The Flying Kipper was cursed. Everyone knew that.
Henry's catastrophic accident hadn't started the rumours, of course. Accidents happen after all, and one isolated incident, awful though it had been, wouldn't generally cause undue concern. It was only after Duck ploughed into the rear of the train and destroyed several wagons that Percy solemnly declared there to be something odd about the situation. Duck was a careful, fastidious engine who was very rarely involved in crashes so didn't it seem more likely that issue was with the train itself?
Henry had scoffed at the suggestion. "The issue was with the train; the vans were old and the tail light fell off. Come off it, Percy, I've been pulling the Kipper for years and there have only been two incidents worthy of note. That's hardly the mark of a cursed service, is it?"
"That's two more incidents than have occurred while I've been pulling the express, and I take several services each day," remarked Gordon bluntly, and Henry had scowled at him while Percy grinned triumphantly. Nevertheless, the subject was dropped.
And then Henry had fallen into the sea.
Although Thomas had smugly informed anyone who cared to listen that Henry hadn't heeded his warning about the damaged track, some of the others began to joke about the curse of the fish train. James had been quietly appalled, finding it completely tasteless. No one who had witnessed the aftermath of that first crash could find anything amusing in it at all.
He didn't really believe that the Kipper was cursed. In the cold light of day it was a silly idea, especially given that it had originated with Percy, an engine whose record when it came to crashes made Henry's seem exemplary by comparison. "Don't mention that to him," Henry had warned when James had commented on this in passing, "if he thinks he's a cursed engine, we'll never hear the end of it."
On a night like this, though, when he was already on high alert in case of hazards hidden by the darkness, it was easier to give credence to the tank engine's suggestion. Whenever he pulled the Kipper, James found himself on edge and inclined to overreact to the slightest hint of potential trouble. He had made every effort to hide it from the others – he didn't want them thinking him a coward – and he had done so reasonably successfully, aided by the fact that very few engines were around in the small hours of the morning. All his efforts were undone on the night he had come across Gator sitting in the dark with a faulty headlamp. His terrified reaction had been a source of great amusement to many at Tidmouth Sheds and the resulting humiliation he felt still burned as fiercely as ever. It made him all the more determined to keep up appearances, but operating under such a degree of stress left him feeling drained. If Henry wasn't back from the Steamworks soon, James dreaded to think what kind of state he might be in after a few nights of this.
A sea fog was beginning to roll in as he reached Wellsworth on his way to the docks, and he was thankful for the bright light from the platforms spilling out across the tracks. Passing the yard, he made sure to glower forcefully at Philip, resting quietly for once in the shed. The boxcab was asleep, of course, but James felt marginally better for having done it all the same. He sent a scowl in Edward's direction as well for good measure.
On the night so many years ago when Percy had summoned up the courage to ask the question that no one else had dared to, it had been Edward who had answered. "Why would the Fat Controller lie to us?" he had said, his voice quiet but firm. "The truth would become obvious eventually. If he says that Henry will be repaired, then I have faith that he will be back with us in time."
James had found his calm confidence hugely reassuring, not least because Edward had also witnessed the aftermath of the crash and knew how severe the damage had been. He'd begun to develop a new sense of respect for the old engine back then, which was no mean feat considering the resentment he still felt over Edward's role in his own difficult start on the railway and the decision to scab during the tender engines' strike. Alongside this grudging recognition of Edward's knowledge and experience, a new concern began to develop. As time went on, James gradually became aware that Henry's accident had disturbed him more that he would have anticipated, to a greater extent even than the cow field crash. Although most of the time he was perfectly happy and confident in his abilities, he became overly anxious every time he was assigned to pull the Kipper – or any fish train, for that matter. It was the smell: it reawakened those awful memories and then nightmares about the incident would disrupt his sleep for several nights.
The discomfort he felt was exacerbated when Henry returned from Crewe, stronger and happier than he had ever been, and took on the Kipper as a regular job without any apparent unease. Until this point, James had allowed his pride to dictate his actions and hadn't confided in anyone for fear of showing weakness. Once Henry was back, his distress seemed even more ridiculous and he committed himself to hiding it – after all, he was fine, completely fine apart from this one issue, so why would anyone need to know?
