37 - Into the Abyss
"Olivia!"
"Scotsman?" Oscar was pulled out of his stupor as he heard the familiar voice of the famous engine coming from their master bedroom. He quickly made a beeline for the room and was surprised to see not only Scotsman but a strange shorter man, a raven perched on his shoulder.
"What's going on?" Oscar asked, feeling weariness descending upon him. So much had happened in the last 36 hours and he hadn't slept in all that time. "Who are you?"
"This is Truro," Scotsman smiled, a hand around the shorter man's shoulders. Truro smiled up at Scotsman with a shy smile as the raven gave an indignant squawk. "And you've met Gadwall."
Oscar nodded to him and looked around to double-check the room. Still no sign of Olivia returning.
"Where is Olivia?"
"She woke up, she seemed completely healed but she was furious about something," Oscar explained, hurt in his eyes. "I'm not sure I understand it but it seemed like she was worried that she wasn't… human. That she wasn't worthy of- me."
Scotsman expression turned to one of confusion and he exchanged a glance with Truro.
"Where is she? Is she alright?"
"She yelled at us to leave the house but Peony stayed with her," Oscar sighed, "Peony says that Olivia was about to tear the house apart looking for North's research. I don't know what happened but she had a whistle, it activated and it took her somewhere."
"A Golden Whistle?" Truro piped up concerned. "I thought someone had stolen her's."
"Mallard gave her one, I'm not sure where he got it, I think it may have been North's," Oscar's brow creased as he tried to remember.
"North's whistle!" The raven suddenly screamed at him and Oscar jumped, startled. The raven saw his reaction and bowed its head coyly and muttered, "Sorry…"
"I'm not sure, to be honest," Oscar finally admitted, weariness written all over his face. "This Gold Dust stuff is beyond me."
"You should rest," Scotsman approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. "You look completely exhausted."
"I need to know that Olivia is okay," Oscar muttered weakly. "She has to be okay. I can't just abandon her!"
Oscar tried to push past Scotsman but he found himself easily being pushed back with a firm shove to the chest. He looked into Scotsman's face and found the man giving him a hard stare, compassion in his eyes.
"I can deal with this, Oscar," Scotsman directed, his voice authoritative and his tone final. "You need rest. Besides, someone needs to be here to watch over your son."
"That's-" Oscar began, then shook his head, trying to stop the room from spinning.
He was right, he knew Scotsman was right. He could barely stand and his body was screaming and aching for rest. Even if it was just a little while, he desperately needed it.
"I shall stay," Truro nodded to Scotsman. "This feels like it is a family matter and I should not intrude."
Scotsman raised an eyebrow at him in response.
"You're going to be a part of this family very soon, need I remind you," he pointed out to the Great Western, who rolled his eyes in response.
"Don't remind me," he muttered and Oscar couldn't help but give a snort of mirth at the look on Scotsman's face at Truro's words. Before Scotsman could respond, however, Truro gently gave Scotsman's arm a gentle squeeze. "Go, find Olivia. Gadwall will help you. He is a Silver Construct after all."
Scotsman looked like he was about to ask Truro something but then shook his head and thought otherwise. He gave Truro a kind smile before looking at Oscar and nodded at him.
"I'll find Olivia, I promise," He vowed to him and Oscar gave a defeated, weary sigh.
"Please," he begged the famous engine's construct. "I don't care what she is, if she's an engine construct or whatever, I love her. I love her more than anything. Please tell her that when you find her."
Scotsman's face softened and he reached out his hand to Oscar for a handshake. The human took it and gave it a firm shake in response, to seal their promise.
"I promise I will," Scotsman stared him dead in the eyes, that strong iron will be permeating his very being before he turned back to Truro. "I'll be back."
Truro smirked. "I know. You always come running back to me, one way or another."
The Great Western almost laughed at the pout that flickered across Scotsman's face before Scotsman stepped away from them and gave Gadwall a gentle poke in the chest, to which the Raven snapped his beak at him instinctively.
"Show me the way, Gadwall."
There was a sudden influx of warm air that bathed Oscar and Truro in a shower of gold and silver and with a soft swish, the Flying Scotsman and Gadwall were gone.
"You seemed to be struggling near the end of the journey there," came the voice of Mayflower from the front as the station appeared in the distance. "Everything alright?"
