It was a starlit night on the Island of Sodor. At Tidmouth Sheds, five of the engines were nestled in for the night. Thomas and Emily were sound asleep together in his berth, having shared a quiet night of cuddles and kisses together. This very day, Thomas had played foul by running a red signal with his eyes closed and almost running into Emily. She had warned him she'd have to report the matter to the Fat Controller, but hesitated to do so on account of Thomas' sincerity. Thomas then saw Emily hiding the fact from the Fat Controller and did not hesitate to confess everything. As a result, Thomas was now suspended from his duties for the next four days while Emily would look after his passengers as well as her own work during that time. As for the Fat Controller, Lady Hatt had decided that to help put some ease on the matter of overseeing Kirk Ronan's Harbour project, she and her husband would take two weeks holiday at the Portpatrick Hotel right along Wigtownshire, and so they would make their arrangements in due course.

At the Dieselworks, however, there was something quite different going on for another certain figure. Diesel sat in his berth, looking out into the night with his heart beating strongly in regard to what he had done this very day. Given the very low and forlorn inner space he had been stuck in for several months since Bernie's death the previous August, he had made very little progress, with the first significant step forward being when he spoke his feelings to Daisy, Sonny and even David after the Remembrance Day Ceremony that past November. Now, after a few more months had gone by, he had broken another big mold.

Just a few short hours ago on this very day, Diesel had ventured to Arlesburgh to seek out Beatrice's guidance as to how he could move forward and finally put his much troubled past behind him completely. Beatrice was of course wary about talking to Diesel on account of his entire history right down to the storybooks, and she was quite surprised that Diesel would consider approaching her at all for legitimate counselling. But seeing as he went to all that effort, she had agreed to give Diesel a chance and take time to counsel with him whenever he had the time.

Diesel sat in his berth and thought back to what he and Beatrice had spoken just a few hours ago…

"Hm-hmm. Mrs. Rider…I know…or at least, I'm sure I know just what you're thinking and feeling as to me being here, and I do not blame you at all for feeling so…but, against all doubt and all suspicions…I must have you know that my visit here is strictly serious."

"Hmm. So it is," Beatrice had said. "And if you're telling the truth, exactly what is the nature of your visit here right now?"

Diesel recalled how he struggled to start at first, then when he tried to get out a few select words, he choked up and confessed it all.

"Well, in that matter…I…uhh…Alright, Mrs. Rider. The point is…with regard to the absolute lowest point I have fallen to ever since Bernie died…well…I…I genuinely need your professional help. Think of me what you will, but I must know…if and when you're ever willing…will you take the time someday to hear out my side of a few stories…so that I may, by any possible realm…return to being really u…r-r-really use…r…really…use-Ohh…oh, God! I know! Who am I, Beatrice? I haven't felt alive ever since Bernie cut to the chase and departed his own life, I've been a common bully on this railway ever since Duck and I became sworn enemies when I first-ever arrived on this island, and so many other shadows have been surrounding me…but what I DO know to be true…is that I have a problem! And now, after all that's happened…you, Mrs. Rider…you and your exceptional and truly beneficial counselling skills. You are now my final and only hope, if any hope at all now…"

Beatrice had listened to everything and carefully considered Diesel's words and the way he conveyed them.

"Hmm…you know, Diesel," she said at last. "I've seen and heard about some of your talk with Sonny and Daisy this past November…and here right now, I think you have taken a brave step. Admitting your problems is the first step to a better standard of being. Therefore, in that regard…perhaps I shall be willing to hear your side out."

Diesel looked up with his eyes almost seeming to shine. "You…you'll do that?"

"Yes. From what you've just told me, I am willing to look into it," she said. "Now, with that said, I trust you have plenty of work to be doing yet, as do all the other engines. But as of now, I assure you, whenever you have the time and capacity, I'll be ready to see you another day, and see what we can make of this."

And so this very evening, Diesel had it all worked out. As soon as he found the time, he would go to Beatrice and start talking to see just where his head would be at next. Of course he'd have to plan carefully and specifically so as to be able to see her and still get his work done in due course, but with her keeping an open mind to hear his side of a few stories, he felt hopeful enough to get a head start, and soon he too was asleep with the other diesels.

At the Rider House in Arlesburgh, Beatrice was in the living room, looking out the window in deep thought. Everything she and Diesel had discussed just a few hours ago was now the top focus in her mind and she was already wondering what she would be hearing from Diesel when he'd come to call. David was sitting in the living room armchair, with his mind stirring too. He had seen and heard everything Diesel and Beatrice had said from a distance, and he really didn't see how it was going to turn out. After a while, he walked over and held his mother's shoulder.

"Well, David…it's happening again," said Beatrice. "First Percy when I helped to heal his crushed spirits, then Bernard when he told us the grave truth…and now, of all engines…Diesel seeks me out."

"Are you sure about this, Mum?" David asked. "I mean, to think that Diesel of all engines…even if he is telling the truth, what more could he have to tell us, apart from what the whole Island already knows?"

"I don't know, David," she replied. "But if he stands any chance, I really think he needs to be heard."