Edward was perceptive, though, and James began to dread the inevitable day when he would make the connection between his colleague's persistent attempts to avoid taking the Kipper and the state James had been in when Edward had arrived to help with the rescue effort after Henry's accident. But the inevitable hadn't happened, and James had eventually reached a point where he wanted Edward to realise, just so he could finally stop fretting about it. As time continued to pass and the old engine remained oblivious, an uncomfortable thought had emerged in the back of James's mind – maybe Edward wasn't paying attention to him because he had simply given up caring where James was concerned. It would be an understandable response to all those years of insults and, on occasion, undisguised hostility. He didn't really think Edward had it in him to be so petty, but still the thought lingered.
The fog was thicker as James approached the station at Suddery and he reduced his speed, watching the rails carefully. "Typical, just typical," he grumbled, hoping that the sound of his own voice would make the eerie quiet seem less unnatural.
A metallic crash rang out from the platform and James cried out in alarm, scanning the gloom in the hope of identifying the cause. A small figure darted out across the tracks in front of him and sparks flew from his driving wheels as he braked sharply. "What was that?" he hissed, not quite daring to raise his voice to its usual volume.
His driver leaned from the cab. "It's only a fox, James. It must have been going through the rubbish bin on the platform in search of food. Look, it's stopped over by that hedge."
Still wide-eyed and unsettled, James peered through the murk and made out the slender shape of the creature poised at the edge of the ballast. Annoyed at being so frightened by such an unthreatening animal, he wheeshed at it and was satisfied to see it turn and lope gracefully into the undergrowth. "Stupid fox," he snarled as his driver released his brakes.
"Come on, James, it's not worth getting that worked up about," his driver said firmly. "It's only a fox."
"A fox on the tracks in the fog at night!" James thought he had good reason to feel aggrieved under the circumstances.
"It isn't as though it made a conscious decision to give you a fright. Look, I just want to get this job done and go home to my cosy warm bed. I could do without you declaring a vendetta against the wildlife of Sodor," the driver warned him sternly. "Forget about the fox and focus on the task at hand."
The damage had already been done. With his anxiety further heightened, James's caution escalated into fearfulness and the journey was halted twice more as the fog and the darkness combined to play tricks on his vision. By the time they arrived at Brendam Docks, both driver and fireman were thoroughly exasperated and James was feeling very sorry for himself.
"Evening, James," Porter greeted him cheerfully. "Everything all right? You're running a bit late."
Up above them, lost in the swirling fog, Cranky groaned. "James? Oh, marvellous. As if we didn't have enough to contend with, we have to put up with his moaning as well."
Porter's mouth dropped open in astonishment at the crane's lack of self-awareness and he gave James an amused look. James refused to reciprocate, stung by the dockside shunter's observation. "I'm late because I was being careful in the fog, as any sensible engine would be."
"I wasn't-" Porter began, but he was cut off by a loud thud as something collided with a flatbed over to his right. James shouted out in shock at the unexpected sound and recoiled, rolling back until the tank engine was no longer visible.
"There's no need to make such a fuss." Irritation was unmistakeable in Cranky's voice as it drifted down from on high. "I'm just unloading some crates. Doing my job, as any sensible engine might have expected."
Porter rolled forward, squinting at James in concern. "Are you sure you're all right, James? You seem a little... jumpy."
"I'm fine," James snapped through gritted teeth, furious at himself for his reaction. "Let's get on with it, Porter. I've got better things to do than wait around here while you two waffle on."
The unseen Cranky snorted. "What 'better things' could you possibly have to do at this time of night in dense fog?"
James glared upwards in the general direction of his disembodied voice. "Just about anything would be better than this."
Porter remained silent as he moved forward and backed down onto the train, although James couldn't determine whether he had taken offence or just wanted to avoid a late-night squabble. Either way, James was relieved that nothing more was being made of his nervous behaviour. Once the fish vans were coupled behind him, he set off without a farewell.
Behind him, he heard Cranky give an annoyed sigh. "What did I tell you? All he does is whinge when he has to pull a goods train."
"He seemed worried about something," Porter observed, and whatever conversation followed was swallowed up by the night as James accelerated away, his face burning with embarrassment.
xxx
(From the EAR&H office at Tabora, Tanzania)
Dear Miss Mwangi,
Thank you for your letter. I regret to inform you that the EAR GSL class tank engine 'Grace' has been decommissioned and her crew redeployed. As a result, I am not able to pass on your enquiry.