Blue Peter said nothing, his mind only preoccupied with getting to the station so that he could rest. The journey was not all that long, in fact, it should have been nothing to a large express engine like himself. The journey from Didcot to Sodor had almost been twice as long and a lot more taxing, so why was he now struggling?
"If you needed to stop on the way you should have said something," Mayflower added once she realised that she wasn't going to get a response from him. "I don't mind. I'm happy to change my plans if the need arises."
"It's nothing!" Blue Peter snapped back at her, annoyed. He did not want to explain himself to her. "Stop going on about it!"
He had an idea of what was causing his sudden lack of stamina but he very much did not want the Thompson engine to have any clue into it. It was not her business nor should it ever be. Mayflower, however, seemed undeterred and continued to press him.
"I'm just concerned, Mr Blue Peter," She murmured quietly. "There's no need to snap at me."
Blue Peter did not care. The pain that he could usually ignore and get on with his jobs had never been so fierce, so… insistent before. He had been checked over at Crovan's Gate just before he had left and everything had come back green. No indication that his tug of war with Evening Star had done any noticeable or concerning damage. At least, nothing that wasn't there already.
Yet, his entire front felt as if the impossible and devastating strength of the 9F was weighing down on him, crushing him. He had felt lingering pain after the event, which was to be expected, he knew but had hoped that it would calm down again. Evidently not.
"I've just-" Blue Peter had to come up with something to placate Mayflower or he feared that she may tell others of his strife after his little outburst. "I've not been having the best week, Mayflower. I apologise."
Mayflower was silent for a long while, too long a while. Would she buy it?
"Meeting my friends might cheer you up!" She finally exclaimed cheerily. "Sure they're not famous or anything but that's alright with us. Our little railway's happy to be a little novelty tucked away in a Welsh Valley."
Blue Peter looked away from the picturesque valley before them and focused back on the Thompson engine's tender in front of him.
"Our?" Blue Peter questioned and Mayflower gave a small giggle.
"I like to think of this place as my home," Mayflower explained cheerily. "It's where my friends are and they're always happy to have me visit and allow me to rest when I need to."
Blue Peter said nothing.
He didn't have a place like that. It was his fault. He'd pushed everyone away that might have given him a place to rest his wheels.
He found himself aching for Saint Mungo's presence even more. He hoped Tornado was alright.
"We're here!" Came Mayflower's loud call as the station came into view. "Welcome to Furnace Sidings!"
Blue Peter looked down the line towards the small quaint station that sat in the middle of a field. A single pedestrian bridge stretched over the tracks. Beyond the station sat several sheds and engine workshops surrounded by rolling green hills.
On the track beside theirs sat a pristine and well-kept Class 37 Diesel-electric, D37216, who was smiling at them with kind but weary eyes.
"My dearest Mayflower, a pleasure to see you again!" The diesel greeted with a resounding boom to her voice. Her voice was low and deep and felt like velvet and sung with warmth. "I see you have brought a friend. Is this the hero of the hour?"
"Hello, Ceobahn!" Mayflower chirped happily from in front of him. "Yes, this is indeed the hero of the hour! This is Blue Peter!"
"Oh, I know dear!" The Class 37 tittered with a warm laugh, gazing upon the Peppercorn with a gentle gaze. "Saw him on occasion in Scotland a few times on my travels. Never interacted though I'm afraid. A pleasure to meet you at last, I am Ceobahn."
Blue Peter frowned at her. He didn't want to be rude but all the Diesels looked the same to him. He could never remember faces or numbers.
"I'm, uh, sorry I don't recall you," was all Blue Peter could offer but Ceobahn just smiled at him.
"Oh it's quite alright, we all have places to be, and schedules to keep, it's nothing, personal dear," she assured him. "Welcome to Blaenavon's Heritage Railway! The little ones are quite excited. We so rarely get larger engines visiting our small piece of paradise."
"Excuse me, I'm a larger engine!" Mayflower huffed from the front of the train and Ceobahn chuckled at her.
"I said visiting engines dear, you may as well live here with how often you frequent this line," the Diesel smirked.
Mayflower and Ceobahn began throwing jabs at each other while Blue Peter turned his attention to the railway's facilities.
There were but a few sheds and a very pitiful excuse of a yard. One could hardly call it a railway, more like a track with a works attached, especially one such as he who had worked upon one of the biggest railways in the UK. He knew that the other big engines would scoff and ridicule it.
