He wasn't running away. He was just being really useful.
It had still been dark when James had left the sheds. For once being timetabled to pull trucks had worked in his favour. He was due to leave Brendam before seven with a slow goods train for Crovan's Gate and his crew had begun their working day earlier than their usual schedule required. Upon their arrival it had immediately become apparent that the engine was in a state of some agitation, fidgety and desperate for the off although he refused to reveal the reason, and they decided it was probably in their best interests to indulge him. Being early for the first job of the day was hardly likely to do any harm.
He had hoped that putting some distance between himself and Nia would ease the churning deep within his boiler but as the indigo of the sky faded to a pale violet, James found that the daylight didn't make the events of the night appear any more palatable. What on earth had possessed him? All that time spent hiding the truth so he wouldn't make himself vulnerable and in the end, one sob story was all it took to smash apart the barriers he had carefully constructed and maintained for so many years. He felt exposed, as though the sheets of his boiler had been peeled back to reveal his inner workings to the world, and he loathed it.
The only consolation was the strong likelihood that Nia would keep his revelations to herself. Her own secrets were assiduously guarded and James had felt a considerable amount of pride at being trusted with them. He hoped that she would view his confidences as equally valuable and he reassured himself that when it came down to it, there would be no real benefit in betraying his trust.
It didn't make him feel any better though, and the prospect of running into Porter at the docks only piled on the discomfort. James hadn't seen the dockside engine at all the previous day, as Henry had been released from the Steamworks in time to reclaim the Kipper and James himself had been timetabled to pull passenger services for most of the day. He had wondered whether it was the Fat Controller's attempt to placate him but even if it was simply a coincidence, it had been very much appreciated. This early morning visit to Brendam, however, meant that an encounter was all but unavoidable, and James was not looking forward to it one bit.
There was only one thing to do: brazen it out. No one would suspect that anything out of the ordinary had occurred as long as he kept showing the world that he was a splendid, self-assured engine. Porter would probably conclude that he had just been annoyed at being made to take the Kipper at short notice and as for Nia, she might assume that all that soul-baring had lifted a weight from him. If she thought he was feeling more upbeat and less haunted by his memories, there would be little point continuing with her mission to cheer him up and they could both go back to poking fun at Gordon as usual.
With this in mind, James resolved to make as impressive an entrance as he could upon arriving at the docks. Charging around the curve, past the dock where the passenger liners moored, he raced into the dockyard calling out his usual greeting, "Heeere's James!" A battle cry, he thought confidently, to show that no one ought to try messing with me today.
There was no sign of Porter but Philip was there, and James thought wryly that it was really rather impressive that the boxcab had managed to drop as low as third on the list of engines he really didn't want to see that morning. The small diesel was watching his approach with an alarmed expression, and the reason quickly became apparent when James spotted the flatbed of unsecured crates on the line ahead of him. He was moving too quickly to brake in time and collided forcefully with it, knocking it backwards and causing Philip to reverse in order to avoid the falling cargo.
So much for an impressive entrance. Clearly it was going to be one of those days.
Still, James was too committed to his plan to abandon it now, besides which he hadn't thought of anything in the way of an alternative. If he wanted to appear as self-confident and relaxed as he had intended, the obvious course of action was to deflect the blame for this mishap. Forcing a chuckle, he looked over at the smaller engine with disdain. "Are you making mistakes again, Philip?" he asked loftily, just to make it clear to the little diesel that he had no intention of forgetting the incident which had occurred three days earlier at Knapford. Philip looked hurt, and James moved forward, satisfied that his words had hit home.
He didn't notice the oil can until it clanged against his leading wheel and toppled from the rail, spraying thick black grease across Philip's face. James gasped in surprise, perplexed as to how things had gone so awry so quickly.
The dock manager was glaring at him now and James decided that the best option was to pretend not to see him. "What did you do that for?" he demanded, recovering enough to scowl at Philip and hoping against hope that he might somehow be blamed for the can falling off his train.
"I didn't do anything," protested Philip indignantly. "It was you! And you should say sorry!"
James rolled his eyes in an exaggerated show of annoyance. "OK, then," he said grudgingly. "I'm sorry for messing you up... my beautiful, splendid paintwork." This was probably a wheel turn too far to be believable, especially as he was wearing the most tragic expression he could muster, but James could never resist the temptation to wind Philip up. Ignoring the boxcab's complaints, he set off again, looking as smug as he dared, to find a shunter who could direct him to his train.
The job itself was straightforward enough – a shipment of parts for the Steamworks, not heavy enough to cause him any real problems – and the journey was uneventful for the most part. The only incident worthy of note occurred when he reached his destination and was flagged down by one of the workmen. "Got a message for you from Sir Topham Hatt," he told James as he was being uncoupled from his train. "There's been a change to your timetable and you're to go to Knapford at once to find out what your new jobs are."
James's driver leaned from his cab. "Has something happened?"
"Signal failure at Barrow, apparently. Donald and Douglas are stuck on the Mainland for the foreseeable so we're down two engines."
