bug of an engine called Thomas," snorted 87546. "He does nothing but play pranks!"
"I know the feeling," said Lily. "I mean, look at the time he tried to sabotage my express run."
"Not to mention all he does is play around," scoffed 87546. "Worst part is, nobody seems to want to make him stop: even Fat Hatt prefers to blame us."
"I know: we tried to tell him, but he just won't listen!" Lily complained.
There was a brief silence. The two engines looked at each other.
"Say, should you and I team up?"
"What do you have in mind?" Lily asked.
"If Fat Hatt and the other engines won't do something to stop that blue bug, we'll stop him ourselves," 87546 replied with a smirk.
"Do you have anything specific in mind?" Lily asked.
"At the moment, no," said 87546, "but I'll think of something. I'll be staying here tonight to talk to you about this more."
The guard blew his whistle at that point, so 87546 left without another word. Lily couldn't help but smile, which W&S 3 noticed.
"What's got you so happy?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing!" said Lily innocently. W&S 3 wasn't convinced.
"I know you way too well Lily," he said firmly.
"Well, what would you know?!" Lily snapped. "You're just a nameless tank engine thinking he's a tender engine!"
"On the contrary," said W&S 03, "many workmen around this area call me Rolf. Sure, it's not official, but at least I'm called something that's not just a number." And he left to take a goods train to Brendam, making sure to blow his whistle loudly and for a long time.
"Why did you need to blow your whistle for such an extended length of time, Rolf?" his driver asked.
"If I didn't," answered W&S 03, "Lily would've given a reply, and I couldn't allow that!"
The driver wasn't sure what to think of this, and said nothing for the rest of the journey.
Upon arrival at Tidmouth, 87546 spoke to his driver.
"Work between Tidmouth and Wellsworth seems to be getting busier," he said. "I'd like to be reallocated to Wellsworth for a while." The driver, unsuspicious, arranged it with the Fat Director.
Throughout the day, 87546 plotted ways to teach Thomas a lesson. Doing so was not easy: he had to do it in a way that didn't lead any traces back to him or Lily. 98462 proved to be no help.
"You're the one who has a problem with Thomas, not me!" he said to 87546 firmly. "I won't tell the Fat Director, but I'm not helping you either!"
"Fine, be that way!" snapped 87546, and he steamed off. 98462 gave a sigh.
"I just don't understand what's gotten into him," he said.
98462 had begun to realise just how much of a jerk he'd been to everyone. Sadly, 87546 didn't comprehend this: instead, he blamed all his misfortunes on the others. 98462 spoke to Edward about this.
"I just don't understand: why can't he just admit fault and change?" he asked the K2. Edward gave a sigh.
"I'm afraid some people and engines are unable to see when they're at fault for misfortune happening to them," he said. "It reminds me of a tank engine back in the Furness, the only 2-4-0 tank we ever owned."
"What happened?"
"Her name was Marron, and she wasn't a pleasant fellow. You see, she originally worked on the North London Railway and was bought second-hand by the Whitehaven, Cleator and Egremont Railway twenty years after she was built in 1850. Marron was irresponsible, and slacked constantly. She would blame others whenever something didn't go her way. She'd shunt trucks and coaches wherever she pleased, causing delays more than once. She nearly brought me down the same path, but my elders guided me properly."
"I'm glad they did," said 98462. "That said, I do have to ask: do you have any idea why she was like that?"
"Marron wasn't very popular with crews," Edward replied. "They considered her an ungainly brute: trains were lighter back then, but her 5ft 6in coupled wheels made her unsuitable for the mountainous gradients of the Joint Lines. Two years after the WC&ER purchased her, they sent her to Fletcher Jennings in Whitehaven who fitted her with new 5 ft. wheels and 15 in. cylinders in place of the original 14 in. x 20 in. However, they also gave her a cab that had a rather hideous design. She also had her outside cylinders placed in front of the leading axle, which gave her a distinct and uncomfortable nosing action when travelling at high speeds. I suspect all these faults and the hatred crews had of her made her insecure. Whatever the reason, Marron was eventually cut up in 1898 after one offence too many."