David went to the bookcase, where he drew the Railway Series book itself, "Duck and the Diesel Engine," and quickly flipped through the pages.

"Just what else could there be, Mum?" he asked. "Book No. 13 right here tells the story about Diesel and Duck as clear as could be. What with 'Pop Goes the Diesel', 'Dirty Work,' and 'A Close Shave,' all linking together succinctly."

Beatrice had already been thinking of possibilities on Diesel's account, and when she turned to look at David, she suddenly seemed curious as she looked through some of the pages herself.

"Yes. So they do," she said. "However…depending on what Diesel may have to tell us…perhaps it's not beyond possibility that those stories and lines of events…could have been misread in some way or other."

Hearing this, David raised his eyebrow discreetly, not at all expecting his mother say this. He almost didn't believe it, but with her counselling expertise still as beneficial as it ever was, he knew he could trust her perception. He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf.

"Well, we're bound to find out in due course, Mum," said David. "Sodor could not have a better counsellor than you, after all."

Beatrice smiled and held her son's shoulder. "I think it's going to be an interesting session, to say the least."

David straightened his lip and nodded curiously. Then he and Beatrice went upstairs and made ready for bed. Soon they were asleep as well, and very soon, Beatrice would be back in counselling sessions, ready to hear the tales, thoughts, secrets, and above all, the melancholy of Diesel.

The next morning, Diesel woke up with a jump in his heart. He had been thinking all night about his pact with Beatrice, and now his first chance could come. If he was going to make time with Beatrice, he would need to calibrate it into his timetable and whatever work he had to do. Sure enough, the Dieselworks Manager came along and handed out the day's schedule. Diesel had to bring a load of building material to Kirk Ronan's restoring harbour, then bring a load of ballast to the branch line where Rowland was still laying down new sleepers for new stretches of line, then as his last job for the day, he had to bring a load of trucks to Arlesburgh. Right then and there, Diesel felt his heart jump. Today would work right into his plans with Beatrice, and so he set off at once to do his part.

Diesel soon arrived at Crovan's Gate and collected the load of building material to bring to Kirk Ronan. As he oiled along the line, he thought carefully and critically as to how to begin his session with Beatrice. Besides recalling his most recent faults in regard to Bernie and a few other incidents too, he knew he would have to start from the very beginning, and even reveal a few stories that had never been told before, even way back when he first came to this railway.

Diesel made good time to Kirk Ronan and took a quick glimpse at the progress. Dozens of workmen were working briskly on building new shops and sheds throughout the grounds, and the quayside and concrete slab had long since been repaired. It was clear this project had been going very nicely since the start, and it made Diesel feel somewhat privileged to have contributed by bringing his load. Soon afterwards, he set off again to start his next job.

He ran back along the Main Line and picked up his load of ballast, then set off to bring it up to the Ffarquhar Branch Line, right where Thomas ran the red signal with his eyes closed. When he arrived, Rowland was still along the same stretch of line, inspecting each sleeper as closely as his eyes could scan, and still muttering importantly to no one in particular in artistic language. As Diesel waited for his ballast to be unloaded, he rolled his eyes, utterly incapable of caring less. Each minute Rowland went on about the importance of clean ballast felt like five minutes to Diesel. Probably ten, and it only made him wish he could talk to Beatrice even sooner.

At last, Diesel's hoppers were unloaded and he could go on his way again. He was most relieved to get away from Rowland's ongoing artistic raving. More than once, he'd have liked to tell Rowland to hush it all up, but with Beatrice on his mind, he couldn't take the chance. It was then that he noticed it was now approaching mid afternoon, and he suddenly remembered his last job, and where it would bring him. Diesel suddenly felt nervous as he felt himself preparing to talk face-to-face with Beatrice herself. David Rider's mother and the most renowned counsellor on Sodor and the Mainland throughout her life. The time was drawing near.

Diesel arrived at Knapford Station and saw a line of trucks and a brakevan in one of the sidings. This was his load to Arlesburgh, and his trip to start telling his side of the big picture to Beatrice. As he coupled up and set off down the line, Diesel was still nervous, but also felt a certain wave of confidence he could not recall feeling in a long time, if ever in his life. He had never approached anyone for professional help such as this, and he was most curious to see how it would start out, then shape and mold as he kept making progress.

Eventually, after a long and occupied day of work, Diesel looked ahead and saw that very town coming into view. Arlesburgh. He took a deep breath and sighed as he went around the bend and made his way toward the town. As he ran steadily through the village, he took one glance upwards and saw it. There was the Rider House, and everything was just about ready. Beatrice had set up her counselling chair outside and had her pen and writing pad ready. She looked up and saw Diesel go by with his load and nodded surely, knowing he'd be right back.

Diesel hurried on toward the station and finally delivered his load. By now, his heart was really jumping and he could barley hold back a few more moments. As soon as he was uncoupled, he hurried back along the line, and back to the Rider House. Beatrice had just sat down in her chair and looked up to see that her oily client was now ready. Diesel looked back at Beatrice and swallowed hard. After so many months of feeling that no purpose was left in his life, he could now make his move and see if there really was a ray of hope yet remaining.

