Three years had passed, the War had finally ended. A lot had changed over the years: a new main line had been built to a town called Wathermine, and was now being extended to Ballaswein. Other changes to the North Western Railway included a new Chief Mechanical Engineer, Ben Forster Perkins: Samy Fernby was found to have committed tax fraud and was sentenced to jail. Escaping in the middle of being transported, he ended up going into hiding, with nobody knowing what happened to him. Perkins was a bit of a nutcase, but a hard worker all the same: he actually drew up designs, including twelve-wheeled pullman coaches, and made sure to supervise their construction. Conan and Jewelie had also gotten engaged, and Conan was now a driver.
But I'm sorry to say not all change was positive: when Fernby left, he took the entire workforce with him. The engines found this very bewildering!
"I can't bloody believe it!" growled Emily. "Where are they even going? Fernby disappeared, and nobody in their right mind will leave a stable job to follow a cheap, despicable man like him!"
"Then they're clearly not in their right mind," said Edward.
"You don't say!" snarked 98462.
The lack of workers wasn't the only problem: the Wellsworth and Suddery Engines, as well as the Coffee Pots, were now in very-poor shape. They were all in need of major overhauls, something Crovan's Gate wasn't able to handle back then. Thus, the Fat Director sent them one at a time to Vickers Shipbuilding, building another Coffee Pot to help the other two. Even so, this wasn't an ideal choice: more engines were clearly needed, especially since 98462 was now running the Northern Line alongside Luci and Timmy.
He was pondering what to do about this problem one morning when the telephone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is George Hughes, CME of the Lancashire and Yorkshire."
"Ah, Mr. Hughes, nice to hear from you. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Well, Mr. Hatt, I believe one of our Dreadnoughts, number 1526 was purchased by your railway, right?"
"That's correct. And if I recall, your Chairman, Sir George, doesn't want her back."
"I'm aware of that, he still refused to change his mind on her," said Mr. Hughes in a voice of sorrow, "well into retirement last year. His successor, Edward B. Fielden, isn't keen on having her return either, something about awful behaviour I believe." He then perked up. "That said, there is an offer I have for you."
"What sort of offer?" asked the Fat Director.
"I've recently started a rebuilding program for the Dreadnoughts to improve their performance, try to get rid of their problems. I called to ask if, maybe, you would like to send 1526 over to Horwich so we can rebuild her. I can't promise it will change her attitude, but I can guarantee an improved performance. And don't worry about cost: I'll make sure the L&Y covers all expenses."
"I shall have to ask her, but that does sound promising," said the Fat Director. "Alright, you have a deal. I'll inform her of this news right now. Talk to you later." And with that, he hung up.
Lily was returning from Tidmouth with a stopper train, when the Fat Director approached her.
"Lily! I've got news for you. Very good news, actually"
"What is it, sir?"
"I got a call from your designer, George Hughes," he told her. "He's having your class rebuilt and wants to give you the same treatment at Horwich to improve your performance. Would you like that, Lily?"
Lily beamed from buffer-to-buffer.
"Would I ever!" she exclaimed happily.
And so it was arranged. Lily departed the next morning, much happier than ever before.
"Enjoy your stay at Horwich, Lily!" the other engines called.
The Fat Director watched her leave, then gave a sigh: with Lily gone, his engines would be busier than ever. He walked back into his office, pondering the situation: 98462 was needed for the Northern Line, and he couldn't take any of the other tender engines off: John was the only one of the Met engines he could trust, and if he was moved to Vicarstown, the other two would surely try to cause trouble.
"Man, my railway just doesn't stop getting busy," he sighed, sitting down on his desk. "If only my remaining Swindon…huh? What's this?"
He found himself staring at a letter that hadn't been there earlier. Assuming it had just arrived, he looked at it.
"Dear sir,
We have recently received an express steam locomotive which we would like to offer you for express sale. The locomotive is a larger passenger express locomotive of the Great Central Railway Atlantic class.
We believe this locomotive will be a superb addition to your fleet with engineering on par to the work of Nigel Gresley, from The Great Northern Railway.
We have attached a small specification sheet which we hope will prove useful.
This engine will only be available for two weeks so please do not hesitate to contact us as soon as possible, or you may well miss out!
All the best,
Spanner & Scarper of Carnforth"
The Fat Director put the letter down.
"Spanner & Scarper? Who exactly are those two? Very suspicious, I must say. All the same, we do need another engine. I'll speak to Lord Harwick and see what he thinks."
"No contact name…how very odd!" remarked Lord Harwick when he was told. "The only thing that's given is an address, 4 North Rd. in Carnforth. Never heard of those two, either. What assures us that this isn't a scam, and that once they have the money they won't take off for Jamaica?"