"It's going to be trucks, isn't it?" said James mournfully, but the worker wasn't listening.
"Are your brakes feeling all right, James?"
"Of course," James replied, slightly affronted. "I have learned my lesson, you know."
"That'd be a first," murmured his driver.
"What's this, then?" The engineer reached out to touch his front driving wheel and held up his hand to reveal a glossy black substance across his fingers.
James's face cleared as he made the connection. "It's oil. Philip lost some cans from his train down at the docks and I accidentally hit one of them. I'd better get to the washdown."
"We need to go to Knapford," his driver reminded him.
"I can't see the Fat Controller with oil all over me! Whatever would he think?" James had a pretty good idea what his thoughts on the subject would be. If the Fat Controller heard what had happened, he would denounce James as a clumsy, careless engine, and clumsy, careless engines couldn't be trusted to pull coaches. As he was still on notice after the Tidmouth Sheds incident, James was taking no chances whatsoever. "We'll just stop quickly on the way to Knapford," he pleaded.
His driver took pity on him, possibly aware that any mistakes on the part of the engine reflected badly on his crew. "Oh, go on, then," he said in a resigned tone. "But just a quick wash to get rid of the oil, mind."
James agreed readily to this compromise and set off in relatively high spirits. Operation Splendid Engine was back on track.
Of course, his plan hit the buffers fairly promptly, because any plan devised by James generally did. Thomas was at the washdown when he arrived, with Philip waiting behind him, and the brief visit they had planned seemed out of the question.
"It's no go, old thing," his driver said apologetically. "We can't keep the Fat Controller waiting."
"Let's cut in front of Philip," James suggested, observing that Thomas appeared to be ready to move away. "He won't be in a hurry; he'll only be going back to the yard to do more shunting. With Nia and Percy helping out, they can probably manage without him for a bit longer."
"You really are trying to make yourself unpopular today, aren't you?"
"Well, it is his fault that the oil splashed me in the first place, so he should let me go in front of him to make up for it," declared James, in what he thought was a completely reasonable manner.
His driver disagreed. "His fault? And you had nothing to do with it at all, I suppose?"
"All right," said James magnanimously, "we may have both contributed to the accident, but if the Fat Controller needs an engine to take one of the Twins' trains, he's hardly going to choose Philip."
His driver gave an exasperated sigh. "OK, James, have it your way. Just be warned that if the Fat Controller gets wind of this, you're on your own. I'm not going to defend you."
"You never do," James grumbled, accelerating past the washdown to get beyond the points so he could take Thomas's place. "My turn!" he sang as he reversed into position.
Behind him, Philip huffed. "No it's not, James! Say sorry for cutting in and go back."
James laughed, another artificial display of mirth to emphasise just how ridiculous he found the boxcab. "But that would be like saying sorry for being bigger, faster and more splendid than you are."
Inside his cab, the driver groaned.
Philip didn't say anything further, but James could feel the little diesel seething behind him. There was something faintly absurd about his anger, but as much as James wanted to enjoy it, he was aware of a prickling sense of unease in the back of his mind, running alongside the existing trepidation that had been eating away at him all morning. Even he could see that his behaviour towards Philip was verging on unreasonable and he would have to rein it in if he wanted to avoid trouble in the future. Silently resolving to be... well, not nicer exactly, but at the very least to interact with the smaller engine less, James forced the thoughts to one side and tried to relax. For the time being, though, he allowed himself to focus on the gentle pressure of the water flowing over him and imagined it washing his troubles away.
xxx
It hadn't been a good day even before the arrival of the postcard.
Nia had spent most of the night awake. She had only realised that she must have fallen asleep at some point when she opened her eyes at dawn to discover that James's berth was empty and she hadn't seen him leave. Nia suspected that he might be avoiding her as a result of their conversation and the thought struck her like a blow. She didn't want things to become strained between them.
Once again the day held nothing more than the prospect of shunting in the yard and she was finding it a struggle. The task was simply too dull and repetitive to keep her engaged and without a challenge to apply herself to, it was all too easy to give in to her exhaustion and allow her eyes to gently drift closed. If it hadn't been for Thomas, she was fairly sure she would have dozed off by now.
"Are you sure he hasn't said anything?" the blue engine prompted, his expression troubled.
Nia sighed. She thought she had made herself clear but Thomas had demonstrated on several occasions during their international adventure that he had a particular skill for selective hearing. "He hasn't said anything to me, Thomas. Why don't you ask him, eh? He'll be here soon."
"I've tried that, Nia, but he just keeps avoiding me." Thomas looked at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps you could try talking to him?"
"You want me to talk to Percy on your behalf?" Nia shot him in an unimpressed look. "If he is upset with you, do you really think that will help?"
"I don't know. I don't understand it at all," said Thomas gloomily. "I miss working with my best friend and I'm sick of being stuck with Diesel instead."
Resisting the temptation to tell him to stop pestering her and to sort out his own problems took all of Nia's self-control. She had enough troubles to contend with herself without becoming an intermediary between two engines who were purportedly so close.