"Well…uh…Good afternoon, Mrs. Rider," he said lowly, but clearly.

Beatrice stood up and came forward. "Good afternoon, Diesel. So you've come."

"Yes. I was busy throughout most of the day," said Diesel. "But my last load for the day brought me right here…to you…so as I can seek the help I have so strongly needed for too, too long. But you already heard what I said yesterday."

"Yes. And as I'd promised you, whenever you have the time, I'm willing to hear out your side of the story," said Beatrice. "Or rather, stories, given all the years that have gone by for you. You admitted to me that you do have a problem, Diesel. And going off what you confessed to me yesterday, I think it would do best for you and I to start right here. Shall we begin, and are you ready?"

"Ohh…As ready as I need to be," said Diesel. "I have so much to tell and relive…and reveal, if I may…"

Beatrice nodded and sat down in her therapy chair. Her pen and pad were in hand, then she spoke.

"Counsellor Beatrice Rider, now in session of therapy. So, Diesel. I want you to tell me. Why did you come here today?"

"Well, Mrs. Rider. As I stated yesterday, I haven't felt alive ever since Bernie disappeared, on account of the most underhanded and black-hearted role I played in that whole ordeal. Beyond that, I've been a common bully ever since Duck and I became sworn enemies when I first-ever arrived on this railway, and so many more shadows beyond that have surrounded me almost constantly. With whatever time I have to see you, I wish to explore these shadows and dark times with you, and see just what you and I can make of it, so as I may yet have hope to truly be really useful again."

"And so we will," replied Beatrice. "To that effect, I suggest we start from the beginning. The very first story regarding your time here on Sodor, right from the Reverend's Railway Series book, 'Duck and the Diesel Engine'."

To this, Diesel suddenly perked a little bit. He had already been thinking of just that, and he had an answer ready. Something no one else had ever considered before.

"You know, Mrs. Rider…that's actually the very thing I was hoping to bring up myself," he said. "As we had discussed just the other day…you told me you already know all the tales I have to tell through the Reverend's storybooks over the years."

"That, I did," said Beatrice. "And what is it you wish to tell me about just that?"

Diesel looked directly at Beatrice as he answered.

"While I can honestly say those stories tell the truth…perhaps not all of it has been told. The first three stories about me indeed do involve the most significant events that had occurred back then, but I'd hasten to say that they only told certain aspects of my first trial. Here and now, if I stand any chance of making better of myself…I think it would be prudent for you to know what else happened. A few stories within the story."

"Is that so?" said Beatrice. "Hmm. You mean to say the book, 'Duck and the Diesel Engine,' could be missing a chapter or two?"

"As a matter of fact…three missing chapters," said Diesel. "Maybe even four."

Beatrice looked rather curious and even intrigued.

"Well, well. And what three or four other stories are there to tell which the storybooks didn't tell?"

"Well, let us start from the very beginning," said Diesel. "As we all know, Duck was very proud of being Great Western after the City of Truro visited the railway. Duck would go on and on about the Great Western Way or the Wrong Way, much to the other engines' displeasure and frustration. Then I came to this railway for the very first time, to be given a trial. James, Henry and Gordon said I had good manners, and that they were pleased to have me in their yard."

"Yes. So you probably did upon first meeting them," said Beatrice. "However, as the story is told…Duck had his doubts."

Diesel glowered slightly and nodded.

"Yes. Those very doubts that started it all," he said. "The Fa…eh…Sir Topham Hatt said I needed to learn, and so he instructed Duck to teach me."

Beatrice nodded discreetly as she replied.

"Then, as far the book tells the story, you were offended by Sir Topham Hatt saying you needed to learn, and that you said he was mistaken. Something about diesels coming to a yard and improving it, what with them being as you say, revolutionary."

"And that…is where it all began," Diesel said grimly. "When that No. 8 Great Western Duck became my sworn enemy. You see, he was specifically instructed to teach me, in spite of my thoughts to the contrary…and he didn't even have the decency or usefulness to do just that. Not one moment after I spoke of being revolutionary, he vainly suggested that perhaps I organize the trucks by myself while he fetched Gordon's coaches."

Beatrice nodded in turn as Diesel went on, reliving those very moments and events right out from the very book, "Duck and the Diesel Engine"…

Duck had just stormed off to fetch Gordon's coaches after sarcastically letting Diesel be revolutionary in the yard. Diesel, delighted to show off, purred away. With much banging and clashing, he collected a row of trucks. Duck left Gordon's coaches at the station and came back. Diesel was now trying to take some trucks from a siding nearby. They were old and empty. Clearly, they had not been touched for a long time. Their brakes would not come off properly. Diesel found them hard to move. Pull, push, backwards, forwards.

"Owee! Ooh! Aahh!" the trucks groaned. "We can't! We won't!"

Duck watched the operation with interest. Diesel lost patience.

"RRRGHH!" he roared and gave a great heave. The trucks jerked forward.

"Ow! Agh! Ooh!" they screamed. "We can't! We won't!"