Best Wishes,
Mr A. Bakari
Engineer
xxx
"Scrapped?" whispered Nia.
Her driver looked up at her with a sympathetic expression, folding the letter and returning it to its envelope. "I afraid it looks that way, yes. Grace was the last of her class, you know. The others were all withdrawn years ago."
She didn't feel sad. She wished she did. She ought to feel sad. Instead there was an odd sense of disorientation. It was simply wrong that Grace was no longer trundling up and down the branch lines of East Africa spreading misery in her wake. The world was slightly out of kilter. Nia imagined the crates in her mind being shaken about and dislodged from their tidy stacks.
Little Grace had been a thoroughly unpleasant engine in Nia's view, but that didn't mean she had deserved such treatment. She had seemed absolutely confident of her own position while Nia's own had been in doubt, and there was a certain irony in the fact that she had gleefully gone about pronouncing the grim fates of others without knowing that her own time was running short. Unless, of course, she had known, and her actions had been rooted in the bitterness she felt at being rejected. That would certainly cast a different light on things and Nia decided that she didn't want to think about it.
Tidmouth Sheds at the beginning of the working day was hardly the best place to hold a private conversation, even if it was conducted in Swahili. All of those present, both engines and railway workers, were watching the exchange with a good deal of curiosity.
Unsurprisingly, Thomas succumbed first. "Is everything all right, Nia?"
"It seems that a colleague of mine from Africa has gone to the scrapyard," answered Nia flatly. "Her name was Grace," she added with a look at James, the only engine in attendance who would understand that although the news was awful, it could have been so much worse.
A brief, awkward silence fell across the scene. Nia wondered whether this was out of respect for her feelings or whether the others were remembering friends or siblings they had lost under similar circumstances. It was broken once again by Thomas. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said quietly, his expression full of genuine concern.
Nia managed an acerbic smile. "She wasn't my friend, Thomas. I hated her. That makes it worse, somehow."
"Oh." Thomas looked unsure how to react.
"You know that saying, 'I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy'? I-" Nia abruptly became uncomfortably aware that she was the focus of everyone's attention. Looking away from Thomas, her eyes met Rebecca's. The younger engine's face was a perfect picture of compassion and resentment bubbled once again in Nia's boiler. She didn't want to be pitied by Rebecca, the engine who was everything she wasn't (useful, likeable, British, wanted). "Never mind," she mumbled. "I expect none of you know how that would feel, eh?"
"Clearly you have never met Spencer," drawled Gordon, but Nia recognised the sympathy in his eyes and wondered if he was beginning to move past the initial dislike he had felt for her.
A ripple of subdued amusement ran through the shed at the big engine's remark, lightening the heavy atmosphere, and the engines began to depart for their first jobs of the day. James lingered behind, waiting for an opportunity to speak to Nia without an audience. "It doesn't mean that anything has happened to Shomari," he told her, his voice low. "They wouldn't arrange to send him to another part of the network if they had plans to scrap him, would they?"
"I don't know." Nia wanted to feel comforted but the hurt was still too fresh. Was there a scrapyard in Kampala? She'd never had need to find out.
James looked heavy-eyed and weary and Nia allowed herself to push away thoughts of East Africa to focus on the here and now. "Are you all right? How was the fish train?"
The red engine's lips compressed, stopping just short of a pout. "It's done, that's the main thing," he said shortly. "With any luck, Henry will be back tonight and I can have a decent night's sleep. Right then, I'd better get to the washdown. I need to get rid of the smell or my passengers will be complaining about it all morning."
Nia stared at him in surprise as he rolled past her. As far she could tell, James didn't smell of fish at all.
xxx
Percy scrunched up his face, squinted intently and, with an expression of deep concentration, extended his tongue as far as he could, unsuccessfully attempting to reach the end of his nose.
On the platform in front of him, a toddler broke off from the high-pitched wailing with which he had been signalling his dissatisfaction and burst into delighted laughter, just as his relieved mother triumphantly produced a banana from the depths of her bag. She gave the green engine a grateful smile as she shoved the fruit into her child's hand, before taking the other and leading him towards the station exit.
Percy beamed. "People skills," he murmured. He might not be the fastest, strongest or cleverest engine on the North Western but no one could fault his interactions with the passengers.