"I find it suspicious too," agreed the Fat Director. "Trouble is, we do need another engine: the Midland's no longer willing to lease us anymore engines, stating that selling a 3835 was more than enough, ordering all the other leased engines to return home. The Furness doesn't want to lease anymore either."
"You make a good point, Sir Topham," said Lord Harwick. "I have an idea: send them a letter asking them to meet us in person, explain that you have reason to doubt them and wish to have proof they aren't scamming us."
"It's jolly well worth a try," said the Fat Director.
They wasted no time in writing the return letter, making it clear they wanted actual proof they weren't being scammed. The proof arrived two days later, a photo of a Great Central Atlantic, along with another letter saying meeting in person wasn't possible.
"Seems this isn't a scam," said the Fat Director, "but their refusal to meet in person is suspicious."
"You're not wrong there," Lord Harwick replied. "If they're insisting it's real, why would they…" He never got to finish his question: Olive pulled into the station at that point, out-of-breath and red in the face.
"I…Brendam…boiler…Rolf…" she panted as she pulled in. The Fat Director and Lord Harwick watched from the office, then looked at each other.
"I guess we'll just have to take the risk," Lord Harwick decided. "I'll tell them we accept, you ask Olive what is going on."
The Fat Director nodded and stepped out of the office.
"Why are you so exhausted, Olive?" he asked. The City-class was too exhausted to reply, so her driver did for her.
"We had to briefly cover for Rolf after his boiler exploded. She had to rescue him, which meant she was late with her express. We were rushing to make up for lost time."
"That's just what we needed."
Fortunately, the explosion didn't kill Rolf, although he was in a lot of pain. The Fat Director had no choice but to have him stored until Vickers had finished Luoc's overhaul, much to MacHarold's annoyance.
"I'll have no wheels left if I have to run solo!" he complained.
"I'm sorry, MacHarold," said the Fat Director, "but until Luoc returns, my hands are tied."
Edward, who was in the station with a stopping train, felt sorry for the Manning Wardle and asked for a temporary transfer to Wellsworth.
"I still don't understand why he couldn't have one of the Underground Tankies take over," snorted MacHarold. "They're capable of handling the workload." His question was answered by the sight of John pulling Bluey all the way from Maron.
"I found this jackass trying to sneak up to Vicarstown, does he belong to you?"
Edward and MacHarold looked at each other.
"THAT would be why," Edward said firmly.
"But why are they still trying to go after Thomas? Fernby's gone! We're rid of him!"
"Hard to say, Mac," said John. "I suspect they feel he'll come back. Only reason they've not been sent away is because they can't be trusted to not try and manipulate a crew to bring them back to Sodor. That, and who else than a scrapyard would buy one of these? Come on, Bluey, let's get you back to Tidmouth."
Bluey said nothing: he just sulked as John dragged him away.
"Also, where's that green one? Wasn't he stationed here?"
The answer was provided by Greeny entering the yard, looking visibly beat up.
"Well, somebody's feeling Irish today," said MacHarold. "How many drinks this time, eleven or twenty-two?"
Greeny said nothing: he just growled.
"Can you explain where you have been?" demanded Edward. Greeny gave the K2 an angry look and steamed into a nearby siding.
"Well, Edward," said Greeny's driver, "he went all the way to Vicarstown to have a go at Thomas. Of course, the E2 wasn't having it and bashed him off the rails."
"How'd he get past John?" MacHarold asked. The driver just shrugged.
"All I know is I'm getting some chains," he said. "I ain't having that shrew try to sneak away again. Maybe I'll ask the Fat Director if I can use him to heat my house: he's definitely not safe to leave roaming the rails."
Greeny actually showed panic when his driver said that. He tried to speak, but the words were caught in his smokebox. In the end, all he could release was a loud, girly scream.
"Wow! I had no idea it was possible to avoid going through puberty," remarked MacHarold, and Edward couldn't help but laugh. They ended up covering him with a tarp to muffle his screams, not that he seemed to notice. They didn't remove it until he stopped screaming the very next day. Yes, you read correctly: he screamed for a whole entire day.
"Jesus! How were you able to scream for so long?!" MacHarold asked in shock. Greeny found he couldn't answer.
Meanwhile, at Vicarstown, the Fat Director was waiting for the new engine to arrive.
"Nothing yet," he sighed. "I get assured it's not a scam and yet…it's still not here."
"What's still not here?" asked Thomas.
"A new engine I ordered a few days ago," the Fat Director answered. An Atlantic to be exact." Thomas gulped.
"Please tell me you didn't get a Brighton Atlantic," he pleaded.
"No Thomas, not a Brighton, a Great Central."
The E2 sighed with relief.
At that second, a rumble caught the attention of everyone, followed by an unfamiliar whistle. They all stared as a large green engine of unusual design rolled into the station.
"Is this Vicarstown?" the engine asked.
"Yes, who are you?" asked the Fat Director, feeling confused.