She supposed it was tiredness which made her feel as though she were floating slightly above the ground, her wheels not quite making contact with the metal of the rails.
Thomas was still talking but his words were just sound and she didn't care enough to focus on what they meant. She hoped James was all right.
Her eyelids were heavy, and she glanced up at the tracks ahead in an attempt to keep them open – she might not be interested in Thomas's complaints but she didn't want the fact to become obvious to him – just in time to see an engine round the corner-
Grace.
It was Little Grace.
Nia stared at the boxy shape as it approached, all else forgotten. It couldn't be Grace, she was dead (but was she? Nia and her driver had made an assumption but they didn't know, they hadn't had proof). An incongruous gurgle of laughter rose up within her. She's come back to haunt me! I should have known that even in death she would follow me thousands of miles away from home just to ruin my day!
And then Thomas whistled, and the approaching figure responded by ringing a bell. It took a few seconds for Nia to register just how strange this was: Little Grace didn't have a bell, why had she been fitted with a bell rather than a whistle? Nia blinked in confusion and the spell was broken. It was just Toby, and the steam tram was staring at her with a look of concern which was mirrored by Thomas on the line beside her. Nia gave both a smile which she hoped was reassuring. "Good morning, Toby," she said brightly, her gaze sliding past his worried face to take in his wooden body (how could she have mistaken a wooden engine for Grace?) and his brown paint which now appeared nothing like the standard maroon of the EAR.
"Nia? Are you all right?" Thomas asked, and again she wanted to laugh. No, Thomas, I am not all right and if you had listened to me JUST ONCE as we travelled around the world together you would know exactly why.
But an argument would take too much energy, and she had a reputation to uphold. A reputation as a fairly nice, rather bland engine probably, given how much effort she put into not saying everything that she wanted to, but it served a purpose. And so she smiled again weakly, and said, "Forgive me, Thomas, I did not sleep well and I am finding it difficult to concentrate, you know?"
Thomas looked unconvinced and she chose to take the easy way out once again. "I must go and fetch Gordon's coaches," she said, and reversed wearily away before he or Toby could respond.
Coaches safely delivered to Platform One, Nia was permitted a brief rest as her fireman wandered over to the MC Bunn stall to buy some refreshments. She decided to take advantage of the break to have a brief nap but the opportunity was snatched away from her by Percy, who pulled up alongside with a sharp whistle. "Nia! I've been looking for you everywhere!"
'Everywhere' must be smaller than I thought, Nia thought bitterly. She knew that Percy had only just begun work again after his post-mail run rest and he couldn't have strayed very far from the route between Tidmouth Sheds and Knapford Station. But why would he? It wasn't as though Nia was likely to be anywhere else.
"Excuse me, Miss Mwangi?" Percy's driver leaned from the cab, and despite her bad mood, Nia smirked at the tone of his voice. Other engines' crews were always so deferential when they spoke to her driver and it had become something of a joke to both Nia and her fireman, who had taken to calling his colleague 'Your Majesty', to her great annoyance. Being the first female driver on the North Western clearly commanded a high degree of respect, although Nia had pondered how much her Kenyan background had contributed to this. Either the Sudrians were in awe of her daring in stealing her engine and racing off around the world with virtually no notice, or they viewed her as a strange, exotic creature and weren't sure how to approach her. Nia hoped that it was the former.
As the humans conducted a brief conversation, Percy took it upon himself to explain. "We've got a postcard from Africa to give to your fireman. One of the postmen recognised the name but the address was smudged so he suggested that we pass it on."
"That is very kind of you," Nia began, but her attention was diverted as her driver descended from the cab and ran across the platform to the refreshment stall.
"I don't think it's good news," observed Percy quietly, and Nia had to agree. There was something about the urgency of her driver's movement and the animated, whispered conversation between her crew that made her boiler run cold. After a short discussion, they walked back towards her, their expressions grave. Percy gave her small, troubled smile and departed, clearly sensing that some privacy would be required.
Standing on the platform in front of her, Nia's fireman cleared his throat awkwardly. Her driver folded her arms, frowning at him. "We should return to the shed," she said bluntly in Swahili.
"What has happened?" Nia asked shakily. "It is bad news, isn't it?"
Her fireman hesitated, tapping the card against his fingertips. "It... could be worse," he said cautiously.
"Then tell me, please," Nia pleaded. No matter how bad the news proved to be, she would rather hear it now than have to tolerate the awful dread that filled her for any longer than was absolutely necessary.
Taking a deep breath as if to delay himself, her fireman began to read from the card. As he held it in front of him, Nia could make out the image of an unfamiliar but recognisably African settlement on the reverse.
'Cousin Isaac,
Greetings from Uganda! As you can see, we have arrived safely in Kampala and you'll be glad to hear that I have carried out your request. Today I visited the engine sheds you mentioned and spoke to a member of staff working there. He said that they have been joined by some new engines recently but all of them are diesels (class 90, I think he said? Probably means more to you than it does to me!) Anyway, I hope that information is useful and your missing engine turns up soon.