"What did she do?" asked 98462, scared of the answer.
"Marron was known to use her problems to her advantage to cause trouble. That particular day, she was lazier than normal, and shunted the coaches of a passenger train, with people inside those, into the first track she found. Said track was in the path of an express."
98462 found that he couldn't speak!
"No need to say anything," said Edward gravely. "Words cannot describe what happened next. People died, and the fire that came after made things worse. I know: I saw the whole thing. The engine pulling the express train was one of my brothers. He survived, but ended up losing half his face in the fire. He was sent to Vickers Shipyard in Barrow for surgery. As for Marron, she was scrapped alive. The crews actually celebrated that."
98462 didn't know what to think. He wanted to throw up!
"Yes, it's very sickening," said Edward. 98462 decided to tell 87546 about Marron when they next met. 87546 didn't take this well at all.
"Do you honestly believe I'll end up like that tank engine?!" he scoffed. "I'm bigger and stronger than she ever was!"
"It's not about being bigger and stronger, it's about what could happen if you don't change," 98462 warned. "First we get demoted to rubbish trains, then lose our names. We have nobody to blame for that but ourselves."
"You're saying we deserved the unjust treatment we got?" asked 87546.
"I am," said 98462. "And the reason is simple: it wasn't unjust, I realise that now, I have been thinking ever since Selena insulted Edward during her time on passenger trains. I saw myself in that insult, not to mention how she was acting." 98462 gave a sigh. "It wasn't easy, but I've been forcing myself to see just what I did from the perspective of what I saw that day. And most of the engines still haven't forgiven me. I still have much to do before I can be forgiven."
"Pah!" snorted 87546. "There is no perspective: there's only superiority and prestige! I see now you've changed too much. If you ever return to your senses, I'll be spending my nights at Wellsworth."
And with that, 87546 steamed off, leaving 98462 feeling betrayed.
That night, Lily and 87546 were thinking of how to pay Thomas back.
"He always plays pranks on us," said Lily, "so we should play a prank on him."
"I agree, but what?" 87546 asked. "It has to be something Fat Hatt won't suspect us of."
"I have the perfect solution: Snow!"
"How exactly will snow help us?" 87546 asked.
"We can cause icicles to fall on him!" Lily answered. "That'll really hurt him and he'll never prank us again!"
"Genius, Lily!" laughed 87546. "We'll do it tomorrow."
The two continued discussing the plan, including any lies they would tell to their crews, until they fell asleep.
At the same time, Edward was chewing Thomas out for his prank on the coaches. Thomas, however, wasn't repentant.
"Oh come on, nobody got hurt!" he snapped.
"That's not my point!" Edward snapped back. "The coaches COULD have been hurt"
"I don't believe you: there's nothing painful in snow!" snarled Thomas. "It's white, fluffy, and soft!"
"Snow is still dangerous if you aren't careful!" scolded Edward. "I know: I've had trouble with it myself."
The two engines argued, with Edward trying to reason with Thomas, but the latter refused to back down. At last Emily lost patience.
"BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!" she shouted. The other engines stared at Emily, shocked. "Look, it's late, and I'm tired!" Emily complained. "I'm sure everybody else here is too! Now stop arguing and let us get rest!"
With that, she went to sleep.
"You've screwed up this time, Thomas," said Olive. "It's a well-known fact Emily isn't one you want to anger." Thomas just rolled his eyes.
"She's just a big, bossy boiler," he scoffed. "What does she know?" And with that, he shut his eyes and also went to sleep.
The next morning, 87546 and Lily began putting their plan into action. They had their crews collect icicles from under a bridge. They were placed in a brake van and taken to Vicarstown, where they were hung from the canopy. Then, they waited in ambush, to release steam and cause the icicles to fall on Thomas. The two couldn't help but give a little giggle.
"Ok ok, be quiet," said 87546, as he heard the puffing of another engine. "He's coming!"
The two went into silence.
"What are you two doing over here?" asked Thomas.
"I said be…" 87546 stopped, and looked to his right. "WHAAAAAAT?! YOU CAN'T BE THOMAS!"
"I can't?!" Thomas asked in confusion.