Some of their brakes broke, and the gear hanging down bumped on the rails and sleepers.

"We CAN'T! We WON'T! AAGH!"

Their trailing brakes caught in the points and locked themselves solid.

"ARRGH! GAAGH! RRGH! RRRGGHH!" roared Diesel. A rusty coupling broke and he shot forward suddenly by himself.

"Ho-ho-hooo!" chuckled Duck.

Diesel recovered and tried to push the trucks back. But they wouldn't move, and he had to give up. Duck ran quietly around to where the other trucks all stood in line.

"Thank you for arranging these, Diesel," he said. "I must go now."

"Don't you want this lot?"

"No, thank you."

Diesel gulped. "And I-I've taken ALL this trouble?!" he almost shrieked. "Why didn't you TELL me?!"

"You never asked me. Besides," said Duck innocently. "You were having such fun being revo-whatever it was you said. Goodbye."

Diesel had to help the workmen clear the mess. He hated it. All the trucks and coaches were laughing at him. Presently he heard them singing. Their song grew louder and louder, and soon, it was echoing all through the yard.

"RRRRGGHH!" growled Diesel, then scuttled away to sulk in the shed.

Diesel rested for about an hour in the shed, still as cross and red in the face as ever, but no sooner had that hour gone by than he was called on to arrange more trucks yet again. As soon as he came out again, things were no better. After his mistake with the old trucks, the rest of the trucks never gave him a moment's peace by constantly teasing and taunting him by singing "Pop Goes the Diesel." They hadn't really liked Diesel to start with, so when he boasted about being up to date and revolutionary and began to order them about, they liked him even less. But being trucks, they were sly and didn't show it, all too gleefully enjoying the ever-increasing scowl and red on his face as they kept singing over and over again.

Hour after hour, as Diesel biffed and bumped lines of trucks through the yards, whisking them in and out of all the sidings, the other trucks kept giggling, chattering and singing right at him, and there was nowhere he could go to escape the most aggravating and humiliating melody ringing shrilly through his ears. Growl, snarl and roar as he might, it did no good. The trucks' chatter and singing simply drowned it all out.

At last, Duck came back from taking his own trucks away, still chuckling to himself over Diesel's predicament and being revolutionary, or so he had claimed at the time. But as he drew nearer to the yards, he heard the distinct sound of singing, and hurried to see what was going on. He saw Diesel, red in the face and very, very cross, biffing the trucks wherever he went, and when Duck heard just what the trucks were singing, he was horrified, and suddenly charged forward.

"SHUT UP!" he ordered and bumped them hard.

In that moment, the singing and chattering suddenly decreased dramatically. All the trucks saw that Duck had come back and indeed hushed up at once as he suddenly seemed apologetic.

"I'm sorry our trucks were rude to you, Diesel!"

Diesel was still furious. "It's all YOUR fault! YOU made them laugh at me!"

And with that, he stormed away back to the sheds, leaving Duck confused and surprised. What had he done to make the trucks laugh at Diesel? The most he had done was leave Diesel to it, but not much else, so he felt it to be.

By this time, Gordon, James and Henry were already in the sheds when Diesel came growling onto the turntable. As soon as he was turned around, he backed in beside Gordon and let off a loud belch of exhaust.

"Bebother and confusticate that quacking Duck!" Diesel snarled dreadfully.

"Bless me! Diesel!" Gordon exclaimed. "Whatever is the matter?"

"What's the matter? What's the matter, you ask?!" Diesel chipped angrily.

Then he told the big engines all about the old trucks, then their most atrocious song. Gordon, James and Henry were of course surprised and felt sorry for Diesel.

"Ohh, that is most awful to hear, Diesel," said Henry. "We knew the trucks could be silly and troublesome, but never singing a whole song like that!"

"It's not even about the trucks!" Diesel barked. "It's ALL Duck's fault! HE made them laugh at me! And how, you may ask?! HE refused to tell me about the old trucks beforehand! He's made my first impression of diesel engines on Sodor a complete and utter humiliation!"

Despite their grievances and irritation with Duck for his constant and obnoxious preaching of "The Great Western Way," the big engines didn't believe Duck wanted the trucks to do such a thing to Diesel.

"Nonsense," said Henry. "Duck would never do that! We engines have our differences, but we never talk about them to trucks. That would be dis…dis…"

"Disgraceful," said Gordon.

"Disgusting," put in James.

"Despicable," finished Henry.

Diesel wasn't convinced. He hated Duck and was now hellbent on getting back at him, but he couldn't figure out how. All throughout the afternoon and into the evening, he brooded in ever-growing contempt and desire for revenge on the engine who he strongly felt had wronged him first.

"Duck…Duck!" he whispered most angrily. "Setting me up for such humiliation and ridicule, right from minute one! I'll fix that quacker…!"

In her therapy chair, Beatrice had written down quite a bundle after hearing what Diesel had divulged so far. Most of which she had already known right from the storybook, but some of which she indeed hadn't heard of and took considerable note to.

"There it is, Mrs. Rider," said Diesel. "That's the very first tale about me…from my perspective. May I ask what your input is so far?"