Of course, there aren't many new wives who would be happy about their husband abandoning them for a couple of hours while on honeymoon to go looking for a mysterious steam engine. I've promised Shani that you'll buy us the most AMAZING wedding present to make up for it once we get home, so you'd better put your thinking cap on!
Your favourite cousin,
J.'
A small pocket of silence opened up around the three of them as Nia's crew waited for the news to sink in. It was difficult to focus, somehow, and Nia found her thoughts sliding away, easily distracted by the mundane day-to-day activity around her. Gordon was somewhere up ahead, hidden from view by the express coaches, but she could hear the deep rumble of his voice as he chatted to Emily, waiting for her own coaches at Platform Three. At the far side of the station, Ryan hummed cheerfully to himself as he watched the signals up ahead. Passengers milled about, porters rushed back and forth. It was all so normal.
"He never made it," she murmured eventually. "Shomari never reached Kampala."
"Perhaps he was needed more elsewhere," offered her fireman, but his optimism seemed hollow.
"Perhaps he wasn't needed at all." Had they told Grace she was going to Kampala too? Had it become a handy euphemism, disguising the horrific truth from the remaining steam engines until they too were removed to make way for diesels and motor vehicles? How long before they came for Kwaku, or Kessie from the docks, or old Amani at Voi? Nia had already grieved for her home and her friends but the sense of loss which engulfed her now was far greater than she would have imagined being able to bear, and yet bear it she did. Her imaginary crates might be overloaded, the planks cracking and splintering, but still they held. They had to.
Her fireman hadn't given up just yet. "His new crew seemed certain they were going back to Kampala," he said, looking to her driver for support. "There was nothing suspicious about it. He could easily have been diverted after they departed."
"It does not matter," said Nia dully. "We cannot find him. He might as well be gone, he is lost to me in any case."
Her driver stepped forward, her face solemn and sympathetic. "I will speak to the Fat Controller," she told Nia. "If I can talk him round, he might use his reputation and influence to persuade Nairobi to tell us what has happened to Shomari."
Nia gazed sadly at her and wondered if any engine had ever loved their crew as devotedly as she loved hers.
"In the meantime, I will arrange for you to go back to the sheds-"
"No!" Nia cried, her voice incautiously loud, drawing a curious look from Ryan as he set off towards his branch line. "I want to keep busy!"
Her driver shook her head. "We can't expect you to keep working under such circumstances, Nia."
"I went back to the sheds early the other day," Nia pointed out desperately. "If I keep leaving my work to hide away, I will be seen as unreliable, you know? We still have so much to prove and we can't prove anything if I am always in the sheds!"
Shomari, solid, unflappable Shomari, would never run away to hide when there was work to be done, no matter how distressed he might feel. She had to live up to his standards, if only to protect Rehema and Isaac from the Fat Controller's disapproval.
Her driver began to protest but she was interrupted by someone calling from further down the platform. The Fat Controller himself was striding towards them, clipboard in hand, and Nia immediately forced her features into her often-practised smile, hoping she looked eager rather than unstable.
"Is everything all right?" the Fat Controller said, his eyes flicking between Nia and her driver as her fireman returned to the cab.
"Quite all right, sir," Nia replied, positively glowing with false cheer. Sir Topham Hatt looked unconvinced, turning to her driver with a quizzical expression, but Nia had argued her case well enough and Rehema merely nodded. "Refreshment break, sir," she said smoothly.
"I see. Well, I'm sorry to cut it short but there has been an unexpected turn of events and I need to reschedule some of the day's jobs. I'd like you to meet me in the yard by the coal hopper in half an hour or so. I may need you to take a train or two this afternoon."
Nia agreed readily, relieved at the prospect of finally showing her new owner that she was able to do more than shunt and desperate to distract herself with hard work. Twenty minutes later she was ready and waiting outside the station. Thomas and Rebecca were there already, chatting idly about nothing very much, and Nia had just given up trying to follow the conversation when a familiar cry of 'Heeere's James!" came from behind and the red engine himself eased to a stop alongside her.
"Hello James, good to see you again!" Rebecca greeted him cheerily, and Nia suddenly felt a strange, irrational stab of jealousy. Her friendship with James was the one thing about her new life which felt secure, and she wouldn't have the newer engine interfering.
"Are you all right, James?" she murmured, just as he opened his mouth to reply. It was perhaps a rather blunt way to stake a claim over him but it worked and James's attention immediately shifted towards her.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" James was absolutely beaming, and for a moment Nia wondered if she had imagined the conversation that had taken place the night before, just as she had imagined Grace earlier. But as she held James's gaze, she saw a flicker of alarm in his eyes and knew that it was an act. Nia wanted to reassure him, to let him know that she had no intention of revealing what she knew, but there was little she could do with Rebecca and Thomas present, and before she could think of a response the Fat Controller was there.