Yet, this small railway was a World Heritage Site. The humans found it a place of importance. And there he was, out of place and dirtying the rails of this beautiful picturesque piece of paradise, as Mayflower had called it.
Still, it was better than nothing he supposed. He was eyeing the motley crew of small engines and other diesel's that were milling about the small yard when his attention was drawn to Ceobahn who was calling upon him.
"Huh? I'm sorry I wasn't listening," he mumbled an apology and Ceobahn gave him an understanding smile.
"That's alright," she excused him and followed his gaze to the sheds. "It's not much, I admit, but the people and engine here are filled with passion and love for this place. It is a beautiful and charming railway if you give it a chance, Blue Peter."
"I'll," Blue Peter paused. Old habits die hard and he really wanted to speak his mind. But speaking his mind often landed him in trouble and he really didn't need to be in more of that right now. He continued, "Do my best."
"Marvellous!" Ceobahn exclaimed as Mayflower gave a wiggle to ease her wheels. "Shall we meet the others?"
"Mmmm yes!" Mayflower gave an excited squeal and Blue Peter begrudgingly agreed. He did not want to but for the sake of good manners, he would.
He gave Ceobahn a half smile.
"Lead on," he acknowledged
Bittern was babbling and shrieking like a maniac even as Horatio returned to his engine. Pendennis Castle however was more composed, the look in his eyes betrayed his shock and confusion but outwardly he was calm and collected. He turned his attention towards his Australian friend.
"You act like this is a common thing, Grey," Pendennis remarked and the 38 Class laughed heartily.
"That's because it is!" She asserted.
"What do you mean it's a common thing? I never saw it while I was in Australia and I was there for years!" Pendennis protested, irritation in his voice.
"We thought you were shy!" Grey scoffed. "We were just being polite because we thought that you didn't want to show yourself!"
"But I never saw anything that even suggested we could do this!"
"We understood that our engine's sentience came from something different to you lot, so we figured that it was best not to bother you with it," Gold rumbled, their voice even though they had an eyebrow raised. "Besides, no one ever informed us on how the UK manages things."
"Wait," Winston suddenly spoke up. "Do you not have Gold Dust over there?"
Grey and Gold glanced at each other confused.
"No, we don't have none of this fairy dust stuff," Grey refuted.
"Gold Dust!" Winston insisted angrily but he was ignored.
"Then how do your engines gain sentience?" Pendennis wondered, now staring at both engines with a puzzled look.
"From Rainbow Ore," Grey explained, her voice now serious and her tone respectful. "We are part of the land, the very Earth and it is the land itself that gives us our awareness. It is the ore that comes from deep within the womb of the Great Rainbow Spirit of the Earth that allows us to see and feel. We are all of the land, the humans made from blood and flesh to our kind, engines made from ore, oil and fire. We are all different yet we co-exist, like the different colours of the rainbow."
The UK engines stared, enraptured and mystified by the tale of the Australian engine.
"Remarkable," Winston breathlessly whispered. "That's incredible. I had no idea that other countries had different sources for engine's sentience."
"Then you have a very small view of the world," Gold scoffed and for once, the UK engines did not argue with them.
"But I never saw any, 'engine people' or whatever you call them," Pendennis reasoned but Grey just burst out laughing.
"Oh I can assure you that you did, you just never realised," she chortled. "Do you remember the big man I introduced to you? Harry?"
"How could I forget?" A smile appeared on Pendennis's face. "He was a riot!"
"Of course he is! That was Heavy Harry, or H220, Victorian Railways H Class, he runs the Newport Railway Museum nowadays!" Grey cheerfully informed them and a lot of shock appeared on Pendennis's face.
"But- but he's an engine!" Pendennis spluttered and Gold rolled their eyes while Grey laughed even louder.
"I mean, who better to run a railway museum than an engine, right?" Grey teased Pendennis who was now staring at her slack-jawed in shock. "Oh come on Pendennis, it's not that much of a stretch. Probably 20% of the people who worked on the heritage railways you visited were engine, ah 'constructs' as you say."
Horatio suddenly smirked and glanced at Winston who was unable to hide the shock on his face.
"See Winnie, I told you that we'd be better off running these things," The Deltic advised the Southern engine amused. "I'd like to go back to Australia with you two if you don't mind. See how things should be 'properly' run."
