36 - The Groundsman's Cottage

Blue Peter gets a surprising companion. Mallard says goodbye.

"Garn-yr-ew?" Blue Peter asked befuddled as his driver gave him the name of his destination. It sounded like some backwater Welsh village that no one had heard of.

"Yes!" Mayflower piped up as she pulled alongside the platform next to his at Vicarstown. "It's Welsh, sir! It's North of Newport!"

Blue Peter humphed and rolled his eyes in response.

"That much was obvious," he grumbled, annoyed. The Welsh language was always confusing to him. It was confusing to every engine that wasn't Great Western or Welsh to be completely honest. At least, in his experience.

"The heritage railway you're going to is called the Rheilffordd Pont-y-pŵl a Blaenafon!" Mayflower exclaimed brightly, ignoring Blue Peter's flummoxed expression at her flawless pronunciation. "My best friend Jessie lives there!"

Blue Peter snorted. "Let me guess, Great Western Railway?"

"LMS actually!" The Thompson engine cheerily corrected. "But the Great Western used it frequently, sir!"

Blue Peter looked unimpressed.

"Right," was all he responded with. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the Thompson B1 Class. "What are you doing this far West anyway? Shouldn't you be in Hull or something?"

The Thompson B1 had always been an absurdly positive engine, despite most of the engines on the LNER disavowing her and her class. The constant snide remarks, being hissed at and mocked by other engines never seemed to get to her.

Hell, even Green Arrow didn't bother with her which, on second thought, may have been a positive. Still, if Arrow didn't even bother with you, you knew that you had been an outcast.

"I'm here to escort you to your new railway, sir!" Mayflower beamed at him, the corners of her mouth seemed to extend past her smokebox.

"I don't need an escort!" Blue Peter snapped at her but Mayflower just giggled in response. "I don't associate with Thompson Engines!"

"Then, by all means, you're welcome to navigate the way to Garn-yr-ew, sir! You seem sure of yourself!" She chortled. "I'm headed there myself, the LSG decided to kill two birds with one stone by having me pick you up, sir!"

Blue Peter scoffed, annoyed. An entire trip with Mayflower. Seems like he was still being punished after all. He rolled his eyes and decided to ignore the relentlessly happy engine who was now squeaking as she started to bounce on her frames excitedly.

He tried to ignore her, but as the minutes ticked down to departure, he found himself grinding his teeth as her squeaking slowly started to embed itself in his mind. He could handle it though. He was used to things annoying him to no end and the Thompson engine was no different.

That was until Mayflower started humming to herself.

"Why are you so happy all the time?" Blue Peter finally rebuked and Mayflower stopped her humming and looked over at him.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She asked, confused.

"You're a Thompson engine," the Peppercorn pointed out and Mayflower just stared at him.

"Yes, I am?" She repeated his accusation, even more confused.

"The Black Sheep of the LNER," Blue Peter explained. "Engines with a designer that defiled and vandalised the designs of greater men. A fraud."

"Now that's a little harsh, sir," Mayflower contested with a frown. "He did his best with what little money and resources he had during a time of war. He wasn't a nice man and he did questionable things to other engines but I'm not him. My brother is not him. Lord of Isles is not him either. We're just engines doing our best despite everything, Blue Peter, sir."

Blue Peter was silent as he contemplated her words. Mayflower had a point.

The clock of Vicarstown station began to chime loudly and Mayflower gave a peep of her whistle.

"Time to get going, sir!" She piped up. "Would you like me to take up the rear of the train or double head with you, Blue Peter, sir?"

The bright happy Mayflower returned from her brief solemn reflection. Blue Peter stared at her, unsure but finding himself welcoming her positive attitude. It was lifting his spirits, despite his disdain towards her and her origins.

"Mr Blue Peter, sir?" Mayflower asked and he shook himself out of his smokebox and returned to the matter at hand, unaware that he had been staring at her.

"Don't call me sir," Blue Peter finally denounced. "I've been disgraced. You can lead the train."

"Oh thank you so- Blue Peter!" Mayflower chimed happily. "Tornado asked me not to be formal with her too!"

Blue Peter said nothing to that, only watching as Mayflower sped away to change tracks with a happy squeal as she proclaimed that she rarely ever got to lead doubleheaders.

Tornado.

Blue Peter's thoughts drifted to her, worried that Saint Mungo's comforting presence hadn't returned to his smokebox.

Mungo was probably with his sister, comforting her. She hadn't been in the best state when he had last seen her. It was probably for the best that Mungo stayed with her, making sure that she was being looked after.

Mayflower was babbling away but he didn't listen, his mind far away and focused on his cousin. Even the rather sharp bump from Mayflower backing down on him didn't stir him from his thoughts. The strained tug and yelp from her did though.

"Blue Peter!" Mayflower urged him, her voice squeaky and pained. "You're very heavy with your brakes on!"