"Right," he said distractedly, his eyes firmly fixed on his clipboard, "first up, I've got trucks of sardines that need delivering."
"Sardines?" James asked cautiously. "What are they?"
"Little fish, James." The Fat Controller gestured to two uncovered trucks filled to the brim with crates in a siding behind Rebecca.
James's face fell and Nia could almost hear panic bubbling through his boiler. "Ewww! Smelly!"
Nia transferred her gaze to the Fat Controller, hoping to attract his attention so she could volunteer to take the train herself, but at that moment Philip appeared, looking unusually sly.
"James can do that job, sir!" he declared, with a sarcastic edge to his voice which Nia hadn't heard before. "He loves being the first to jump in!"
Confused, Nia looked to James in time to see terror briefly cross his face, but he recovered almost instantly. "Oh!" he cried, "I can hear someone calling out my name!" And then, to the disbelief of Nia and, judging from their expressions, everyone else present, he proceeded to impersonate a railway worker, muffling his voice by speaking out of the side of his mouth. "James! We've got an important job for a splendid engine like you."
It was laughable, but everyone was too astonished to call him out on it. Nia stared at James, genuinely concerned. He couldn't possibly expect such a stupid plan to work unless he was starting to lose his grip on reality.
"You heard him," James laughed nervously. "Gotta go! Important job calling!" And he reversed away, ignoring the Fat Controller as he called after him.
Nia felt her spirits sink even further. With James in such a mood, it seemed unlikely that she would be able to confide in him about Shomari. At this thought, another wave of grief hit and for a moment Nia was so lost in her unhappiness that she missed the Fat Controller instructing Philip to take the sardine trucks. Fortunately, she recovered in time to hear Sir Topham Hatt apologising to Rebecca for taking her away from her usual job and she was as bright-eyed and alert as possible by the time his focus swung around to her.
"Nia," he said, examining the paperwork carefully, "I have a mixed goods train which needs to go to Brendam Docks and I'd like you to take it, please."
"I can do that, sir," Nia told him, careful to keep her tone cheerfully confident. This, at last, was a chance to prove that she was more than a shunter and she needed to make the most of it.
Satisfied, the Fat Controller thanked all present for their assistance and departed. Philip also left, grumbling under his breath, but Thomas remained where he was, looking at Nia with a troubled expression.
"Be careful with the trucks, Nia," he warned. "They aren't like the ones you used to deal with in Africa, you know."
"I have been dealing with trucks ever since I arrived on Sodor," Nia told him, trying and failing to keep her annoyance from creeping into her voice. Who did Thomas think he was? He knew better than anyone else on the NWR how capable she was and yet he still didn't think she was good enough to carry out such a simple task. "I spend all my time in the yard with trucks. I know how to manage them."
Thomas looked doubtful. "It's when they get out of the yard that they cause problems. Look, Nia-"
"I know what I am doing, Thomas!" Her tone was sharper than she had intended. Thomas was stunned into silence, an uncertain look on his face. Nia felt a vague sense of regret at having let her frustration get the better of her, but it didn't really matter. None of it mattered. The only thing of any importance right now was delivering her train to the Docks as agreed. As long as she kept her focus on that one task, she could cope, she could keep her thoughts in order.
Allowing herself go to pieces was of no benefit to anyone.
XXX
"I should have left on that ship with Gator when I had the chance."
Yard workers looked over in surprise at the sound of trucks colliding but Percy didn't care. For the first time in weeks, he was able to speak his mind and the sense of relief it gave him was wonderfully liberating.
"I was under the impression that Gator encouraged you not to run away from your problems," remarked Duck, giving the smaller engine an enquiring look.
Percy glared at him. "It wouldn't have been running away from anything. I would have been running towards something. I would have been the one off having adventures in foreign countries."
"And is that what you want?" Duck asked, an eyebrow raised.
"I don't know!" Percy bashed another truck and sent it rolling towards the rest of the train. "But I do know what I don't want. I don't want to be taken advantage of again."
Duck remained silent, watching as the truck rattled past, and Percy recalled just how much he had always appreciated the Great Western engine's willingness to give him space to compose his thoughts. His boiler churned with all of the things he could never say, for it was one thing to be left behind while Thomas was off having adventures but something else entirely to have to share a branch line with an engine with whom he had quarrelled. "How would you feel if Oliver vanished one day to go off and have an adventure without you?" he asked, looking for reassurance that Duck fully understood his point of view.
Duck smiled wistfully at this unlikely scenario. "If anything, it would be the other way round. Oliver has had enough of what some might term 'adventure' to last a lifetime. Besides, it's not the Great Western way to leave one's colleagues in the lurch."
"It isn't just that," Percy told him. "Did you hear about the invisible engine who was on Sodor a couple of weeks ago?"
Duck frowned. "You are aware that he isn't actually invisible, aren't you?"