"Now, now hold on just a minute!" Winston spluttered, trying to find his words. "The Golden Circle has been doing a good job-"
"No, it fucking hasn't!" Horatio immediately scowled at the Battle of Britain class, his voice rising as he got angrier. "It's a pissing contest to see who has the most favour! All you wardens sitting up their on your high tracks, hiding the truth of sentient engines from everyone, even ourselves! And look where it's gotten us! You steamies are still up in pistons about class systems and who's got the biggest tender! Just look at the Great Western! It's still working on Victorian values! Only a select handful of engines even know their souls can be free and not imprisoned to the tracks! It's pathetic! It's cruel even! It's been over 100 years and you haven't changed a single thing! Engines should be free, they should be able to take their destiny into their own hands!"
Grey and Gold looked uncomfortable but Pendennis Castle and Bittern were now glaring at Winston.
"So you're telling me, this entire time we could have had the ability to escape, to actually save ourselves to some degree?" Bittern thundered his voice low and a deep rumble.
It was very rare that the loud, joyous Bittern emulated his more serious or threatening brothers like Sir Nigel and Mallard, but in this instance, Winston was now staring at Bittern with worry.
"Bittern, I-"
"I had to watch Scotsman almost tear himself apart in grief because he could do nothing to save his brothers and sisters!" Bittern exploded in anger, his eyes filled with righteous rage. "I had to watch so many engines get taken to the furnace! We all did! Are you saying that we could have stood up for ourselves? We could have actually stopped the humans from treating us like nothing more than tools?!"
"Bittern-"
"No! I'm not hearing it from you! All the engines in the UK could have had the ability to be free and experience life like a human and yet you took that from us! Forced us to be nothing but obedient pets to the humans!" Bittern bellowed furiously, his frames shaking with rage and a look of disgust on his face.
Pendennis sat beside him, his expression pained, his eyes filled with fury.
"I- We could not tell anyone, our Wardens, the humans forbid us from doing so. If people knew about Gold Dust then the engines would fight over it," Winston weakly gave, his voice small and his frames sunk on his wheels in shame. "We wanted to tell others, believe me, we did-"
"No," Pendennis snapped coldly as he looked from Winston to Truro's empty engine. "The Golden Circle didn't want to tell anyone because you didn't want to lose your power over the UK engines. You didn't want people to steal your precious Gold Dust so you kept everyone in the dark! Look at what happened with Ms Parsons! Look at Cain Dover! They all wanted power or money and didn't care about us!"
Silence.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Pendennis sneered at the now silent Winston who refused to look at either Pendennis or Winston. "Because who was in charge of the Golden Circle but that sneaky horrid witch and her son! Two people who treated engines as nothing more than objects! They kept all the information to themselves and refused to let anyone else know!"
"Pendennis, I'm truly sorry-"
"Shut up!" Pedennis snarled angrily. "I've heard enough!"
The Castle glanced at Bittern who was still shaking in anger, tears of pain forming in his eyes.
"Come on Bluebird, let's get out of here," Pendennis muttered, barely able to contain the hatred in his voice. The Blue A4 did not respond, only gave a wheesh of steam in agreement and the two engines departed without another word or look at the Deltic or Bullied.
The two Australian engines sat there for an awkwardly agonising moment that lasted for almost before Grey spoke.
"Ah yeah, so we're just going to… leave," she awkwardly added with a glance at her diesel companion. "Goodbye."
Horatio and Winston were left in silence, unable to look at each other.
"If you're named Blue Peter, why aren't you Blue?" Came the highly strung voice of the Blue Bagnall Tank 3061 with the nameplate Empress.
Blue Peter looked over through heavy eyelids at the little engine as Mayflower was uncoupled from him.
"Oh don't be mean to him, Empress!" The little GNR Saddle-Tank chided the Bagnall. The old tank engine gave him a sympathetic smile. "He looks like he's had a tiring day."
Blue Peter took more offence to that than he did the Empress's comment. He was an A2 Peppercorn, he did not get tired after a trip. He was in pain, not tired.
"I'm fine," Blue Peter grumbled, annoyed. "I've just… been through some things recently."
"You all should leave him be," came the authoritative and loud voice of what should have been attached to a larger engine but instead, a small red saddle tank appeared to the owner. They approached him and although he towered over the little engine, he felt extremely small in the face of its confident aura. "Hello Blue Peter, I am Jessie."
Blue Peter stared down at her, his old habits wanting to proclaim his dominance but the rational side of his mind said otherwise.