"I apologise, my mind is on other things," Blue Peter apologised and quickly released his brakes.

"That's okay!" Mayflower exalted, no bother in her voice. "I just hope you don't leave it all up to me! I'm not as strong as you!"

"Of course not Mayflower," Blue Peter murmured and Mayflower gave a happy squeak.

"You used my name! Nobody really honours me by using my name!" She cheered enthusiastically. "Thank you, Blue Peter! You Peppercorn's are amazing! You and Tornado are amazing!"

Blue Peter had no response to that. He just snorted and took up the slack of the train.

It would certainly be an interesting trip to the South of Wales, that was for sure.

The mallards were pleased to see him, after startling them and receiving a few angry quacks and nips the birds calmed and gathered around him even though he had no food. The ducks quacked happily, brushing up against him as he knelt at the edge of the lake he called his sanctuary. The old abandoned signal box loomed in the distance, its shadows dark and foreboding. There were ravens in the trees but they were strangely silent. Watching him.

They probably weren't even real. They were probably constructs of long-lost engines. They were probably the souls of the engines Gold Dust he had taken knowing his luck.

He refused to make eye contact with them but he knew they watched him, their eyes locked on him and him alone.

He ignored them. Despite their unsettling presence Mallard was still happy to return to his ducks. Gresley's Ducks.

"Hello, Mallard."

Mallard was startled but he refused to jump, refused to show weakness, even now, even at his lowest point. He slowly stood up and turned towards the voice.

On the old tracks, or rather between them, sat a small Narrow Gauge engine. The same Narrow Gauge engine that he had found that accursed lamp. Only now it had a face with an infuriatingly calm expression upon it.

"Proteus," Mallard challenged the little engine, a scowl appearing on his face. "I assume that you're responsible for pulling me into this mess!"

The narrow gauge engine simply smiled at him and inclined slightly.

"I gave you a second chance," Proteus told him and Mallard snorted in response.

"What made you think I wanted a second chance?" The A4 Pacific hissed angrily. "What made you think I wanted to be trapped in this purgatory?!"

"The fact that you pleaded for mercy from Flying Scotsman," Proteus retorted bluntly and Mallard felt anger start to bubble in his veins.

"Don't patronise me!" Mallard shouted at Proteus.

"I'm not, I'm simply stating the truth," Proteus explained matter-of-factly. "You've been through a lot in your life Mallard. Some might argue that you do not deserve a second chance, perhaps, yourself even."

Mallard had no retort for that.

He felt his anger dissipate immediately and his heart sank like a stone as the self-loathing he had been holding back bubbled to the surface. He turned away from Proteus, his eyes cast down onto the ground as he felt tears burning in his eyes.

Whether it was this realm, this Purgatory that had somehow enhanced and was forcing him to reflect on himself or whether it was the decades and decades of being used by others, being looked upon as nothing more than a fancy trophy he wasn't sure.

A fancy trophy. That was all he was to the world. That was all he had screamed to the world, for so long he had believed that it was the only thing of value that he could give to the world.

And yet, now it was meaningless. The Shinkansen, and the Maglevs all surpassed him and they made him look slow. Even now, his own record wasn't safe, for if the Americans who had claimed to go "Duck Hunting" failed, all it would take was for another one of his siblings or an incredibly ambitious team for his record to be shattered.

Mallard felt the tears slip down his face.

"Curse you!" He spat at Proteus, his voice cracking with the tears burning down his cheeks.

Proteus said nothing, he only watched, a silent sentinel.

"I am more than just my record," Mallard croaked, his voice barely over a whisper. The anger returned as his thoughts turned to his 'siblings'. The ones who pushed him, the ones who leeched off his fame and acted as if his achievement was theirs. "Not that anyone ever cared…"

"You've been hurt," Proteus called to him softly. "You've hurt others in return."

Mallard scowled, annoyed.

"I know that! After Merlin died all I could do was hurt people! It was the only way I could feel something!" Mallard rounded on the little engine, his eyes lit with fury. "I thought that if I could kill Scotsman I could finally be at peace!"

Proteus merely stared back and the enraged face of Mallard that hovered inches from his face, his teeth bared like an animal. The little engine was calm, unbothered and it infuriated Mallard even more.

"Why Flying Scotsman specifically?" Proteus asked calmly, his voice careful not to display any emotion.

"Because he's-" Mallard froze mid-sentence, his thoughts suddenly grinding to a halt.

Why had he tried to kill the Flying Scotsman?

"Because he's… a damn fool!" Mallard snapped back unconvincingly. Proteus just raised an eyebrow at him.

"If that's the reason then perhaps you should have gone after his brother, Doncaster, not very intelligent. Oh, but I seem to remember that you did kill him," Proteus replied snidely and Mallard gave a growl, knowing that this spirit had gotten the best of him.

There was a loud angry screech from one of the ravens, roosted in the trees but Mallard refused to give it the time of day. He did not want to consider what the birds were. What they could be after the revelation of what Gadwall was.