"Wait," said Lily, "if you're here, then who's…"
The three looked on in shock as 98462 approached the station.
"Max, look out!" 87546 shouted, but it was too late: the steam from 98462's funnel shot into the icicles and caused them to fall onto his boiler! The 55 Class came to a stop. He looked around and figured out what was going on.
"Are you alright, Max?!" 87546 asked. 98462 began to smirk.
"Well, lookie here, Thomas," he said. "Overnight, you and I have somehow become identical twins!"
"Identical twins? But we aren't the same class!" Thomas pointed out. The Fat Director, who had seen everything from his office, stepped over. He surveyed the scene, and walked over to 98462.
"Explain to me what you mean by you and Thomas being identical twins," he ordered.
"I don't think these icicles were here earlier," said 98462. "I think they were placed here as a prank. And I have a feeling the target wasn't me." Straight away, the Fat Director realised what was going on.
"Thomas," he called to the E2, "take 98462 back to the sheds so he can be examined for damage. I'll be having some stern words with 87546 and Lily."
"Of course sir!" said Thomas, and he immediately obeyed. The Fat Director then turned to Lily and 87546.
"I am very disappointed with you two," he said. "Time and time again, you've done nothing but cause trouble. And this is the final straw!"
"It's that Thomas!" protested 87546. "He's always…"
"Thomas is more responsible than you two will ever be!" the Fat Director said sternly. "And his pranks are not intended to hurt anybody. You two, on the other hand, were willing to damage him. It's clear you two are way too dangerous to stay here. Unfortunately, I can't send Lily away. You, 87546, on the other hand, are to return to the Great Northern at once! If you want to return to Sodor, you better improve your attitude!"
Realising he was now defeated, 87546 made his leave, crying as he did so. Lily couldn't believe what she had just seen!
"How dare you send him away!" she shrieked. "He was my friend!"
"A toxic friend," said the Fat Director. "And you're toxic too, unwilling to admit when you're wrong." Lily just harrumphed. "With 87546 gone, I'm putting you back on goods work. I'll have no more of this nonsense." To her crew, he said, "Do whatever you have to do." And with that, the Fat Director returned to his office. Lily's crew, furious at being tricked, were not very pleasant with her at all.
At the same time, 87546's crew were explaining the situation to another crew at Barrow: they too were furious at being tricked and decided they wanted nothing more to do with the H2. The new crew agreed to drive him all the way back to Colwick, where he had been allocated before being loaned to the NWR. He ended up taking a goods train there. The Great Northern was displeased when they learned about how he behaved. As punishment, they repainted him into an unlined black livery instead of their Apple Green and ordered him to only pull goods trains unless no other passenger engines were available. Aside from a brief visit in 1923, it wouldn't be until 1960 that he would finally return to Sodor, but that's another story.
As for 98462, when he learned about what had happened, he admitted to having mixed feelings.
"On one hand, I'm glad he can no longer be a bad influence on me," he said to the other engines. "But on the other end, I was hoping I could at least get him to start changing."
"You did your best, 98462," said Edward kindly. "87546 was just too much of a narcissist to realise how wrong he was." The K2 then gave a sigh. "I only hope that one day, he does change his ways."
"So what will you do about your name?" asked Olive. 98462 looked at Olive, confused. "Well, now that 87546 is gone, and you've improved yourself, don't you think it's time you reclaimed your name, Max?" 98462 thought about this.
"I don't know yet," he answered. "I'll need time to decide."
"Ok, just asking," said Olive.
At around the same time, Luci had been given interesting news: he was to report to Crovan's Gate.
Once there, the Fat Director gave him the news: He was to be repainted.
"Any particular reason why?" Luci asked.
"Well, I figured you'd want a colour different from that drab black," the Fat Director answered. "All I need to ask is this: what colour do you want?"
Luci went into thought.
"Which colour is used for goods in this railway?" he asked.
"We've never really had official liveries," the Fat Director answered. "The only reason most of my engines are blue is because that's the colour they chose when I asked them."
"Well…could you paint me orange, then?"
"If you insist," agreed the Fat Director.