He was about to set off back to the yard when the sound of his own name caught his attention and he looked over in the direction of the Fat Controller's office. A visitor was arriving and Percy realised that he had misheard; the stationmaster had actually been announcing the arrival of Mr Percival, the Thin Controller. It was something of a relief, really. His visit to the Steamworks earlier in the day hadn't revealed anything which required repairing and Percy didn't much want to draw attention to himself again so soon after airing his grievances.
He didn't intend to listen in to the controllers' conversation, honestly he didn't. But after hearing Mr Percival ask, "What mad scheme are you cooking up now, Topham?" no engine on Sodor could blame him for being intrigued. His work in the yard forgotten, Percy focussed exclusively on the discussion drifting out of the office.
The Fat Controller chuckled. "You know how it is, Peregrine. The mad schemes I find myself caught up in are rarely of my own making. The truth is," and his voice became considerably more sober, "something has come up and I'd appreciate hearing your thoughts on it. I'm afraid it's a rather delicate matter and at this stage, I'd prefer that it wasn't mentioned beyond these four walls."
Recalled to himself, Percy started guiltily. He was about to release his brakes when the Fat Controller's next words stopped him in his tracks.
"Thomas and his crew have come to me with a proposal. Thomas wants to take a... well, a sabbatical, I suppose, and go to work on the Indian Railway for a few months. They've suggested that it could be a promotional trip, building on the publicity generated from the round-the-world escapade." The Fat Controller sighed. "Apparently Thomas is rather taken with an Indian engine he met at the Great Railway Show and is desperate to see her again."
The physical sensation was almost akin to having his fire dowsed. Percy suddenly felt cold, hollow, immobile. The disagreeable thoughts that had plagued him during Thomas's previous absence wormed their way back into his smokebox.
He doesn't want to be on Sodor any more.
He hasn't told you.
He doesn't care about you at all.
And then a wave of anger hit him. After everything I've done for him, how dare he?
The clink of a teacup being abruptly returned to its saucer hinted at the Thin Controller's reaction to the news. "Thomas? Goodness me, wherever has this come from?"
"I honestly don't know what to make of it," admitted the Fat Controller frankly. "On the one hand, he has only just returned to the railway after running off without approval, causing a huge amount of disruption, and I don't want to be seen to be rewarding him for his thoughtless behaviour. The other engines on his branch line have complained of being overworked – not that I'm criticising you, Peregrine, you did an admirable job deputising for me under the circumstances – and he is tremendously popular with the passengers. On the other, the publicity we received last time increased our traffic so much we've had to take on an additional express engine and that's not something I can easily disregard."
The Thin Controller hummed thoughtfully. "And is it actually feasible? Have you any connections with the Indian Railway?"
"Oh yes, I met Ashima's controller at the same Railway Show – a rather formidable woman by the name of Charubala. I spoke to her earlier this morning by phone and she seemed quite thrilled with the idea."
"A female railway controller?" Percy grimaced in frustration; the Thin Controller was not taking this conversation in the direction he wanted it to go.
"The world is changing, Peregrine," said the Fat Controller, his tone amused. "We old hands need to move with the times."
The Thin Controller laughed. "Of course, of course. And you're making some progress in that regard, I gather. Did you retain Nia's driver?"
"I couldn't very well refuse to take her on," the Fat Controller informed him. "Rehema Mwangi is an impressive young woman. She got wind of the fact that Nia was likely to be decommissioned and set off into the unknown to save her engine, persuading her fireman to join her. That kind of courage and resourcefulness is hard to come by and I'd have been a fool to turn her away."
"She sounds very much like your ideal employee," agreed the Thin Controller, as Percy contemplated this new nugget of information. Did Nia know she had been bound for the scrapyard? As far as he could recall, she had never mentioned it. Poor Nia. No wonder that letter this morning upset her so much.
The Fat Controller sighed. "Anyway, I suppose I'm leaning towards allowing Thomas to go, all things considered. And that is why I need your input. You kept an eye on things here while I was pursuing my errant tank engine across the globe and you will know better than me what should be handled differently if we're to manage without him again."
"I see. Well, my advice would be to get the chaps at the quarry on side, pronto. There was some miscommunication last time which took a fair bit of untangling, you see, and-"
The honk of a diesel horn behind him made Percy jump, and Daisy came gliding in, stopping gracefully at the platform on the far side of the station. Any further attempt to listen to the controllers was rendered futile as she promptly began talking at him, her voice carrying across the space between them in such a way that it drowned out the sound coming from the office.