"Why?" Proteus asked again but Mallard only stared at him.

"Why?" One of the ravens repeated, its voice familiar to Mallard but he refused to acknowledge that. It was the soul of another engine, like Gadwall but Mallard did not care to know who it was. Or rather, he feared who it was.

"Why? Why? Why? Why?" A chorus suddenly erupted in the trees above and to Mallard's growing horror he realised that all of them were familiar. All of them he knew.

All of them were the engines that he had stolen the Golden Dust of. That he had murdered.

Their cries became cacophonous and deafening as Mallard stumbled back, clutching his hands to his ears as the tormenting shrieks painfully drilling into his skull, into his very soul and eating away at his sanity.

It was like his soul was being devoured by Black Smoke again, who he was being stripped from him and crushed under the weight of the world.

Was this… it? Was this hell?

The cold began to creep into his bones, destroying what light remained in his soul as he struggled to open his eyes and look towards the little engine.

Terror filled him as he realised that Proteus, his eyes completely black and his facade dropped as the writhing entity within the shell of an engine fell away and gave way to pure malice and darkness.

Black Smoke.

"No! No! Not again! Please!" Mallard pleaded as tendrils of the liquid-like gas began to snake towards him, striking at him like a cobra, its venom sinking into his heart, what little remained of his soul. "NO! STOP! NOT AGAIN!"

He felt the Black Smoke grip him like a doll, pouring its freezing essence into his nerves and snatching hold of his nerves, forcing him to stand. He struggled and he fought but the relentless onslaught did not give, only a sinister laugh echoed inside his head making it impossible to hear his own screams.

"Stop."

A voice in his head whispered and suddenly the Black Smoke released its grip and Mallard fell to the ground roughly, his entire body trembling in pain and terror, he wasn't sure what but he wanted to vomit. He wanted to curl into a ball and die.

"Please, just let me die," Mallard whimpered in a tiny voice. "I was never good for anything anyway."

The ravens had gone quiet. Mallard wasn't sure if they were even there anymore. He wasn't sure if this was a dream or if it was purgatory but either way he didn't care anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Especially not some 90-year-old speed record that in the grand scheme of things meant nothing.

He stared up at the grey, foggy sky, unsure of how much time was passing, his numbness and his thoughts disjointed and broken taking his entire concentration not to fade away.

After what felt like an eternity, Mallard closed his eyes and gave a heaving sigh filled with regret.

"I see why you chose Flying Scotsman over me," he muttered, unsure if he was talking to himself or to whatever entity was having its jollies tormenting him. "After all, what hope would I have had with a lack of Gold Dust?"

He heard footsteps and the rustle of clothing at his side but he refused to open his eyes. He knew who it was.

"Or rather," Mallard began to correct himself. "What hope would an engine whose soul was a fusion of Black Smoke and Gold Dust stand against a pure Golden Soul, Great Northern?"

A regretful hum came from above him and Mallard finally opened his eyes, tears unleashed from them as he did so. He saw the ghostly silhouette of a man standing above him and did not react when the man knelt beside him.

What was left of Great Northern said nothing, only watching over Mallard closely.

"I see why you tried to dissuade me from befriending Flying Scotsman now," Mallard laughed, a haunting sad broken laugh. "Didn't want me to infect him. Didn't want me to destroy the Golden Child! Didn't want to upset daddy!"

Mallard's voice slowly rose though the anger in his voice was overtaken by despair.

"I was wrong," came North's confession and Mallard's laugh became manic. North was silent, waiting for Mallard to calm down. Mallard's crazed laughter became a mournful whimper and he wiped his tears, glaring at North.

"I was cursed from the start," Mallard bitterly claimed but surprisingly North shook his head.

"No Mallard, I accidentally cursed you, by not allowing you close to Scotsman, by not allowing you near other engines and allowing you to form proper relationships," North admitted and Mallard frowned at him.

"No more lies or riddles, old man!" Mallard snarled then suddenly noticed North's condition. Great Northern was barely visible, transparent and fading in and out of existence, like a ghost. "You're a broken shell of an engine that's not much left in this world, so the truth, and maybe you'll find peace in the afterlife!"

"I will never find peace, Proteus promised me that," North harshly ground out but then gave a sigh and his scowl sagged. "I accepted that a long time ago. But maybe I can offer you some closure, in my final moments."

Mallard gave a dismissive snort and shrugged, not wanting to hear the man's self pity party.

"No more lies," Mallard snapped and North nodded to him.

"I thought that keeping you away from other engines was better for you, but I see now that it only made the darkness within you grow and the Black Smoke consume you, not allow you to control it, to use it as Sir Gresley intended," North admitted and Mallard frowned and turned back to the ghost.

"Use it? Use Black Smoke? How? It's just a parasite!" Mallard snapped angrily and a hiss echoed around them. "It's a byproduct of Gold Dust! Useless!"