"It is nice to meet you," Blue Peter smiled a small smile down at her and Jessie grinned brightly.
"Now, I'm not sure what Mayflower has told you about our railway but here we are all equal," Jessie proclaimed. "We all treat each other with respect no matter what type of fuel drives our motion nor what size we are. Whatever issues you have on other railways, you do not bring it to ours. I trust that you are mature enough to respect that, Blue Peter."
The Peppercorn inclined towards her with genuine respect. This tank engine held herself well and he could see why Mayflower liked her. He could always respect an engine who held themself with such esteem. It was what enamoured him to that King Class, his dearest Eurion.
"I understand, Jessie," He assured her. "But for now, I would like to rest and be left alone. I mean no offence but these past few days have been… taxing on me."
Morgan looked like he was going to complain but a glare from Jessie made him hold his tongue.
"I'm certain they have, but please bear with us, the volunteers would like to officially welcome you here," Jessie pleaded with him. "It would be rude to deny them, they are the ones who graciously agreed to give you passage here."
Well, Blue Peter couldn't argue with that, no matter how annoyed or irritated he was, he always liked to keep up appearances. He never wanted to seem ungrateful to humans even though they were the cause of most of his pain.
"Of course," Blue Peter smiled, hiding the fact that he really did not want to do anything but hide away and lick his wounds. "I would love to meet and greet the railway staff."
Morgan, Empress and Ceobahn gave a chorus of approval at his words. However, Blue Peter noticed Jessie and Mayflower glance at each other, their expressions unreadable. Perhaps his composure was slipping. He had always been good at hiding what ailed him. So why was he failing now?
"You have my thanks, Blue Peter," Jessie eventually exclaimed gratefully. "I know it's not easy for you in these trying times, so I really do appreciate it."
All Blue Peter could do was smile and watch as the smaller engines gathered around Mayflower excitedly, demanding that she tell them 'all the goss'.
Blue Peter did not care for it. He hated it when the other engines decided to go off and talk about other people's drama. It was none of their nor their friends' business. Maybe it was because he had been on the other side of it for as long as he could remember.
His attention turned elsewhere, deciding to cast his gaze over the fields to watch a hawk or falcon riding the winds in search of its next meal. He watched it for a while. There was something familiar about it.
He wanted the warm reassuring presence of Saint Mungo back. He wanted- no, needed him right now. The oppressing cold and the pain that constantly sat in his boiler was getting to him now, more than it had ever done. He suspected, hoped, it was just residual stress from Evening Star and not something else.
Tornado, however, she probably needed her brother more. But Tornado had Flying Scotsman, she had Sir Nigel and the rest of the remaining LNER engine wrapped around her little finger, figuratively speaking.
Blue Peter had only had King George, who he had driven away with his relentless pursuit of Saint Mungo. After accepting Tornado he realised just how alone he was.
The pain was getting worse, the cold, he was drowning in the cold creeping over his boiler. He wanted it to stop. He wanted Eurion. He-
"Blue Peter, are you okay?" Mayflower's voice called to him, disrupting his spiralling descent into his own thoughts. He looked up and saw the other engines staring at him.
"I- what?" He croaked confused.
"Are you okay?" Mayflower repeated, rolling herself forward to approach him. "You're crying."
It was then that Blue Peter realised that the trails of tears were burning down his face and that his entire engine was trembling, the pain burning across his footboards and the ice curling around his boiler like a vice.
He was used to pain. He had lived with it since his accident, but it had never been this fierce, this tenacious and terrible. He had only felt such pain when his front had disintegrated and his boiler only hung onto him in rivets. Only when he had been desperate and he had sought out relief to his wretched existence.
His tussle with Evening Star had done something to him, whether physically or mentally he had no idea but it was only now rearing its ugly head. If it was not that then he feared what it truly was.
The hawk he had been watching was closer now, perched on the top of one of the sheds, he could see it wasn't a hawk but a Raven. A Raven that didn't look quite right… It looked off. It looked like- no. It couldn't be.
It was staring at him, beady eyes glaring right into his very soul and he felt a chill run through his boiler.
'It can't be….'
Blue Peter shook his frames slightly and tore his eyes away from the bird. Was the past finally catching up with him?
His thoughts shifted to Tornado, how she had delayed and denied there had been a problem with her until it was too late. She could have died in the accident. Was the same going to happen to him?