"Honestly, that stationmaster at Arlesburgh West has no idea how an engine like me should be treated! Would you believe that he...?" She trailed off as she realised that her intended audience was not giving her his full attention and inspected him with interest. "Percy! Are you..." Daisy lowered her voice conspiratorially, "eavesdropping?"
Percy's face flushed at being caught out and he gave it up as a bad job. He had heard enough anyway, there was no doubt in his mind how things stood. "I've got to go!" he choked out, and raced away, paying little attention to the signal and ignoring the bemused Daisy's exclamations.
Silly little engine, he told himself fiercely. It's always been this way, you've just refused to accept it. Your friendship doesn't matter to him at all.
xxx
He couldn't move. His driver and fireman were gone. He was alone, and something awful was behind him. It was getting closer, he could sense it, and he needed to get away, he needed to move, he had to get help, he couldn't move and it was getting closer, closer...
James rocked forward slightly, his subconscious mind urging him to greater motion than his sleeping, fireless body was capable of. Perhaps it was this movement which woke him, or perhaps the nightmare had run its course. Either way he was awake, gasping in relief at the peaceful scene before him. The sky was clear and moonlight cast strange shadows across the tracks leading away from the sheds. It was enough to make him feel even more irritated about the previous night's fog.
Switching into damage limitation mode, James glanced around. It was not uncommon for him to have vivid dreams and he'd inadvertently woken the others on more than one occasion. Over to his right, Thomas, Percy and Emily were still fast asleep, although Percy's expression was surprisingly unhappy and James wondered if he was also troubled by bad dreams. Looking to his left, he was relieved to see that Gordon was also undisturbed. Nia, however, was watching him with a solemn expression and James, still reeling from the nightmare, took a minute to compose himself enough to speak to her.
"Did I wake you?" he whispered.
"I could not sleep. Too much to think about, you know?" Nia's eyes drifted upwards, towards the stars twinkling high above them.
"Do you, um... want to talk about it?" He might not be any good at this sort of thing, but James wasn't going to let that stop him from trying.
"Not really." Nia's gaze flicked back towards him. "Do you want to talk about your nightmare?"
"Not really."
"I dream of Kenya." Nia lifted her eyes skywards again. "Sometimes I dream that I return home but I do not recognise where I am. Sometimes I dream that my branch line is still there and nothing has changed but no one remembers me. I can't decide which is worse."
"Both sound horrible," agreed James, wondering at the same time whether this act of sharing was intended to prompt him to do the same.
"I wonder if I dream of my home because I am not doing anything interesting here," Nia murmured thoughtfully. "If my days were filled with new, exciting experiences, perhaps my mind would occupy itself with other things at night?"
James smiled. "If Sodor isn't exciting enough for you, I dread to think what your life must have been like on your old railway! Crashes and disasters every five minutes?"
"If working on the Main Line is enough to give you nightmares, maybe I am better off staying where I am," Nia returned pointedly.
"Everyone else is sleeping peacefully enough," countered James.
"Except Percy," Nia remarked. "Have you noticed how he is frowning?"
James looked over the small engine. "Well, that's Percy," he said. "It doesn't take much to upset him," and his conscience twisted uncomfortably as he recalled how often he had entertained himself by playing on his friend's fears.
"Not like you, eh, Mr Splendid Engine? You are only scared of fish trains."
Momentarily lost for words, James gaped at her. Nia's expression was completely neutral, as though she had stated an undisputable fact and saw no reason why anyone might challenge it. "Who told you that?" he hissed. "Was it Porter? Wait till I see him again, he'll be sorry-"
"Do you want to wake Gordon?" interrupted Nia quietly. "Keep your voice down! I have not seen Porter, and I notice that you are not denying it."
"It was just a nightmare, everyone has nightmares! I'm not discussing this. It's late and I'm tired. I'm going back to sleep." James shut his eyes tightly and waited to see if Nia would back down.
The Kenyan engine was not so easily deterred. "No one told me anything, James. I just pay attention to what is going on around me."
James opened his eyes again in order to scowl at her. "What does it matter to you, anyway? It's none of your business."
"You are my friend," Nia said, giving him a wide-eyed, perplexed look. "I do not like to see you so unhappy."