"Hmm…" Beatrice noted. "Well, most of it, we already know. But to hear your side of it, Diesel…it sounds to me that perhaps it's not one hundred percent on you that you ended up becoming the engines you've been for so long…it almost sounds as though Duck's part did have a part to play in all that."

"Which is exactly what so many across Sodor don't seem to ever realize," said Diesel. "Always thinking it was me who was the villain right from the very first page!"

It was in that moment, that from a considerable distance, a most important figure in regard to Diesel caught glimpse of what was happening between him and Beatrice. Duck was rolling along with his Slip Coaches on another passenger run. As he ran along the bridge, he looked up and suddenly widened his eyes. There was Diesel standing right by the Rider House, and Beatrice in her therapy chair right near him.

"What the…? What's he doing here?" Duck gasped, but there was no time to investigate.

"Come now, Duck," said his driver. "Our passengers are counting on us."

Duck, of course, had to keep going, but with what he had just seen, he was now quite occupied with a whole new line of thoughts and suspicions.

"So, Diesel," said Beatrice. "Now that you've told your first tale the way you see it…may I ask where the untold stories are in all this?"

"As a matter of fact, you're right in line with that, Mrs. Rider," said Diesel. "Before the story of 'Dirty Work,' really began…this is where the hidden stories come into play. Each of them concerns how I conjured up Gordon, James and Henry's…slanderous nicknames."

Beatrice looked up, not needing to ask what nicknames those would be. Now she was more curious than before.

"Is that right?" she inquired. "Do you mean to say there's a story for each nickname, and how they came to be?"

"That's absolutely correct, Mrs. Rider," said Diesel. "And so, I shall tell you each one right here right now, for the first time…"

Diesel hated Duck. He wanted him to be sent away, so he made a plan. He was going to tell lies about Duck. Only he wasn't sure what sorts of lies to tell yet, and as history would come to show, Diesel's chance for revenge started to come sooner than even he would have expected.

The very next day, Henry was running along the Main Line, pulling a heavy goods train to Tidmouth. The trucks were chattering amongst themselves because they were very full and wanted to take it out on someone. Furthermore, they were still angry at Duck for bumping them so hard to stop their singing.

"We couldn't pay Duck out for bumping us about the yard, so let's lash it out on Henry instead!" they said to each other.

Soon, Henry came along Gordon's Hill. He huffed and puffed strongly to keep going up, and as he approached the top, he looked back.

"Go steady, you lot," he warned the trucks.

The trucks heard, but took no notice. Their chance for trickery had come.

"NOW!" shouted the front truck.

"Go on! Go on!" the other trucks yelled after him as they pushed Henry right down the hill.

"Stop! Stop!" Henry called.

His driver applied the brakes as hard as he dared, but Henry couldn't hold the heavy trucks properly. His wheels locked, causing him to slither out of control down the hill with the stupid trucks cheering and shouting behind him.

"Help! HELP!" Henry whistled despairingly.

Within minutes, they started to approach Wellsworth. Edward was waiting with his branch line train, and he heard Henry's alarming whistle, but could do nothing to help.

"Oh, dear! Henry!" he called back.

It looked bad for Henry, but fortunately, the hill ended before reaching the station, and with much strain and gritting teeth Henry was finally able to bring the silly trucks under control. Gradually, his driver eased off the brakes. When he was sure the trucks were behaving themselves, Henry came to a complete stop at the other platform.

"Ohh! That was close!" Henry gasped before looking back to the trucks. "Unworthy upstarts! You could have caused a most nasty accident!"

"Don't mind what could have happened, Henry," Edward said proudly. "You did very well to stop them in time."

Then Edward set off on his own way. After a while, Henry set off again too, feeling most relieved. But less than five minutes later, something strange seemed to have happened to his wheels; each time they went round, there was a clunk when they reached a certain spot.

"What is that?" Henry asked. "Something must be wrong."

"Well, I say. You've got a flat tyre," said his driver.

Henry looked back. "Excuse me?! Engines don't get flat tyres! Only cars and lorries, and buses like Bertie have tyres."

His driver laughed. "It's the trucks' doing. All that sliding on the hill with your wheels locked in the same place has worn a flat spot on each of your driving wheels. You'll have to go to the Steamworks to get them properly fixed."

Henry gaped, then scowled to himself. "Well, then. That's rich."

They clunked back to Tidmouth and Henry sulked crossly to the sheds. Duck and Diesel were there resting, though Diesel refused to even look at Duck.

"What's the matter, Henry?" Duck asked. "Them trucks been playing you up out there?"

"Yes, they have!" snorted Henry. "Pushing me down the hill, now driver says I've got flat tyres!"

"Ach! Won't beat that," said Duck. "You can't trust trucks, can you? Well, I do hope your flats are sorted out well."

And Duck puffed off to see about the next train. But Diesel, who had heard everything, sniggered as an idea came to him.

"Aha!" he thought. "Henry is clearly cross…and those trucks seem to like jokes. Perhaps they can be of some help after all..."

Early the next morning, Diesel slipped out of the sheds and into the yards. There, he spoke to the trucks.