"I'm Henry. I believe you bought me."
"Bought you? What are you talking about? I don't remember asking for an engine like you."
"Funny, my owners said you bought me yesterday," said Henry, before getting a cough attack.
"You ok Henry?" Thomas asked.
"Yes, I'm fine," wheezed Henry. "Just…boiler troubles," he coughed. The Fat Director was more concerned with something else.
"What owners?" he asked.
"Some people in Carnforth, Scamper and Sparner I think."
"You mean Spanner & Scarper…wait…Spanner…and…" Rage filled the Fat Director as realisation dawned on him: this WAS the engine he had ordered, but not what he was expecting. "I don't believe it!" he raged. "I wanted an Atlantic and those fucking sons of bitches got me this!"
"Oi! What have I done to you?!" Henry snapped.
"You look like the Great Bear," said the Fat Director. "Enough reason to doubt your possible performance."
"The bloody hell is that?" asked Henry.
"A Pacific on the Great Western," replied the Fat Director. "Tell me, what do you know about your builders?"
"I know they built me, I know I was finished last month," Henry answered. "But they didn't really tell me much: just…" Henry coughed, before resuming, "put me onto trials and ran me."
The Fat Director sighed. It was clear Henry had been built illegally.
"Thomas, take Henry over to the sheds," the Fat Director ordered the E2. "I'll be having a talk with his owners."
"Yes sir," said Thomas. He buffered up to Henry and dragged him to the sheds, while the Fat Director went into his office to write a letter.
At the sheds, Olive and Emily were…confused, to say something, when they saw Thomas dragging an engine they didn't recognise in either design or familiarity. The closest to a description would be one they couldn't have come up with, a cross between a Gresley Pacific and a Great Central Atlantic.
"Thomas, what exactly is that engine?" Emily asked.
"I have a name you know!" snapped Henry. "It's…" he coughed horsley.
"Okay, that's not normal," came a voice from the yard. Selena steamed over. "You really should have your smokebox cleaned out."
"It's…nothing," wheezed Henry. "Just…boiler troubles." He coughed again. Thomas pushed Henry into an empty berth.
"So…Henry, I'm guessing you're our new engine?" Emily asked.
"I suppose so," said Henry, "though your owner doesn't seem to like me much, said I looked like a bear. Ridiculous if you ask me: I don't have fur or legs, how can I look like a bear?"
"He was talking about a failed engine back home," explained Olive. "Sir Topham Hatt was an apprentice at Swindon."
Said man, meanwhile, had decided it would be quicker to confront Spanner & Scarper in person rather than via letter, so he took a train all the way to Carnforth. Upon arriving at the address two days later, he went to the Top Floor, as stated by the address, and knocked on the door. A woman answered.
"How may I help you?" she asked.
"I'm looking for Spanner & Scarper," said the Fat Director. "Do you work for them?"
"I don't know who you're talking about," said the woman.
"Then this letter shall explain," said the Fat Director, handing the letter he brought with him over. The woman looked at it, read it, then turned back to the Fat Director.
"It seems somebody was using my address without my permission," she said. "I do apologise, dear, but I'm afraid no railway engineers live here, just me. I doubt you'll find them: if they used my mailbox, they most likely don't have an address. Again, I do apologise."
"It's not your fault," said the Fat Director sympathetically. "It seems you and I are both victims of these scammers. Considering the fact they looked at your mail, I suggest calling the police."
"While I don't approve of them using my mailbox," said the woman, "no mail I received ever went missing. I did notice a few smudges of dirt, but I assumed they came from the postmen delivering them. That said, I don't think I shall: I have a feeling they won't be using my address for anything again."
"A pleasure talking with you, madam," said the Fat Director. He sighed after leaving the building: it was clear Spanner & Scarper, or whoever they really were, had been one step ahead. There definitely wasn't any choice now.
He strode up to Henry when he returned.
"Well Henry, your owner has gone missing: the address they gave me belonged to somebody else. As there are no leads on where they are currently located, I have no choice but to keep you on."
"Of course sir," said Henry.
"That's a good engine. Now, I brought you here to cover for one of my engines, Lily. I want you to take the Wild Nor Wester: since you're an express engine, I'm sure you can handle it."
"Yes sir," said Henry. The Fat Director returned to his office.
Henry's crew began lighting his fire, but found the Green Engine unresponsive. The Fat Director ended up walking over.
"What's going on? The train's waiting."
"We don't know," said the fireman. "I've been lighting his fire, but he doesn't seem to want to steam properly."
As if replying, Henry began coughing.
"Have his tubes been cleaned?" he asked.
"They have," answered the driver. "I don't know what the problem is." The Fat Director sighed.
"The passengers can't wait any longer. Take Henry to the station, you'll just have to make do with what you have."