"Don't you start," grumbled Percy, who was thoroughly fed up of everyone pointing out his gullibility by this stage. "The invisibility thing isn't important. Thomas met Merlin on the Mainland when he ran off with James's trucks and got trapped in the steelworks. I thought..." He hesitated, hoping Duck wouldn't think him childish. "I thought Thomas would introduce me to him. I am supposed to be his best friend, after all."
"Ah. I take it he didn't?"
"No!" Percy biffed another truck. "He didn't even suggest it, and I made it clear that I really wanted to meet Merlin. I suppose he just didn't want to. Perhaps Thomas thinks he's too good for me now he's travelled around the world!"
"I find that hard to believe," Duck said bluntly. "You're one of the best engines I know, Percy."
"I am?" Percy stared at the pannier tank in surprise. Duck was not given to flattery, certain that honesty was a far better approach, and Percy knew that he wouldn't have said such a thing if he didn't feel it to be true.
"Of course. There isn't a bad rivet in your boiler. You're thoroughly decent and you work much harder than most engines. I just wish you had more faith in yourself."
Percy gaped at him. "I have faith in myself!" he protested. "I ran Thomas's branch line while he was away and everyone says I did a marvellous job!"
"You did," Duck confirmed. "From what I saw, you were capable and competent and everything ran as smoothly as could be expected, just as I knew it would. Mr Percival should have asked you to take over from Thomas as a matter of course."
"James says that too," agreed Percy.
Duck winced. "I wish you wouldn't do that, Percy, you know that being in agreement with James doesn't sit right with me. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that you are always better when you're not with Thomas."
"What?!" The warm glow Percy had felt at his friend's praise was fading rapidly. "Oh Duck, please don't bring that up again! I wanted your advice, not more criticism. And I've been trying to speak to you for ages." He tried not to sound cross. After all, it was hardly Duck's fault that their timetables hadn't aligned.
"I think you deserve better," said Duck reproachfully. "Nothing will ever change if you carry on acting as though you are inferior to Thomas just to boost his ego."
"It isn't like that," snapped Percy. "You think I'm a better engine than I am, Duck. Thomas wasn't even there when a lot of my accidents happened."
"Accidents happen," said Duck dismissively. "It's the way you defer to him all the time than bothers me. I suppose it makes it easier to manage him, for I can't see any other reason why you would have stuck with it for so long. If I'm honest, though, I miss the old Percy, the one who would keep the big engines from getting too full of themselves with a healthy dose of cheek. When was the last time you played a trick on anyone?"
"You can talk," Percy retorted, now on the defensive. "When was the last time you played a trick on anyone?"
Duck flashed an unexpected grin at him. "Ah, but that's different. I retired when I realised I couldn't get the better of Donald."
"Well, I retired too." Percy scowled. "Sometimes pranks don't turn out the way you expect them to."
"Oh, so that's what this is about!" Duck said, giving him a knowing look. "And that explains why you've come to me rather than speaking to Toby. The ghost incident, still causing trouble after so many years. You've never really forgiven him, have you?"
"Toby told him I was dead and by all accounts he wasn't even upset!"
"You don't know that," Duck pointed out, playing devil's advocate in order to be scrupulously fair. "Beg pardon, Percy, but if I recall correctly, Thomas didn't return to your shed that night. He might have spent the whole time in a dreadful state."
"Then he should have been happier to see me alive the next day," said Percy sulkily.
"You tricked him. His pride was hurt and he didn't want to lose face." Duck examined Percy's expression carefully. "Why is all of this being dragged up again now? This isn't just about Merlin's visit, is it?"
Percy glanced around, making sure no other engine was near enough to overhear. "He's leaving again," he hissed furiously. "Thomas wants to go to India to work with Ashima and the Fat Controller is going to let him."
Duck stared in surprise. "What? But he barely knows Ashima!"
"Philip told everyone she was trouble," said Percy grimly. "We should have listened to him. Promise me you won't tell anyone, Duck, not even Oliver. We're not supposed to know yet. I... well, I overheard the Fat Controller talking about it. Oh, you needn't look at me like that, I know I shouldn't have been listening, but it was absolutely clear. Thomas is going away and that shows you exactly what he thinks of all of us."
Silence fell as Duck considered the news. After a few moments, he looked over at Percy again with a shrewd expression. "This could be an opportunity for you, Percy. Perhaps you'll get the branch line after all."
"I don't want Thomas's branch line," said Percy, and the pieces suddenly fell in place and he saw clearly what had been evading him. He didn't want to take over Thomas's role, and he didn't want international adventures of his own. He wanted to stay on Sodor, the place where he was happiest, and to spend his days with friends who respected him. Gator - and more recently, Rebecca - had made him feel valued in a way that Thomas seldom did these days. The branch line wasn't the blue engine's primary concern any more, and since his horizons had begun to broaden, Percy had found himself increasingly sidelined. It was partly his own fault. Duck, with his sharp, analytical mind, had been correct in his assessment. Percy had spent years playing up his natural naivety in the hope that Thomas wouldn't feel threatened by him and would look out for him the way a best friend should. It hadn't always proved successful but right now, it was starting to look like a very bad strategy indeed.