"That was a lovely trick you sprung on Henry yesterday," he grinned. "He's got flat tyres now, and is now at the Steamworks to have them replaced."

He paused, then went on quietly.

"I shouldn't really tell you this…but I know you won't pass it on. Do you know Duck's new nickname for Henry? …Old Square Wheels. Good, isn't it? Suits Henry down to the rails. Don't tell anyone I told you..."

The trucks promised not to tell, but as Duck had said, you cannot trust trucks…

Later that day, James came along and asked Diesel to get some trucks ready for him. Diesel was, of course, delighted to oblige to who he saw as a splendid engine indeed, and much more civil than he found Duck to be.

"Why of course, my smart, red chap," said Diesel.

"I need the vans from the far side of the yard," James added.

But Diesel, full of himself, had not listened properly and thought James had said "Leave the vans at the far side of the yard."

As such, he took no notice of those vans. He collected all the rest and put them together for James to take away. Then the yard manager came along and gave him another job to do. Diesel set off at once, still plotting what to do to Duck. When James returned to collect his train, he found that he had the wrong train, and by this time, Diesel was nowhere to be seen. James hated having to shunt.

"Where's that Diesel?!" he grumbled as he had to sort out the mess himself, "Off somewhere being 'revolutionary' I suppose! Wait til I see him, I'll give him revolution!"

Diesel had been sent to collect some trucks from Crosby. On the way, he grinned, thinking about that very nickname he had given the trucks about Henry. He thought that if perhaps he could conjure one or two more names, he could turn the tables right back on Duck, and so he snickered gleefully as he carried on. When he arrived at Crosby, he heard some other trucks talking in the yard.

"Gordon thinks he can go faster than anything else," said one of them.

"How can he? He's old!" said another one.

"Not as old as me," said a very elderly brake van, who had come from the Mainland many years ago. "I remember on my old line how the big engines like Gordon were named after horses which had won a race called the Darby. Lemberg was one, and Pretty Polly was another. What a silly name for an engine!"

Diesel listened closely as another younger truck peeped up.

"Say! Have you noticed that Gordon looks like he's galloping when he's coming straight towards you, just like a horse!"

It was then that Diesel oiled alongside and purred cleverly.

"Well. Perhaps that that's to do with the way Gordon's side rods are attached to his wheels," he said in his oily voice.

Then he purred away with his train back to Knapford along the Loop Line, but not without thinking about that conversation, and how he could use it to his advantage…

Meanwhile, James was grumbling dreadfully throughout the rest of the day. By the time he had properly arranged his train, the delay with the vans made him so late that he couldn't get back to the shed that night, which made him even crosser.

When he finally met Diesel again the next morning, Diesel was left in no doubt to what James thought about him.

"What's in your motor, Diesel?" James had asked accusingly. "Perhaps you'd better have a fitter look in your ears! I didn't say LEAVE the vans in a siding. I said I NEED the vans from the siding! Revolutionary INDEED! Pah!"

Diesel then slunk away, growling crossly to himself, determined to teach James a lesson too.

"How DARE he speak to me like that! ANYONE makes mistakes! I'll teach him a lesson! You see if I don't!"

When he reached the yards, Diesel spoke to the trucks right away, having conjured up another plan.

"I must say, you fellows…James has been here a long time, hasn't he?" he oiled. "He must be very…very old."

"Oh, no, Diesel. Not as old as Edward," said the trucks. "He was here way back when this railway was first being built! The others would tease him now and then about it, but he proved them wrong."

"How?" Diesel asked.

"Before even I came," said a very old truck. "As I heard it, James ran away. Just trundled off down the line without his driver or fireman."

"Grease and Oil!" Diesel gasped. "How?"

"Well, Edward was nearby, and an inspector got a cable and shunter's pole. He rode on Edward's bufferbeam until they caught up with James, side by side. The inspector then looped the line over James' buffer. They slowed down and the fireman controlled James from there on out. Edward was never teased after that."

"Hmm. Quite right," said Diesel. "I bet James felt silly. It's funny, isn't it? If James stood out in the rain for a bit, he'd soon be just the colour he is; red with rust."

While the trucks sniggered, Diesel suddenly had an idea, and he growled away looking thoughtful.

Later that morning, Henry returned from the Steamworks with his wheels now mended. As soon as he came into the yard, when the trucks saw him, the whisper went round.

"Here's Old Square Wheels! Old Square Wheels is back!"

Diesel was lurking just behind the station wall, listening and watching as Henry biffed them irritably. And it was only a matter of time before the trucks told Henry that Duck had invented the nickname.

"He did THAT, did he?!" Henry said furiously. "I'll give him 'duck'! Just wait til I see him again!"

The trucks sniggered and Diesel smirked with satisfaction.

"Well. That worked out nicely," he said to himself. "Now time to think up the next tale…about James!"

As soon as Henry was out of sight, Diesel slid alongside the other trucks.

"Say, you know that story you told me about James?" he grinned. "I told Duck about it in the shed…and guess what he said."

He paused, and the trucks waited, knowing that Diesel was going to tell them anyway.