A dull thunderous roar seemed to hurl itself across the sky but Mallard paid it no mind.

"It's a parasite with a use," North explained. "We didn't understand it at first, I was bewildered at why Sir Gresley would try to even fuse it into the soul of an engine but, he was on to something. One of his last breakthroughs was to use Black Smoke to heal engines of certain ailments. We could use it to erase memories that brought engines anguish and send them into the Cold Iron Sleep! We use it to calm, to ease pain. It's natural, or as natural as Gold Dust itself is!"

Mallard scowled at North, confused and angry.

"What are you talking about!" Mallard snapped at him.

"Do you remember when Gadwell tried to beat your speed record?" North asked pointedly and Mallard went pale with shock.

An incident that had been scrubbed from the record at the CME's request. Gadwall always had a tendency to be a bit impulsive and brash. When he set his mind to it, Gadwall could be as stubborn as a mule.

Gadwall had been seriously injured trying to replicate his record. Mallard had been appalled, he blamed himself for hurting his brother, his best friend.

He still blamed himself and he knew he always would.

"How dare-"

"He was so badly damaged that he was almost scrapped," North recounted, ignoring the furious look on Mallard's face. "There was a brief moment that we lost him, he was in so much pain and it was unbearable for him. He wanted to die, Mallard."

Mallard felt the world fall from him at the revelation. He had almost lost Gadwall? Gadwall had almost died trying to impress him?

"What? What do you mean?"

"You visited him that night," North murmured softly. "You went to him. I was afraid that the Black Smoke within you was going to take him but Sir Gresley ordered me to allow you to help him. And you did. You saved him."

Mallard was trembling violently now, a storm of emotions churning in his chest making it hard to breath, making him feel sick to his stomach.

"The Black Smoke within you reached out to him and instead of taking Gadwall's Gold Dust, it fed off the pain, it eased the burden on his soul," North continued. "You saved his life Mallard."

"I-" Mallard stared at his hands, a numbness taking hold of his body.

He- He had saved Gadwall?

"But-" Mallard croaked confusedly. He shook his head furiously. "What does that have to do with stopping me from befriending Scotsman?!"

"Because it would have balanced your soul, being around engines and allowing their Gold Dust to temper your Black Smoke," North regretfully conceded. "Instead, the Black Smoke fed off your loneliness, your pain, your-"

North paused and looked away from Mallard.

"Self-loathing," North finished sadly. "For which I believe I hold a lot of the cause."

Mallard gave a soft humph and looked away from him before replying, "Yeah, you are the cause, old man."

North bowed his head in acceptance of Mallard's accusation.

"But why did it start to attack other engines?" Mallard frowned, confused. "Was my pain not enough for it?"

"Black Smoke acts in the same way as Gold Dust, being a byproduct, it is a manifestation of an engine's will or rather its fears, it despair and rage and so, it acted on your deepest fears, your anger and amplified it," North explained.

"I didn't want to attack Merlin! Why did it destroy Merlin?!" Mallard shrieked suddenly, his tone desperate. "You're not making sense, old man!"

"Thompson," North's voice was filled with a venom that Mallard rarely heard from the old engine. "He destroyed the perfect balance Sir Gresley created within you. It destroyed your soul and then twisted your engine to do its bidding. Perhaps it latched onto your hatred of Scotsman, I'm not sure-"

"No, I don't think I ever hated Scotsman," Mallard hummed to himself, his eyes locked onto the visage of North, his eyes narrowing as the cogs turned in his mind, the realisation slowly dawning on him. "I only ever hated you."

The ghost of North inclined his head, his shoulders dropping in shame.

"I know."

"I went after Scotsman to hurt you," Mallard declared coldly. "You poisoned any amiable relationship we could have had."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's too late to be sorry!" Mallard exploded in anger. "People's lives have been ruined beyond repair by you! You ruined my life! No one will ever trust me again! Green Arrow wants me dead! Even Olivia won't trust me again! Gadwall…"

Mallard's voice trailed off as he suddenly found it hard to speak. The events with Scotsman and his little Great Western seemed like they had occurred an eternity ago. He shouldn't have attacked Scotsman, he knew that, even while he had attacked him. He had a chance to be the better man, to be the better engine yet he failed even that.

And now his brother wanted nothing to do with him.

North was silent. He just stood motionless, his gaze averted from Mallard, the guilt evident all over his face.

"I'm completely alone…"

"No, Gadwall wants you to do better," North beseeched him. "He loves you, he watched you ever since he was destroyed. Even when Proteus tried to take him to the afterlife he refused because he wanted to watch over you."

"He's gone now!" Mallard snapped. "I drove him away because I was selfish!"

"You can still redeem yourself-"

"Shut up! I'm done listening to your advice," Mallard quickly cut him off, pulling himself to his feet. "It was never good for anything anyway. Why don't you go off and go find Scotsman or Olivia instead of preaching to me, I'm sure they'll be happy to see you."