Henry didn't feel so good as he slowly left the sheds. He backed down slowly onto the coaches. The passengers found themselves interested in this new engine. They crowded around, but rejected that decision when Henry began coughing once more, spilling out dirty water in the process. The passengers complained bitterly, and all Henry could do was wheeze. At last, the guard shooed them into the coaches, then blew his whistle. As Henry slowly departed, other engines would watch with concern.
Henry's journey was slow and cumbersome: he was short of steam and spent more time stalled on the mainline building up more than he was pulling the train. At long last, he crawled into Tidmouth, wheezing and coughing. The passengers were not pleased about being late.
"Come on, Henry!" said his driver. "Let's go find a turntable and give you a nice rest before we return."
"I can't…I'm too heavy!" wheezed Henry.
"Rubbish! The turntable can easily hold you, come on."
While Henry was indeed able to turn around, he had little steam for the return journey. He took on a long drink, literally, but it did nothing to help. The return journey proved to be just as exhausting, and he ended up coming to a stop at Wellsworth. Edward was surprised to see him there.
"You ok, Henry? This isn't a stop for the express," the K2 pointed out.
"I can't…go on!" Henry wheezed. "OOOOOH! My tubes, they ache!"
"Then there's that hill over there," said his fireman. "We'd never make it, not at this rate."
Henry began coughing and wheezing uncontrollably. In the end, Edward was ordered to move Henry out of the way and to take over. Henry's crew dropped his fire as he sat there feeling miserable.
"I'm a failure," he moaned. "A dratted, weak failure."
"Yes you are! Now shut up and scrap yourself!" growled Greeny
Poor Henry didn't have the energy to reply.
He stayed on that siding for the rest of the day, watching as other trains rolled past. That afternoon, the Fat Director arrived.
"Everything ok, Henry?" he asked kindly.
"I'm sorry, sir," wheezed Henry. "I tried…I just couldn't do it.:"
"I had a feeling you'd be feeling down," said the Fat Director. "So I brought someone over." That someone turned out to be Rolf, fresh from overhaul.
"I know how you feel," said Rolf. "I myself had problems during my early days here. I was a tank engine back then, but too heavy for the line. They had to run me with half-full tanks in order to avoid damaging the rails when I ran on them. But half-full or not, I kept my trains going, especially during the Great War. One time, I was afraid I would get bombed, but I got through and helped somebody get to the hospital during an air raid. Henry, you may be weak and unable to steam properly, but you still have to give it your all. If I can get through an air raid while helping an injured passenger, you can get through your illness and still pull trains! Now stop sulking in this siding and get down to work."
Henry said nothing: he thought about what Rolf had said.
Later that evening, Olive pulled in with another express. After a few minutes, the guard blew his whistle, but her driver found that her injectors wouldn't open!
"Well that's torn it," he said. "We can't get you home with a broken injector: it's too dangerous."
"But we can't leave the passengers!" Olive protested.
"Don't worry: a bus will look after them."
"No, I'd rather die than lose my passengers to the roads!"
"Sorry Olive, no other engines are available to help you."
Henry listened to this and thought back to what Rolf had said. Putting on a brave face, he said, "I'll pull it." Everybody stared at Henry.
"YOU?!"
"I don't know if I'll make it," said Henry, "but I have to at least try. The passengers need to get home. If I can at least get them to their next destination, that should be enough."
"Alright, if you insist," said Olive's driver. The arrangements were made and, using the hot coal from her firebox, Olive's crew quickly brought Henry up to steam. He struggled to get a good fire, but still managed to burn it enough to where he was able to back down in front of Olive, who by now had her fire completely dropped.
The guard once again blew his whistle.
"Peep peep!" whistled Henry, and he set off. Pulling Olive and the heavy train was hard-going, but Henry struggled on.
"I can…do it! I can…do it!" he wheezed, as he climbed the Incline.
"You're doing well! You're doing well!" encouraged Olive. Henry made it to the top, out of breath, but still going. By the time the sun set, he arrived at Crovan's Gate, exhausted but triumphant. He was too tired to say anything but the passengers crowded around. This time, they weren't doing so in anger, they did so with praise. Henry smiled, but didn't say anything.
Emily took the train onwards, while Henry and Olive went into the Works, where the Fat Director was waiting.
"Henry, I was wrong," he said. "You may not be a strong steamer, but right now, you proved that when it counts, I can easily depend on you. I'm glad you didn't let your problems get in the way of helping the passengers home."
"Definitely better than the Great Bear," admitted Olive.
"Thank you…very…much…." panted Henry.
"I was thinking of sending you away, but after this, I think I'll keep you on," the Fat Director said kindly. "Welcome to the team, Henry."
From that day on, Henry would bear the number 3, and work hard no matter how he felt. It would be a long time before his steaming troubles were fully cured, but as you may know, that's another story.