"Duck said," Diesel went on impressively, "It was no wonder that Edward caught up with him, because James is only 'Rusty Red Scrap-Iron.' Wasn't that rude? But that's what Duck said."

The silly trucks believed every word and the story went round quickly, so when James next came to the yard, the trucks laughed rudely at him.

"Here's Old Scrap-Iron!" they chortled, "Look at him! Just a heap of Rusty Red Scrap-Iron!"

Likewise to Henry's experience, James soon found out why, and his feelings could only be imagined.

"That Duck!" he hissed furiously, "Let him just wait! I'll make him duck!"

Diesel, lurking in the background, smirked triumphantly. His plans were working, and he was sure that just one more tale would achieve his desired revenge.

By that evening Duck was tired after a long, hard day. He needed a rest in Tidmouth Sheds, but when he arrived, to his surprise, James was sitting on the turntable and blocking his way.

"Go away!" James hissed crossly. "These sheds are taken!"

"What?! Just what is going on here?!" demanded Duck.

"The trucks say you've been calling me names!" James said furiously. "They say you called me 'Rusty Red Scrap-Iron'!"

Duck was shocked and confused. "What? No! I did no such thing!"

But at that moment, Henry snorted alongside. "You called ME 'Old Square Wheels'! Diesel told me this morning!"

"What? No! It can't be! I haven't called any of you names!" Duck insisted, then began to wonder. "I think Devious Diesel is telling tales to get ME into trouble!"

But James and Henry didn't believe Duck. and so Duck sadly left to sleep in a siding, while a delighted Diesel watched from inside the shed.

"Right," he purred to himself when the others were asleep. "Now Henry and James are on my side, what can I do about Gordon, I wonder?"

The next morning, the weather grew very hot. Heat haze shimmered around the boilers of Henry and Gordon as they stood outside the shed. As they looked into the distance, they could see a wavy sensation rippling through the air. Both their drivers and firemen mopped their faces and took off their jackets so as not to get too hot.

Henry had just had his tank filled with water and was moving away from the water tower. Gordon didn't need water, but he had to pass the water tower to get to the station. As he did so, water from the dripping water hose splashed onto his boiler, which was so hot that the water sizzled and popped. Diesel was still in the shed, and he suddenly saw what had happened.

"Well! Would you look at that, Diesel?" said his driver. "The water sizzles and pops! Just like sausages frying in a pan."

Diesel suddenly smiled most delightfully. What he had just seen and heard had given him one more strong idea as he remembered what the trucks had said about Gordon at Crosby. With a quiet snicker, he set off on his way. As soon as he arrived at the shunting yards, he spoke to the trucks again.

"I see you like jokes," he said in his oily voice. "You made a good joke about me yesterday. I laughed and laughed. Duck told me one about Gordon. I'll whisper it. Do you know what Duck said about Gordon?"

Before the trucks could reply, Diesel continued. "Duck says Gordon looks like…a Galloping Sausage!"

The trucks tittered and giggled most clownishly.

"You shouldn't laugh," said Diesel sternly, "Duck was being very rude. Anyway, don't tell Gordon I told you."

And he sniggered away. But the trucks didn't care about good manners, and soon the 'Galloping Sausage' story had spread all around the yard.

"Ho-ho-hooo!" guffawed the trucks. "Gordon will be cross with Duck when he knows! Let's tell him and pay Duck out for bumping us!"

Sure enough, it was not long before Gordon learned of what was being said of him when he returned with the express. As Diesel expected, Gordon was furious. Even crosser than when he had lost his dome over the viaduct while trying to do a City of Truro only a few days ago. When he came back to Knapford again, Duck was at the platform and he suddenly looked up with concern and worry as Gordon hissed loudly.

"Galloping Sausage?!" he snorted indignantly to Duck. "I have NEVER been so insulted in ALL my life! What in the Flying Scotsman do you MEAN by it, Duck?!"

Once again, Duck was surprised and confused. "I-I'm sorry, Gordon! I don't know anything about it! I swear I don't!"

Gordon let off steam loudly. "That's what you said to James and Henry!" he hissed. "The trucks all say its you! Diesel says he's asked them about it, didn't you, Diesel?"

From the other platform, Diesel nodded.

"I am a strong engine!" Gordon said proudly. "NOT a Galloping Sausage!"

To this, Duck went sadly away to find his next train. By this time, the dirty work had been done and its poison had taken full effect. Diesel had gone to all the sidings, and in each he'd told different stories. He said Duck had told them to him. This was untrue, but the trucks didn't know. They laughed rudely at the engines every time they went by, and Gordon, Henry and James knew why.

"Disgraceful!" said Gordon.

"Disgusting!" said James.

"Despicable!" said Henry. "We cannot allow it!"

They consulted together.

"Yes," they said. "He did it to us, we'll do it to him! And see how he likes it!"

By the end of the day, Duck was tired out. The trucks had been cheeky and troublesome, and he'd struggled to make them behave. He wanted a rest in the shed.

"HOOSH! KEEP OUT!"

The three engines barred his way, and Diesel lurked behind.