At around the same time, the case of the murder of Henrietta Brown had entered a deadpoint, leaving the police frustrated.
"How is it possible we found no leads?" the Chief asked, frustrated.
"Sorry, chief," said a subordinate. "I know she was your nephew, but we've found nothing."
The chief growled in anger.
"No blood? No weapons?" he mocked. "No fingerprints? What about her body? What kind of injuries did she have? Surely you have an answer to that!"
"We have…you see, she was stabbed right below the heart…she was not killed with a firearm."
"That's something at least," said the Chief. "A knife, then?"
"We suspect so."
"Now what? We look for a person with fingerprints that match those found at the murder scene?"
"That's all we can do," the subordinate replied.
"Dismissed!"
The chief feared the wrath of his brother: his son had been sent to war, and now his daughter was dead.
The father, while the most enraged, wasn't the only one seeking justice for Henrietta: the public at large was outraged that a young girl was murdered seemingly without cause, in the safety of her own home. Before long, people began theorising on who did it. A few people actually suspected Samy Fernby. And not without reason: he was known to do anything to get what he wanted. The public had no reason to suspect murder wasn't an exception.
The chief decided to investigate him, and, to his surprise, got no evidence of murder from it. This didn't quell his doubts though, and he vowed to keep a close eye on Fernby. One of Fernby's servants happened to be coming out of the mansion at the point he made this decision. Desperate to get something, the Chief ordered his subordinates to arrest the man and take him back to the station. Upon arriving, they took the servant into an interrogation room.
"Tell us what Samy Fernby was doing on the day when Henrietta was murdered," the Chief said in a threatening tone. The servant didn't seem to flinch.
"I ain't tellin' you shit," he said.
"Tell us, or else!" ordered the Chief.
"Or else what? You'll take off my clothes and coat me in butter? Go ahead: I bet I'd make a tasty treat." The other officers blanched at this.
"That's disgusting!"
"We want none of your nonsense!" the Chief snapped. "You WILL cooperate, Mister!"
"My name's not mister, it's Phillip!"
"Don't get smart with me, young man!" growled the Chief, and he whacked him on the head. "I want answers to what Fernby was doing and I want them now!"
"Screw you, humbag!" shouted Phillip. The Chief began to realise he wasn't getting anywhere with this servant.
"Very well. If you're not going to tell us anything, we'll find someone willing to talk."
"Why don't we just torture the guy?" a subordinate asked.
"That's something too immoral for us," said the Chief. "Besides, if the press found that we tortured someone, what do ya think will happen? Not to mention torture's illegal."
"Screw morality, he has answers!" the subordinate shouted.
"We'll get the answers from someone else, Sergeant William," the Chief said sternly. "For now, let this man go."
"Ugh, fine," said William. Secretly, however, he had no intention of letting Phillip go: this man had answers and William was determined to get them no matter what.
Once the police chief had left, Will knocked the man out, and threw him into the back of the car. He then drove him back to his house with three of the other subordinates and had Phillip tied to a chair.
"Wha…what's going on?" Phillip asked upon waking up. "This isn't my house."
"No, it's mine," smirked Will. "Chief Constable Murphy was too soft on you, but I won't be: I'll do whatever I need to to make you talk."
"What do you want from me?" Phillip asked.
"The same thing we asked you back at the station: where was Samy Fernby when Henrietta Murphy was murdered?"
"I told you there and I'll tell you here: I'll not tell you shit," scoffed Phillip.
"I had a feeling you'd say that," said Will, walking over to a nearby table with a bunch of tools on it, a fireplace was nearby. "That's why I have my methods…don't make me use the sweet and sour pork treatment."
"Sir, you can't do that! That's going too far!" one of the subordinates shouted.
"Don't you dare chicken out!" Will scolded. "We're doing what's necessary to get justice done."
"That's not justice, that's torture!" another subordinate pointed out.
"Torture is necessary for justice," Will insisted, grabbing an iron rod with a J on one end and putting that end over the fireplace. "Trust me, we'll get more out of him with this than what Chief Murphy tried."
The subordinates felt a little relieved seeing the rod, but not that relieved. Once the J end was hot, Will took it out of the fireplace and walked back over to Phillip.