"I'm not sure what I can offer you in the way of advice," Duck admitted. "I'd suggest having it out with him, but I don't know if you'd get the outcome you're hoping for."
"I wasn't really looking for advice," Percy replied. "I want your opinion because I know you'll be completely honest with me. Am I being... a bit... well, silly about all of this?"
Duck was immediately indignant. "Has someone said something to you? If it was Gordon, he has absolutely no right. I've heard all about the tantrums he throws when-"
Before Percy could correct him, a whistle alerted them both to the approach of a third engine, and Duck broke off as Nia appeared.
"Hello again, Percy. Good morning, Duck," she said cheerfully. She seemed far more upbeat than she had been at the station and Percy felt relived that her news couldn't have been as bad as he had feared. "The Fat Controller has sent me to collect a mixed goods train for Brendam Docks. Are these my trucks?"
"Oh yes, you can take them," Percy answered absently, distracted by Duck's reaction. As Nia rolled forward in order to back on to the train, Duck muttered, "The big engines might like to call you a silly little engine, but that doesn't make it true."
"No one has said anything," Percy whispered back fiercely.
"Then why-" Duck paused to whistle a farewell to Nia, "do you care what anyone else thinks? It's perfectly reasonable for you to be unhappy at the way Thomas disregards your feelings. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
"I just..." Percy began, but as he watched Nia's train depart an unpleasant realisation struck him hard enough to completely derail his train of thought. "Nia! Nia! Come back!" he yelled, but it was too late. Nia was too far away to hear him and as the brake van accelerated away, Percy could see that he had little hope of catching her. "Oh, I've done it now," he groaned.
"Percy?" Duck looked at him in confusion. "What is it?"
"That's not the train for the Docks," said Percy gloomily. "I've given Nia the wrong trucks."
XXX
Once, many years ago when she was still new and finding out about the world, Nia had asked Shomari why people had made living trucks. It seemed like such an odd thing to do.
Of course Shomari, ever the philosopher, had a ready answer. "Sometimes engines have to travel great distances. It could be that living trucks were meant to keep us company on those long journeys. And their singing can be wonderfully uplifting, even the heaviest of trains can seem lighter when you have beautiful music to smooth the rails ahead of you."
Sudrian trucks did not seem to be musically inclined. This was a great disappointment. Nia had hoped for some songs to lift her spirits as she made her way to Brendam but her charges remained stubbornly quiet. Nor did they offer much on the way of company and all of her attempts to coax them into conversation fell flat. Nia eventually gave up once she reached Wellsworth and instead occupied herself by observing the sights of the branch line. There was much to admire in the warm, russet shades of the autumn foliage, quite unlike anything she had seen in Kenya. The fenland track was also quite impressive, with the water of the marsh below so tranquil that it reflected the sky perfectly. Despite having to slow down due to engineering work taking place on the bridge, Nia could almost imagine that she was flying, although that was partly because she still felt as though she couldn't quite feel the rails beneath her properly.
She had forgotten that there was a scrap yard on this line. The sight of it completely drove all the distracting, comforting thoughts from her mind and all that remained was a yawning despair: at the loss of Shomari; at her own lack of agency; at the knowledge that she could never go back.
There was a yellow crane working there and it called out a greeting. She didn't answer and accelerated away. Why would she want to talk to a machine whose job it was to assist in the destruction of hardworking, useful engines?
It probably wasn't fair to think that way. It wasn't as though any sentient machine had any say in their own fate, as she knew all too well.
Little Grace had been younger than Nia. Only by a couple of years, hardly any time at all really, but still, Nia felt their significance.
If Nia hadn't run away, perhaps Grace would have been spared.
The zebra-striped walls of the Animal Park appeared ahead, and a sob escaped her before she could muster the wherewithal to suppress it. An imitation Africa could never compare to the real thing, and the pretence of it all jarred horribly. Oh, how she regretted her desperation to get away from the yard now! She would happily stay there forever if it meant she could avoid visiting this awful branch line again!
It should have been a relief to reach the Docks, but the knowledge that she would have to pass the scrap yard again dominated Nia's thoughts to the exclusion of just about everything else. She didn't want to talk to anyone for fear that her distress would be obvious, but it seemed that the universe had no intention of respecting any of her wishes as Carly broadcast the news of her arrival to all in the vicinity. "Hello, Nia! We don't see you down this way very often! How are you, chuck?"
Nia managed a tight smile. "I have brought some trucks from Knapford."
As she slowed to a halt next to the crane, she saw a blue diesel on the next line watching her with great interest, a vague smile on his face. Nia shot him a blank look in return.
Pulling up on the third track, Salty arrived in time to make the introductions. "Ahoy there, Nia!
Sidney, this is Nia – the engine from Kenya who travelled around the world with Thomas. Remember?"
"Oh!" Sidney looked genuinely surprised. "Nice to meet you, Nia. How are you finding Sodor?"