Great Northern was silent and for a long while, stared at Mallard who now stood, towering over him. Eventually he nodded and graced Mallard with a small smile.

"You're right, I should," North slowly began to turn away from Mallard before stopping and turning back to him. "For what it's worth Mallard, I truly am proud of you."

Mallard just crossed his arms and gave him a hard, unimpressed glare. He wasn't even going to grant that a response.

"What will you do now?" North asked him and Mallard frowned. "Will you go with Proteus to the afterlife?"

The question caught Mallard off guard.

Just what was he going to do now?

He wanted to go and find Gadwall, apologise to him, make things better but knowing Gadwall, his younger brother would be upset for a few days and wouldn't want to see him until he had calmed down. That and he would probably be with Scotsman and Truro, two engines that he did not want to see right now.

He could go to Olivia, but he suspected that Olivia would only react to him with anger and he would most probably upset her.

There was only one viable place where he could go that wasn't whatever purgatory was Proteus's realm.

"I will go back to my engine," Mallard muttered quietly.

He didn't particularly want to, but it was better than being lost in a world where the spirits of dead engines could torment him. Sure, the NRM engines could be cruel but at the very least they couldn't torment him with ghostly powers.

That and he surprisingly found himself missing his Stanier rival, the Duchess of Hamilton. In all those years, Hamilton had tried to maintain an amicable facade. He appreciated that. She could have stopped at any time and joined in with insulting and mocking him but she had not.

North was staring at him, bewilderment in his eyes confused at Mallard's choice but said nothing.

"Well, I suppose this is goodbye," North nodded to him. "Unless there's anything else you would like to say to me."

"I just wish you had been a better person," Was all Mallard could say and North nodded in agreement.

"I do too," North lamented. "If only I had realised my mistakes earlier and not 100 years later, how I wonder would things have turned out."

Mallard did not speak. He had had enough of North self-pity and began to turn away, irritated.

"Go tell someone who cares, Great Northern," Mallard bitterly told him. "Instead of someone whose life you ruined."

North didn't even have a response to that and Mallard turned around completely, leaving the visage of Great Northern behind him, walking towards a golden glow that had appeared in the distance between the trees of this strange realm.

He didn't turn back to look at North but he knew that the ghost had gone.

He flexed his hand, feeling the Gold Dust and Black Smoke dancing around each other within himself. His gaze raised to the world around him and found that the forest around him seemed brighter, like a fog had lifted and sunlight was now filtering through the canopy.

It felt different to before. It felt like… It felt he was himself again like a dark cloud had been lifted. He hadn't felt this way since, since before Thompson had ordered one of his engines to drag him into a shed and-

He stopped the thought before he could finish it. That was over 50 years ago. 50 years of his life that had been stolen from him. He needed to pick up what little he had left and forward.

He was Mallard.

He would not quit, even when the world was against him.

A weight lifted off of Mallard's shoulders and for the first time in his miserable existence, he felt hopeful for the future.

"Tydfil!"

Tydfil squeaked when the all too familiar shout of the Sudrian Controller echoed across the big station. He shouted angrily at her and it was the last thing that she wanted to hear today.

He nervously glanced over and saw Sir Topham Hatt who was striding towards their consist, a furious expression on his face.

"I thought I told you to remain in the shed until myself or Corbyn called upon you!" Sir Topham thundered and Tydfil gave a frightened squeak and cowered against his words.

"It's my fault sir!" Percy quickly cut in to defend her. "Lyell and I were passing by her shed and she looked lonely. I lied to her and said that you approved of us taking her out for a trip."

"Percy!" Sir Topham frowned at his green saddle tank who gave him an incredibly guilty look. The man then looked back to Tydfil who was still quivering from being yelled at. "Tydfil, I do apologise for yelling at you."

Tydfil glanced over at him nervously.

"I'm- I'm not in trouble sir?" She mumbled and Sir Topham nodded to her.

"Percy is in trouble for lying to you," he corrected with a glance at Percy who only gave him a cheeky grin in response.

"I- I wanted to go out sir," Tydfil claimed. "I was stuck in that shed and my thoughts kept getting to me and making me scared. I needed to get out sir, please-"

"Tydfil it's alright," Sir Topham quickly assured her. "You should have said something, I would have called your crew in for you."

"I didn't want to continue to be a burden sir."

Sir Topham's expression softened to one of sympathy.

"Tydfil, you are never a burden if you are in need of help," he corrected her but she didn't look convinced.

"I always seem to need help though," Tydfil mumbled dejectedly.

"You are a young iron and you have been put through things an engine should never have been put through," the Sudrian Controller grimly stated. "I understand that you do not want to return to Didcot. Is there somewhere you would like to go? Perhaps you would like to stay here?"