"Now then, Phillip," he said, ripping the shirt of the former off, "THIS will make you talk." And he stabbed the J end onto the middle of the bare chest. Phillip screamed in agony! The subordinates could only watch. Will then removed the rod, a large J mark stood where the rod had been set.
"Fine, I'll tell you about Samy," said Phillip. "He's the son of Harold McAllistor."
"Wrong info!" shouted Will, and he jabbed the rod onto the shoulder.
"Samy used to be a janitor," Phillip said.
"WRONG INFO!" shouted Will, jabbing the rod onto the belly.
"He cheated on his wife with a prostitute."
"Never mind the cheating!" Will shouted, this time he went for the forehead.
"Yesterday, he got a cat for Rebecca," said Phillip.
"WE WANT NOVEMBER 29TH, 1914!" shouted Will, and he aimed for below the neck.
"There's a penis in my butt!" Phillip called out. Will and the other officers suddenly stared in wide-eyed shock.
"Where the hell did that come from?!" Will asked in surprise. Phillip didn't answer: he just laughed. All this did was make Will angrier.
"You knock it off, or I'll get the honey!" he warned.
"By all means, go ahead," snickered Phillip. "I'd rather lose my balls than give up info on my boss."
Will suddenly lost it. He dropped the rod, screamed, grabbed a hammer, and started swinging it wildly! The hammer smashed the table and a vase!
"Sergeant William, stop!" a subordinate shouted, as he and the others grabbed his arms. Fortunately, Will was able to calm down, meaning the subordinates could release his arms without issue, though not totally enough.
"This makes no sense!" Will shouted, throwing the hammer onto the ground. It ended up hitting the foot of one of the subordinates. "I threatened him with the most gruesome torture method, how could he not budge?!"
"He's definitely harder than most torture victims," admitted a subordinate. "Perhaps physical torture isn't the answer."
Hearing this, Sergeant William got an idea.
"You know, Phillip," he said, walking around the chair as he spoke, "your boss, Samy Fernby, is a very despicable man: he only uses his money to help himself and his family. He would sell you out in order to save your skin, not a good man to work for."
"You clearly don't know Samy Fernby at all!" Phillip snapped. "That man saved my life."
The officers were shocked.
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!"
"Yes, that's right: it was in 1910, I recently lost my job and all of my family got sick with an illness we couldn't afford treatment for. Fortunately, despite having never known me, Samy Fernby stepped in and paid for the treatment out of his own pockets. That's why I work for the man: he saved me and my family, I owe him for that."
"I….I….I DON'T BELIEVE THIS!" Will shouted, and he began screaming.
"Shows how much you know," Phillip chuckled.
It was at that moment, Chief Murphy walked in.
"So this is what you call justice, is it?" he asked, with a smirk. "I'll admit, I would've interfered earlier when I got here, but your failed attempts to torture this man really got me amused."
"You…YOU WERE WATCHING THE WHOLE TIME?!"
"Indeed I was, Sergeant William," said Chief Murphy. "I was watching through the doorway. I'm surprised you never heard it open. And I must say, Phillip: it takes guts to sit through that torture and not give away anything."
"Like I said, I owe Fernby my life," replied Phillip. Will dropped to the floor.
"What do we do about Will, sir?" asked a subordinate.
"Normally, I'd demote him for his actions," said Chief Murphy, walking over to the chair and untying Phillip, "but the fact his torture methods failed seems to have broken him. I feel that's punishment enough for now. You're free to go, Phillip."
"Thank you sir," said Phillip. He walked out of the house without another word.
"Wait, don't you want me to help you get rid of those burn Js?"
"No need," smiled Phillip. "I like them!"
Sergeant Will was still on the floor, seemingly in a trance.
"Come on, Will," said Chief Murphy. "Let's get you back to the station." Will didn't respond. He had to be picked up by the subordinates and dragged over to the police car. Will would recover and continue his duties, but for a while afterwards, the other officers would laugh about his failed career in "Official torture", as they put it. Will ignored them, thinking his fellow policemen were very silly indeed!