"I'm not unhappy; I'm fine, completely fine! Yes, I had to take the Kipper and I would much rather not go anywhere near a stinking fish train, but that's not unusual. Doesn't everyone have jobs they don't like doing? Do you want to be stuck in the yards shunting forever?"
This attempt to divert the conversation failed. Nia examined his expression for a few moments and then said softly, "You have not been yourself for the last couple of days, James. I am concerned because I am your friend, and I want you to know that you can depend on me for support if you need it." She hesitated, then went on, "Shomari and I always discussed anything that troubled either of us. I am not used to being... shut out."
"Well, I'm not Shomari, am I?"
He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth, hanging in the chilly night air between them like a barrier. Nia looked away from him, her face suddenly grief-stricken. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You are not."
James sighed, frustrated at his inability to remain calm under pressure. "Oh Nia, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I wasn't trying to upset you, I didn't think."
The tank engine remained silent, and James wondered if she was trying to manipulate him into confiding in her by making him feel guilty. Well, he wasn't going to fall for it.
And yet... He knew how guarded Nia was about the loss of Shomari and their branch line, wanting to win the approval of the others without being judged to have played on their sympathy. He'd seen her chatting away cheerfully to Thomas and the others with nothing in her demeanour which might hint at the distress she felt at being cut adrift from her previous life. She was completely capable of functioning normally despite it all, just as a really useful engine should. In comparison, he had spent the last few days running around in a state of panic like...well, like Percy. He hadn't been composed, he hadn't been dignified, he hadn't been able to function normally and he had given himself away to Nia without even realising.
Maybe he had been going about things the wrong way after all. Ultimately, trying to keep the truth buried for all of this time hadn't actually made him feel any better. He hadn't recovered from the experience and the fear of his secret being exposed only added another layer of worry. If he had an outlet for those times when it became too much for him, it might prevent the pressure from building further and help him to control himself better. It certainly seemed to do the trick for Nia.
In a flash, James saw himself through Nia's eyes – an engine who liked to think of himself as very special but was in reality a pathetic wreck who couldn't complete a simple job without going to pieces over it, and all because he was too much of a coward to be honest with his friends. He hated it, and felt a sudden desperate urge to defend himself and to make her understand. "You have to promise not to tell anyone," he mumbled.
Nia's eyes swivelled back towards him, her expression wary.
"I mean it," James muttered emphatically. "You can't tell any of the others."
"They truly don't know?" asked Nia cautiously.
"I've never spoken about it before," admitted James hesitantly. "It's complicated. No one would understand."
He noticed that everything was suddenly brighter, more clearly-defined, more real than it had been previously. This was something he had experienced before, most recently as he lay in the wreckage of the sheds after his crash. It was what happened in those moments when life changed irrevocably, as if it were being seared into his memory. Nothing would be the same after this.
"I don't know how much Thomas has told you about Henry's history. In case you didn't know, the first time he took the Kipper, he had an awful accident. It was winter, it had snowed – oh, do you know about snow?" he asked, recalling the many occasions on which Nia had remarked on the differences between Sodor's climate and that of her homeland.
Nia raised an eyebrow. "I have been caught in an avalanche. I know all about snow."
"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten about that. Anyway, it was very cold and a set of points had frozen. Henry was diverted from the Main Line into a siding and hit a stationary goods train. It was..." James searched for the right words to convey the sheer horror of that moment; nothing seemed adequate.
Nia's eyes widened as she made the connection. "You were pulling the goods train?"
"Yes." James paused. He was unused to telling this story and uncertain how to go about it. "My crew were in the brake van with the guard. All of them managed to jump clear before Henry hit them, which is nothing short of a miracle given how fast he was moving. They were lucky really, but they suffered some injuries." He recalled hearing his fireman ranting about cocoa, the sound carrying in the night air; James had later learned that he had sustained concussion and wasn't entirely lucid. "I had to sit there and wait until a relief crew arrived. It took hours – it was very early in the morning, Henry and I were the only engines in steam – and I couldn't do anything to help, I couldn't move. I knew Henry had to be badly hurt, but I didn't... I-I thought..." His voice shook and he stopped, not wanting to say anything more. Closing his eyes, he tried to compose himself but he found himself unable to prevent the unwanted memories from surfacing. The sun emerging over the horizon, its light shining directly into his eyes and blinding him. The moment he realised that he could no longer hear Henry moaning in pain behind him and instantly feared the worst. The utter distress on Edward's face when he had eventually arrived. The scene of devastation that had greeted him when he returned to accident site after turning around, Henry lying in the middle of it all with injuries so severe that James was amazed his boiler hadn't exploded. "He nearly died, Nia. He had to be rebuilt on the Mainland, he was gone for months. I hate taking that train because it reminds me of that night."