"Stop fooling," said Duck. "I'm tired!"

"So are WE!" hissed the engines. "We are tired of you! We like Diesel! We don't like you! You tell tales about us to the trucks!"

"I don't!"

"You do!"

"I DON'T!"

"You DO!"

The Fat Controller came hurrying to the sheds. When he saw the three big engines wheeshing and snorting furiously at Duck, he suspected there had been yet another disturbance, rather like the first time Duck came along, when he and Percy refused to let the big engines in.

"STOP-THAT-NOISE!" bellowed the Fat Controller. "Gordon, James and Henry! What disturbance have you made this time?! Explain yourselves!"

"THIS is not our disturbance, sir!" Henry wheeshed.

"This time, it really DOES fall on Duck!" hissed Gordon. "HE caused it, AND made it!"

"Just what do two you mean by that?" the Fat Controller asked sternly.

"Duck called me a Galloping Sausage!" spluttered Gordon.

"Rusty Red Scrap-Iron!" hissed James.

"I'm Old Square Wheels!" fumed Henry.

The Fat Controller raised his eyebrow and turned around, trying not to laugh himself. "Well, Duck?!"

Duck considered. "I only wish, sir," he said gravely. "That I'd thought of those names myself, if the dome fits-"

"He-he-Ahem!" the Fat Controller coughed.

"He made the trucks laugh at us!" accused the engines.

The Fat Controller recovered. "Did you, Duck?"

"Certainly not, sir!" gasped Duck. "No steam engine would be as mean as that!"

The Fat Controller then looked to the other engine just behind Gordon.

"Now, Diesel. You heard what Duck said."

"…I can't understand it, sir. To think that Duck, of all engines…I'm dreadfully grieved, sir, but know nothing."

"I see."

Diesel squirmed and hoped he didn't. The Fat Controller then spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Duck. But you must go to Edward's station for a while. I know he will be glad to see you."

"Beg pardon, sir," said Duck. "Do you mean now?"

"Yes, please."

"As you wish, sir."

Duck trundled sadly away, while Diesel smirked with triumph in the darkness. The Fat Controller then left the sheds himself, clearly thinking a few things over, while the big engines resumed the conversation.

"Pah! About time!" snorted Henry. "All his zealous preaching of the 'Great Western Way, or the Wrong Way,' is FINALLY stopped!"

"Good riddance!" huffed Gordon. "We're far too busy to waste time with the 'Great Western Way'! There's only the 'North Western Way' on THIS Railway!"

"Serves him right!" huffed James. "Fancy him tricking you into being sang at by all those trucks, Diesel, then telling tales about us! You were right all along! Duck WOULD do such things as you said a few days ago!"

"Well, it only figures he'd have been sent away eventually," said Diesel. "Indeed, fancy him tricking me right from the very start when he was supposed to teach me! Do excuse me, fellow engines."

Diesel then set off from the sheds to bask by himself in his newfound victory. As soon as he was out of sight from the other engines, he grinned from buffer to buffer.

"Got him!" he slithered then cackled with delight. "Hoo-hoo-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha! Ohh! This has turned out even better than I expected!"

And so Diesel spent the rest of the afternoon and evening, absolutely bubbling with sheer delight and victory…

As he dawned back to the present moment, Diesel glanced up at Beatrice as she finished writing down the latest detail she had been told.

"So there you are," said Diesel. "Those are the stories of the slanderous nicknames. Galloping Sausage, Rusty Red Scrap-Iron and Old Square Wheels, which all led up to 'Dirty Work,' so it was told."

Beatrice nodded slowly as she looked at her notes. She could not recall any previous session in which she had been given this much insight in one sitting. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

"Remarkable," she said softly. "To think that no one else fully considered these events to be put forth in the storybooks."

"Well, I suppose not every last bit and piece of life on Sodor has to make it into pages in books," said Diesel. "But…well, now you know."

"Well, well," said Beatrice. "This is all most informative…now, before we go any further, Diesel, I'd like to be absolutely sure. You said there's probably a fourth tale to tell in all this…"

"Yes, Mrs. Rider. That is a given," said Diesel. "It was only mentioned in the story, 'A Close Shave,' but it was never fully explored upon."

"And what story is that?" asked Beatrice.

"The lies I told about Henry…then I was sent packing," said Diesel. "I think it's only appropriate you hear that tale too."

"I see. Well, then. Speak up, Diesel. Tell me exactly what came to happen…"

So Diesel cleared his throat and made ready to tell the next tale…

And so it's finally arrived. Diesel's redemption story begins by recapping the full events of what started Diesel's villainous streak by adapting the three Annual stories - "Old Square Wheels", "Rusty Red Scrap Iron" and "Galloping Sausage" - that Christopher Awdry wrote to explain how Diesel came up with the three infamous nicknames that he used to frame Duck. As the rest of this story will further demonstrate, Duck is just as much at fault for the conflict between him and Diesel as Diesel himself is, and the next chapter will show how Diesel was found out and sent packing before "A Close Shave". Until then, tell us what you thought of this chapter, and as always, stay safe.