Just what had he done? Blue Peter didn't understand. Crovan's Gate had found nothing wrong. There was nothing physically wrong with him, yet, why was he in pain?
'You know why.'
"Blue Peter?" Mayflower's voice tore him once again from his thoughts and he found her, in front of him, concern on her face. "What's wrong? Something is wrong, please tell us so we can help you."
"I-" Blue Peter gazed at her for a moment, then found himself unable to look her in the eye and dropped his gaze as he continued. "I am in pain. I don't- I was fine when I left Sodor- I don't know what's wrong with me! Crovan's Gate said that I probably needed an overhaul soon but-"
"No, it's alright, you don't have to make excuses for being in pain," Mayflower quickly assured him. "Don't ever feel sorry for being sick, this isn't the 50s or 60s anymore, you won't get scrapped just because you've got a rivet wrong."
"You can take our sheds!" The Empress piped up quickly. "We'll call your team and get you seen as soon as possible!"
The other engines made noises of agreement, their expressions ones of concern and compassion, not like the sneering Royal engines or the other LNER engines mocking his crippled form.
He didn't understand. Why were they being nice, he didn't deserve their sympathy, their compassion.
Not after what he had attached to himself, all those years ago. He had been desperate, he had been so very desperate. It was decades ago, he thought it had disappeared.
It made sense now, how Saint Mungo was able to commune with him. Why Saint Mungo had suddenly abandoned him. Something dark and horrifying began beating itself out of his boiler, filling his tubes with a cloud of suffocating, agonising smoke. It was burning him in ways it should not.
Black Smoke.
The substance he had woven into his frames in desperation. He could feel it consuming him. His very being and now it was scratching its way out of him, trying to crack him open like an egg and unleash itself into the innocent engines around him.
"Why are you being nice to me?" The Peppercorn choked out quietly trying to back away from Mayflower but only found himself ramming into the buffers behind him. "Don't you know what I've done? To Tornado? To-"
'To myself…'
"We do not judge an engine by their past here," Jessie quickly interjected as she rolled forward to address him. "Whatever you've done, it does not come here. We judge you as you arrive and if you are in pain and need help, we will grant it."
Blue Peter stared at them, though the pain running through his entire body made it increasingly hard to concentrate. His thoughts drifted to Tornado. To her brother. To Eurion.
Darkness began to creep into his vision as he felt himself begin to pass out from the pain he was in. He felt his right eye suddenly lose vision and his faceplate gave a sickening crack.
Blue Peter screamed as something terrible, dark and unforgiving was birthed through the cracks in his engine. The pain, hatred and years upon years of isolation and anguish flooded out of him. The engines around him were now shrieking and terrified, desperate to get away from him.
"Help me," he heard himself plead to the strange engines he had only just met and he felt himself splinter and fall apart into the abyss. The dark, vile substance that consumed him, threatened to consume this perfect little railway.
He saw Mayflower's face frozen in horror and he felt shame and terror that someone so sweet was about to be subject to his torment.
Blue Peter felt himself fall. Fall into the world in between, into the judgement of that little Narrow Gauge engine that he had met so long ago after his accident.
In the distance, he heard Mayflower let out a bloodcurdling scream and it broke his soul asunder.
"Oh the Duck is back, how unfortunate," came the sneering voice of Lode Star and Mallard rolled his eyes, not even bothering to dignify the Great Western with a look towards her. Finally, the Great Western had given him the time of day now that Hamilton had taken a break from her incessant talking.
"It is unfortunate," Mallard agreed. "Upon my return, I see another one of those non-distinct Great Westerners defiling the museum with the same old garbage."
"How dare you!" Lode Star shrieked, "At the very least we were standardised unlike you ridiculous money pit Gresley's! Money wasn't the only thing the LNER lacked, they also were devoid of common sense!"
"Better a money pit than to be boring and constantly confused for a Hall class," Mallard muttered, completely bored of the Star's drivel.
Beside him, he could practically hear Hamilton grinning. No one but the mighty Mallard could put other engines in their place after all. It was a talent of his. That and Hamilton had a taste for other drama. It was like coal to her. Her and that ridiculous purple engine from the south.
Hamilton had missed him, he could tell. At least someone did. That had to account for something, he supposed. He refused to admit it, but he had missed her too.
Lode Star was shrieking at him once again but he ignored her. He had no time for the tantrum of a Great Western. He'd had quite enough of Great Westerns and their idiotic partners for one night.