"I don't understand," Tydfil was bewildered. She didn't understand what the man was saying. Was he offering her a place on Sodor? "I would prefer not to stay here sir."

The man nodded to her. "Yes of course, I understand. Recent events would certainly impact your views of my railway."

"I mean no offence sir," she hastily added. "I just… don't feel safe here after what happened."

"Of course Tydfil," Sir Topham agreed. "I'll phone around, see if there's any railways or Trusts that would want to have you."

"There won't be many," Tydfil lamented but Sir Topham quickly shut her down.

"No, none of that young lady," he chided her. "With the right mentor and environment, you will excel my dear!"

Despite herself, Tydfil blushed.

"If I can't find anything by the weekend, you can go with Edward to visit the Furness Preservation Society," Sir Topham declared, catching Percy's attention.

"The Furness?" Percy piped up confused. "I thought that Edward wanted nothing to do with the Furness sir!"

"Ah well, he seems to have changed his mind," Sir Topham explained. "One of their engines is in need of funds for a rebuild. Edward wants to help out."

"Oh, that makes sense I guess," Percy conceded.

"Though I can't help but wonder if Coppernob had something to do with that," Sir Topham mused to himself.

"Um, may I just go with Edward sir?" Tydfil asked and Sir Topham turned back to her.

"You'd like to go with him?"

"Yes sir, or wherever Evening Star is," Tydfil gave him a small smile.

"Ah I see!" The Sudrian Controller grinned. "You'd feel more comfortable with Edward or your new friend."

"Yes sir! I'd feel safer with them sir!"

Sir Topham Hatt chuckled to himself. "I see Edward is still up to his mentoring ways, always good to see. Alright young lady, I'll check in on Edward and Evening Star and get back to you."

"Do I have to go back to my shed?" Tydfil asked, apprehension in her voice.

"No Tydfil, not if you don't want to," He smiled at her and Tydfil felt herself relax. She had been dreading being alone with her thoughts again. "Once Percy is finished showing Lyell around, I'll have Boco come and find you and you can work with him for a while."

"Thank you sir!" Tydfil flashed him a bright smile, happy to no longer have to be alone.

Sir Topham chuckled at her enthusiasm.

"You're very welcome, Young Iron."

It was a slog to wade through the viscous mud. Especially in clothes not meant for trudging around in the ankle-deep, sticky mess.

Olivia still found herself going through the horrid slurry, the doors to Great Northern's cottage were locked and windows barricaded with iron bars and wooden shutters, making it impossible for Olivia to even attempt to break in. She had a feeling however that the cottage was void of anything useful and decided to look for a shed or some kind of bunker where North could have hidden his research.

'Olivia please, this is unwise. You could hurt yourself,' Pretty Polly spoke to her carefully.

"Well, it's not like I chose to come here," Olivia humphed. Though she suspected that North's Golden Whistle would take her back home if she wished.

'Sweetheart, you are with child,' Polly tried to reason with her but Olivia continued to ignore her. 'Think of the baby. Think of those who love you. Scotsman would not forgive himself if something happened to you and I know my brother, it could be the end of him.'

Olivia paused. She did not want to worry Scotsman. Scotsman had already been through enough throughout his life.

But Olivia needed answers. She could not go on knowing that there was something wrong, that she wasn't normal, she was something strange. She wasn't about to disregard her own feelings to appease someone else, even if Scotsman was someone who she loved dearly.

Polly was right. But that still led to questions about the Whistle hanging around her neck.

"Then why was I brought here?" she murmured to herself.

Polly had no answer to that. Sensing she had won the argument, Olivia continued trudging on, following the side of the house until she reached the overgrown and neglected backyard. Dark, twisted ancient trees lined the boundary between the backyard of the cottage and the forest that loomed eerily in the distance.

It was almost midday yet the darkness of the forest made it seem like a moonlit night.

Olivia stared at the gnarled and ancient-looking trees. These trees had seen things that she couldn't even dream of. In the back of her mind, Polly had gone silent.

Yet Olivia could feel that Polly recognised this place. It was familiar to her somehow. Olivia did not know there were no tracks and the foliage of the forest would have never allowed for an engine as big as hers anywhere near this place.

Olivia wasn't sure just how long she stood staring at the forest before her but a small kick to her ribs took her out of her trance. Olivia frowned as she rested a hand on her belly.

Olivia shook her head and refocused her gaze back on the forest before her. An unnatural structure suddenly caught her gaze.

A simple, unassuming Well. It was overgrown and she almost missed it, it was so completely overtaken by the plants and vines that had wound themselves around it.

It called to her and so she approached.

"This is unwise," Polly warned as Olivia began to rip and pull the flora away from the Well.

Olivia ignored her, a feverish mania overtaking her as she pulled and tugged at the plants, trying to free the entrance to the Well from its natural cover.

Eventually, after a struggle, part of the well was uncovered enough to reveal a ladder that descended into the pitch black below.