"It is good to meet you too, Sidney," Nia replied, reluctantly drawn into the conversation as she couldn't see any way to avoid it. She had spotted James up ahead of her, deep in discussion with Porter, and was torn between wanting him to notice her and wanting to get away to avoid having to interact with him while she felt so disorientated. "Sodor is... very different. It has taken me some time to get used to the North Western Railway but everyone has been very kind." This was a slight exaggeration but she had not forgotten the way Gordon had looked at her the previous morning and felt there were grounds to hope that he was finally thawing towards her.
"That's good," Sidney said cheerfully. "And when are you going back?"
Nia froze, any response fizzling out somewhere between her thoughts and her mouth. The world around her seemed to grind to a halt, too, an uncomfortable silence spreading out from the two of them like ripples on a pool. Up above, Carly exchanged awkward glances with the other cranes.
James's voice rang out through the quiet, apparently unaware of the situation behind him. "Since when has that been any of your business? Stop poking your funnel into things that don't concern you and go and fetch my trucks!"
The sound seemed to spur Salty into action and he broke the silence with a feigned cough. "Nia works on the North Western now, Sidney," he explained patiently. "The Fat Controller bought her. This is her home."
"Oh, I see," said Sidney, seemingly completely oblivious to the discomfort he had caused. "Well, I need to go and take these trucks to... wherever they're supposed to be." With a farewell honk of his horn, he pulled away. The rattling trucks blocked Nia's view of Salty and she was grateful for the brief respite from having to be sociable.
It didn't last anywhere near long enough. "Don't you pay no mind to Sidney, Nia," said Salty gently as soon as the brake van had trundled past. Nia saw the undisguised concern on his face. "His memory has more holes in it than one of those big old nets the fishing trawlers use."
Nia looked mutely back at him. She wanted to feel warmed by his kindness, but it didn't seem to register with her properly. She had an odd sense that her self had shrunk until it was a tiny thing suspended within her smokebox, too small and disconnected to exert any direct influence on the world around her.
"How can we help you?" Salty prompted.
"I have brought some trucks from Knapford." Nia repeated. Her voice sounded listless and faint, as though it was coming from some distance away.
Salty looked back at the train behind her and his face fell. "Ah, Nia, I think there's been a... misunderstanding. These are the trucks we sent up to Knapford this morning."
"Percy said they were to come here," said Nia dismally, her mood plumbing yet more new depths.
"Percy must've got himself into a muddle," the diesel told her. "Those are for Thomas's branch line. Ain't that right, Carly?"
"Definitely the same trucks," Carly agreed, and all at once the previously taciturn trucks burst into a cacophony of shrieking laughter which made Nia wince.
"That's quite enough of that!" Salty called sternly. "Why didn't you lot say anything back at the yard, eh?"
"It's not our fault if foreign engines can't do their jobs properly," returned one of the group scornfully. Nia wished fervently for a sinkhole to open up beneath her, or for an unexpected tidal wave to wash her into the sea. She had failed. She had finally been trusted with a proper job and it couldn't have gone more wrong. She could hear her driver loudly disparaging Percy for his role in the mishap but the damage was already done and her own reputation was in tatters.
"That ain't a very convincing excuse when every engine on Sodor has a story to tell about the trouble you've caused 'em," Salty said shrewdly. "Now, don't be giving Nia any more of your nonsense. I'm sorry, Nia," he went on, shifting his focus back to her. "These trucks'll need to go back."
"I understand," Nia replied automatically. There was nothing more to be said, and she set off again, the points diverting her on to the adjacent track so she could slip past James. If he noticed her presence, he didn't react to it.
The trucks were in no way subdued by Salty's disapproval and continued to jeer and mock Nia as they progressed towards Knapford. As if to lend weight to Shomari's theory, they seemed much harder to move than they had on the journey down to Brendam. Perhaps they had their brakes on. But it didn't matter, as Nia wasn't entirely sure how it was that she was able to move anyway. Steam flowed through her and her running gear seemed to be moving freely but she didn't feel in control of the action. It was just something that was happening to her.
She kept her eyes on the tracks ahead. All she needed to do was to get her train back to Knapford. After that, she didn't care what might happen. But the tracks seemed to extend ahead of her, and her peripheral vision faded as though she was in an abnormally long tunnel. The distant sunlight seemed far too bright.
The pressure in her boiler must be too high, this wasn't right.
"Why don't you go back where you came from?" demanded one of trucks, a shrill voice piercing the relentless din emanating from the unruly train.
"Shut up." She had intended it as a scream but it sounded more like a whimper.
Thomas had tried to warn her. She had been so quick to assume that he was patronising her but she now realised that he had had her best interests at heart, and she had dismissed his comments far too hastily.
"No one wants you here," came another sneering voice from behind her. "There are already far too many engines on this island, we don't need any more."
Rounding a bend in the track, Nia looked ahead and saw the trucks of scrap, the grabbing claw of the crane lifting something slightly rusty and cylindrical in shape...
Just like an engine's boiler.
The light at the end of the tunnel went out and the world fell away.