Mallard closed his eyes and sighed wistfully. He could perhaps try to sleep, and consider what his next plan was. He had to prove himself to Gadwall, he knew that but he could feel an age of weary in his soul. He needed to sleep.
Much to his dismay, he would not get a reprieve as he felt the warmth of Gold Dust on his face and the rush of another engine appearing before them.
"The Lady must be busy tonight," Hamilton commented wryly and Mallard gave a long frustrated sigh and reluctantly opened his eyes. If this was Flying Scotsman, he might try to kill him, consequences be damned.
To his delight or dismay, he wasn't sure which, it was not the other famous Gresley but a GWR King Class that appeared next to Lode Star. A golden bell perched above its buffer shone brightly.
King George V.
Mallard hadn't interacted much with this particular engine, but he had encountered members of his class before. Their ego and arrogance rivalled his own which was impressive in itself. He never thought much of them however, certainly their tractive capacity was far greater than most but they all tended to be cowards or precious about their paintwork.
Unlike Mallard who liked to work. However, the fact he had stood for so long on his plinth might have had something to do with that. Daresay who would even be willing to pull trucks again if his wheels could turn.
Mallard snorted inwardly. That would never happen again, he knew that better than anyone.
"Seren, this is serious!" King George's voice suddenly barked loudly, drawing Mallard's attention away from his thoughts. He and Hamilton glanced at each other before their attention was drawn to the now furious-looking King Class.
"The Twin Kings have always been a pair of nuisances! King Edward II is not exempt from punishment-"
"Rhion has Cold Iron Sleep," King George spat, barely held contempt in his voice. "Ms Parsons infected him with no remorse. No reason at all! The last I saw him, he-."
King George V looked away from Lode Star, barely able to hold the tears from spilling out of his eyes. His frames trembled and he was shaken. Lode Star immediately dropped her prudish demeanour and her expression became one of concern.
"My brother, he's- he's given up, I can see it in his eyes," King George quavered, his voice on the verge of tears. "I- there's nothing we can do, Truro's at the Gresley's manor, he looked him over, and he's afraid we can't do anything."
"Oh Eurion, I'm so sorry," Lode Star whispered, all pretences and faux bravado gone. It was rare for the usually so stubborn and prideful Star class to show even a hint of vulnerability but this was a very distressing situation.
To Mallard's surprise, Hamilton felt the need to inject herself into the affairs of the Great Westerns for once.
"Can a Golden Warden not heal him?" She inquired, her voice sombre. "I would gladly try to assist. Cold Iron Sleep is no fate for an engine, no matter how bad their behaviour has been."
Lode Star looked over to her while the King Class stared at the ground in despair.
"It has been attempted many times over the years, you know this Hamilton," Lode Star pointed out to the large red engine. "All attempts have failed and if King Edward II has already given up then… It is a lost cause. An engine that has given up and is in too much pain, cannot be saved."
Hamilton looked like she was about to argue with the Star class but her expression became despondent and she looked away from them. A tense and painful silence descended upon the small group of engines, the hustle and bustle of other engines in the museum becoming muted and distant.
Mallard watched quietly, thoughts ticking over in his mind. Mallard did not have a Golden Soul, no. That was very much clear to him from the start. He would be quite useless in trying to evoke whatever deity was connected to it.
But he was mysteriously connected to the Black Smoke, he could speak to Proteus, who he was now starting to realise was something a bit more powerful and dangerous than just the memory of a long dead narrow gauge engine. If the thing had ever been an engine in the first place.
Loud squawking distracted his train of thought and he looked up at the skylight that shone above his place in the museum.
A flock of ravens sat perched around said skylight and were making a racket, screeching and drumming their beaks loudly against the roof.
They were trying to get his attention. Trying to tell him something. Get him to act.
Quickly, Mallard glanced at Lode Star, King George and Hamilton. Despite the deafening din the 'birds' were making, they did not react. It was almost as if he was the only one who could hear them.
The Black Smoke that sat within him writhed, uncoiling itself like a huge python sitting at the bottom of his boiler. Its intent was clear, it wanted to feed.
It wanted to feed on pain… Sir Gresley… the night with Gadwall after his accident.
Things were starting to make sense now.
The other three engines, consumed by their grief, did not even notice Mallard disappear, engine and all until the Blue engine was long gone.
Greetings. I have returned and I bring... anxiety.