"Olivia Gresley! Don't you dare go in that well!" Pretty Polly snapped in her head but Olivia was already swinging her leg over the low wall of the Well entrance and testing her grip on the ladder with difficulty.

With a grunt, Olivia swung her bulk onto the ladder. She could feel Polly's anxiety peak and the normally well-mannered Polly began to curse at her. She was trying to command Olivia to turn back but the woman ignored her.

"I need to know what North was keeping from me," Olivia apologised to her. "His whistle brought me here for a reason. Maybe it was his last testament."

She could feel Polly's frustration and annoyance, the A3 wanting to stop her, take over her body and force her to turn around but Olivia found it easy to repel her attempts. Her mind pushed Polly away, lashing out at her every time the old engine tried.

Finally, Polly relented.

"You are as stubborn and foolish as Scotsman!" She claimed, her tone exasperated.

"I don't know whether that's a compliment anymore," Olivia bitterly muttered and she felt Polly flinch at her words. Her words had hurt Polly, she could feel the pain though she tried to hide it.

Polly did not speak to her again as she made her way down the ladder.

It was quite the effort, the rungs were wet and slippery from the humidity and the moss that had grown over them. Her gravid pregnant belly did not help as it got in the way making her movements cumbersome and slow, all the while baby Polly seemed to make a point of wrestling with her insides in displeasure.

She often did this, especially when Olivia was trying to sleep or in an important meeting. Olivia wondered if the baby was doing it on purpose. Oscar often joked that she was.

Oscar.

Her mind drifted to the man she loved with all her heart. She didn't know if he would still love her if he knew the truth of whatever she was. She didn't know if she could handle that.

She didn't even know if she would accept the truth of herself, whatever that may be.

"Olivia…" Polly's voice called to her, her voice soft and her tone concerned. "Olivia it does not matter what you are, you are loved and you are-"

"My mother did not love me," Olivia suddenly spat angrily. "She neglected me. She couldn't be bothered even giving me the time of day growing up. I was some freak, something not right wasn't I?"

There was a pause as Polly considered what to say, the soft thuds of Olivia placing her weight on the ladder were the only thing that could be heard for a long while. Finally, Polly decided to answer her.

"Your mother has her own demons she has to face," Polly relented and Olivia froze in place on the ladder.

"So, you knew my mother?" Olivia considered. She would say that she was surprised but now, she really wasn't.

"North urged her to tell you and your brothers the truth but she was struggling, she turned to unpleasant vices, as a result of terrible trauma instead of confronting it," Polly revealed as Olivia's boots finally touched upon the bottom of the deep well.

Olivia frowned, uncertain about what Polly's words could mean and instead decided to focus on the scene before her.

The bottom of the well wasn't wet, save for a puddle directly beneath it. Instead, the narrow well opened up into an enormous space beyond, a stairway leading down into a huge cavernous chamber that looked as though it could fit an entire railway yard or two within it.

The mediaeval torches and chandeliers suddenly burst into life as she crossed the threshold of the stairway, burning not with flame but with Gold Dust.

Olivia's eyes widened in shock as the light revealed what was hidden in the darkness.

Rows and rows of bookcases were lined with books, and nameplates from engines not just of the LNER but the LMS, Great Western, Southern and even railways from abroad. Parts of engines hung from the ceiling as if ready to be installed and then there were the engines themselves.

Hundreds of engines, all lined up buffer to buffer, tracks of them disappearing into the darkness and possibly forever. Olivia speculated that the number of engines surpassed that of even Barry's scrapyard at just a glance. All of them were faceless and had no soul occupying them but Olivia had a feeling that she knew where the souls were.

They were people. Living lives among humans. A second chance after being scrapped, their engines safe and secure in North's Catacombs.

"This is-" Olivia was in awe. "This is, North saved all of these engines?"

"Yes he did, he has caverns beyond this too," Polly replied. "He spent every single day he could doing so after the end of steam. I will criticise my brother for many things, he was not a nice person and he did terrible, awful things. But he damn well tried to make up for it in the end."

Olivia began to walk down the lines of engines, coming upon a very familiar LNER A3 Pacific that stood out among the rest of the dust-covered, abandoned engines. Olivia reached out and touched it and she felt Polly's presence grow stronger and brighter.

"It looks brand new," Olivia murmured and Polly gave a small chuckle.

"I believe I have Mallard to thank for that," Polly chimed and Olivia felt guilty.

"I should not have yelled at Mallard," Olivia regretfully admitted. "He's not going to take it well."

"Mallard is a tough nut to crack, Polly assured her. "I have every faith that Mallard shall find a way to preserve. He always has."

Polly had a point there. Mallard had always preserved, no matter what. He strived to succeed, no matter his intentions, good or bad. Olivia could respect that.