"It wasn't your fault," Nia said gently.
"I know that. No one ever suggested that it might have been my fault. I don't feel guilty, Nia, that isn't the issue."
There was a look of confusion on the smaller engine's face when he opened his eyes again, and he looked away. "It's silly, I know it is. Henry has managed to put it behind him. Pulling the Kipper doesn't bother him at all. It doesn't make any sense that it affects me so badly all these years later when the engine who suffered so badly is absolutely fine. I didn't have a scratch on me. And I've tried to get past it, I really have. I took the Kipper without complaining at all for a time, I thought if I got used to it the memories would fade and I could be normal about the whole incident, like Henry is. But it didn't work. I started trying to get out of it instead, but it never works, and I can't just refuse, can I? I'm not going to risk everything I have on the North Western for the sake of one stupid fish train."
Nia looked at him sympathetically. "You are not Henry. You don't have to compare yourself to him, you know?"
"Haven't you realised by now that I spend all of my time comparing myself to everyone else? That's what vanity is, isn't it? Spotting all the ways in which you're better than others."
"Is that why you haven't told anyone, in case they think less of you for it?"
James hesitated. "Up to a point, yes," he admitted. "I mean, it sounds daft, doesn't it? It isn't rational to be scared of a taking a particular goods train just because another engine had an accident decades ago. Maybe if it were someone else, that's as far as it would go." His eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at Nia, for they had now reached the heart of the matter. "It's different for me, though. I've spent years talking myself up, trying to show everyone that they shouldn't judge me on the mistakes I made when I first came to Sodor. I've got a reputation for being self-obsessed and vain and... and inconsiderate. If I admit the truth now, everyone will think I'm just attention-seeking. Because that's what I do. I make everything about me. I'm doing it now: you've travelled thousands of miles away from your home and your friends to a strange railway, you've just found out that an engine you knew has been scrapped and here you are, listening to me going on about how tough my life is."
"It's not a competition, James," Nia told him firmly. "Your feelings matter as much as anyone else's."
"Not in this case. I can just imagine the reaction I'd get. 'Hey, everyone, remember that terrible crash which nearly killed Henry and led to him being completely rebuilt? Well, I actually found it very distressing and it's upset me for years! I can't possibly pull the Flying Kipper, someone else will have to do it!'" He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "That would go down really well, I'm sure, especially with Henry. It's not an act, you know, Nia. I really am self-obsessed and that means I have a pretty good idea of how other engines see me."
Summoning up the courage to make eye contact again, James was surprised to see concern in Nia's face. "Oh, James," she murmured. "You are not very kind to yourself. Do you want to know what I think, eh? I think it says an awful lot about your character that the accident which has upset you most was one in which a friend was gravely injured. Not one which left you feeling humiliated, or even one where you sustained damage. You're a better engine than you give yourself credit for."
James stared at her, dumbstruck. This was an aspect that he hadn't considered. "It doesn't change anything," he told her. "No one else will see it that way."
"They might if you-" Nia began, but he cut her off abruptly, suddenly irritated that she kept offering platitudes rather than simply listening to him.
"Look, Nia, if I wanted to be bossed about and told what to do, I'd have had this conversation with Emily years ago. I don't want to talk to the others about the Flying Kipper. I'd be happy to never speak about it ever again. If you really do want to offer some support, respecting my decision is the best way to go about it."
They looked at each other in silence for a few moments, then Nia conceded defeat. "Very well," she murmured, grudgingly. "It is late. We should get some sleep. The firelighter will be here soon to see to Percy."
This was a very welcome proposal, and James agreed with some relief. He was already beginning to regret allowing his resolution to dissolve so easily and he wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't been tricked into making his confession. There were bound to be further discussions on the subject ahead and he was thoroughly exhausted at the thought. He resisted the temptation to sleep just long enough to remind Nia of the commitment she had made. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" he whispered fervently, his voice sounding harsher than he had intended.
"I promise, James," came the reply, and Nia's tone was reassuring. "I won't tell a soul."