Olivia turned to look away from Pretty Polly's engine and cast her gaze down the long line of engines. Directly behind Polly was the empty remains of Cock 'O the North's rebuilt engine, and to her side was a V2, like Green Arrow.

"One of Green Arrow's siblings," Olivia murmured as she wandered over to it and wiped the dust caked over the engine to reveal its number.

British Railways, No. 60873, Coldstreamer.

"Scotsman's best friend," Olivia's eyes widened in shock. One of the few engines that Scotsman could trust from what she recalled of his memories. "Is she alive?"

"I don't know," Polly answered regretfully. "Sometimes North would be able to save the engine, but not the soul.

Olivia just nodded in response, her entire body feeling numb. She had no idea whether to feel elated or simply horrified that all these engines that had been saved and yet had been stripped from who they were and forced to live a life so different from what they knew.

She felt an impulse, almost like a tug, pulling her towards one of the engines nearby.

Polly was suspiciously silent as she followed the feeling.

The engine she had been drawn to… it was barely an engine. All that remained was a few of the driving wheels, its frames and part of its cab. It was lying against the wall of the cavern, half hidden under a tarpaulin. There was no nameplate from what she could see and the number on the cab had been removed when the paint had been stripped from it.

Anxiety and terror began leaking from Pretty Polly's soul. Whoever this engine had been, it was someone who Polly had evidently been close with. Polly's soul was crying, screaming in pain at the sight of it. It threatened to consume Olivia herself and she quickly pulled the tarpaulin over it to try and ease Polly's fear.

"Who was that?" Olivia asked, horrified at the reaction Polly had had.

Somehow, she had a feeling she knew who it was but she wasn't sure if the feeling came from her or from Polly.

The Whistle around her neck started to glow and it began to hover and pull towards the desk that stood next to the bookshelves, lit by both gold dust and some sort of silver like dust.

Everything was organised and tidy, not a single speck of dust up the grand desk. It reminded Olivia of how North liked to keep his desk in the manor so there was no question to who this piece of furniture belonged to. Thick leather-bound books and surprisingly, a tablet lay on the table.

Olivia felt herself drawn to one book in particular as she felt Polly's soul quiver with fear upon reading the words embossed into the binding with gold foil.

"Record of LNER A1/A3 Pacific - Merry Hampton"

Olivia didn't even have heard confirmation from Polly to know that the remains of the engine under the tarpaulin were that of the unfortunate Merry Hampton.

The Great Westerns were being loud again. Lode Star and some other engine, she didn't know which, they all looked the same to her, were arguing about something but the Duchess of Hamilton did not care.

She instinctively braced herself, ready to get her smokebox spoken to rust by her companion when she sagged as she realised.

She looked over to Mallard's blank engine and gave a mournful sigh. It was strange.

She actually missed the silly old duck.

Certainly, he had been rude, crass and rather distinctively, a black hole that ate any Gold Dust that wasn't anchored to a Golden Soul but he could have moments of being insightful and clever.

There had always been an incredibly sharp mind underneath all that garbage and Hamilton always thought it a shame that Mallard often wasted it on being such a terrible lout.

Hamilton rolled her eyes as the Great Westerns began arguing with one of the other turntable engines. Soon, the entire museum would be full of engines screeching at each other.

How undignified.

Once such important engines acted like a rabble. It was demeaning, it was-

A cold chill suddenly swept through the air and Hamilton's frames shuddered instinctively.

Black Smoke.

The other engines sensed it too and suddenly quietened.

An uneasy tension descended over the Great Hall, as if a dark and foreboding presence was stalking the halls, hunting the engines within like prey.

But there was something else to this, Hamilton realised. Like a warm scent on a winter breeze.

Before she could figure out what it was, there was a cold breeze nipping at her wheels and suddenly, a flash of gold erupted from beside her.

Hamilton hesitated, scarcely believing what was going on.

There was a familiar soft snort and the huff of an engine from the engine beside her.

She looked over, unbelieving and yet, right in front of her eyes, the famous Blue A4 Pacific that had stood blank and silent for months, now had its soul back.

"Mallard?" Hamilton asked in disbelief and Mallard seemed a bit dazed but he looked over at her.

"Don't celebrate all at once-" Came Mallard's gravelled voice but he was quickly cut off by Hamilton's squeal of delight.

"You're back! Mallard!"

Mallard stared at her in shock, clearly not expecting her reaction before giving her a smile in return.

"Yeah, I guess I am. Yay me," Mallard sarcastically retorted but it was drowned out by Hamilton's tittering.

Mallard just stared at her bemused. He watched her celebrate as Hamilton immediately rambled on about what he had missed.

Surprisingly, he did not interrupt her with snide comments to tell her to shut up.

Hamilton did not know what had gone on between when she had last seen his construct, that raven and Lady Olivia, but she could tell that Mallard needed a distraction and she was more than happy to oblige.

Mayflower is a peach. I won't hear a word against her.

Mallard is back in his engine.