Chapter 8: Christmas Ham

"Why do I have to be the eyes?"

"Because you're the only one with a clear view of the track, James!" Charlie told him with a chuckle.

"You had no problem with warning us about the signal some miles back," Edward pointed out. Considering he was doing the bulk of the work—scratch that. All the work—the least James could do was watch the track ahead for obstructions, and warn them, if there should be one. "Keep an eye out for snow drifts. Thomas and I cleared the lines, but the wind might've sent the snow flying back onto the tracks."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it," James muttered back. "Though if that were really going to be a problem, they should've given us a plow."

"Easy for you to say. It's not as if you'd feel the extra weight. Right, Edward?"

Somewhere between pain, strain, and boredom, Edward couldn't conjure a polite response. He did, however, notice how his driver continued to speak to both him and James with patience and good humor.

It wasn't long before the driver noticed Edward had gone particularly quiet. It wasn't the usual silence that occurred when the engine was working contentedly. He leaned out of the cab door. "Holding up alright, Ed?"

"Huh?—oh!" The question snapped him out of his trance. "Me? I'm fine."

"Funny you should be asking such a question," said Edward's fireman. After deciding the firebox was good for the moment, he stood up and gave the driver a look over. "You've been trying to light that same, stupid stick for seven miles. Lighter broken?" He brushed up the brim of his cap with the back of his hand. "Or is something on the mind?"

Charlie frowned, pulling his arm inside the cab, snapping his steel lighter shut and stuffing it and the square box back into his pocket. His hands were too cold to hold onto a cigarette anyway. "I keep thinking about that radio report. We only caught the jist of it, and yet it's bothering me. Whoever wanted to interview Topham was determined to paint him in a good light. Can't help but wonder if the Gods are upset."

The fireman snorted. "What are you on about?"

"It's just that it only seemed to exist to mention rails being made up mostly of steam locos. I wonder if it was meant to rally strong feelings about it."

"For it, you mean?" Edward's fireman crouched on the floor, resting his folded arms on the handle of his shovel. "I did wonder why Sir Topham wants to go through with this phony Christmas Trains gubbins, if he wants nuttin' to do with mainland rails and their ways of doin' things? You don't suppose he's trying to… kiss up to them somehow, do you? Get a monkey off his back?"

"That's what I'm wondering."

"Why the act of conformity all the sudden?"

"More like…" Charlie said quietly, as gaze flicked from the track ahead, to his fireman. "... what did he do to put the monkey on his back in the first place?"

Edward felt dizzy. Thomas had called all the engines to Tidmouth about that report so excitedly, and then seemed perturbed to tell a tardy Edward what the report had actually been like. Politics were an unpleasant subject of conversation, and Edward was sort of grateful he'd shown up late. Otherwise, he might've been asked for his assessment of it.

Thank God he wasn't. Edward was afraid such a situation might reveal he wasn't really all that smart. He was aware, however, that on a more government regulated railway, many of the antiquated engines that made up his friend group might have been forced to retire. Himself? Without a shadow of a doubt would have been replaced years ago. If he wasn't right here, right now, he wouldn't be anywhere.

Charlie had worked with Edward for nearly as long as he'd lived on the island. He was a record holder, being the sole driver of the same engine for so long. Skills fade without practice, and piloting a locomotive was no exception. Charlie remained as fit as he was thirty years ago, aside from a worrisome cough that reared up every now and again.

After all this time, the driver was as reliable as ever. Strong and witty, though he never flexed either or. Edward never felt compelled to override his driver's command, and not once had Charlie given him a reason to want to do so. The engine was mature and obedient, and the driver was easy going and flexible. And as such, the pair were inseparable.

Still, their minds and moods weren't linked. What was doing a rather large favor on Edward's part was just another job for Charlie. Although the greater part of Edward was glad James' gripes bounced right off of his driver, part of him wished they didn't. He was feeling lonely in his frustration.

On cue, a familiar groan brought Edward to the surface. He took the liberty of speaking to the other engine for the humans. "James, I'm sorry, but that really doesn't help anything right now."

"I can't help it! It's so boring out here! I can't tell if I've seen the same tree go by three times already, or I'm just going mad!"

"At least you're paying attention to the track." James wasn't wrong, though. He wanted to stay positive. But Edward felt in the fire of his core that if things continued as they were, one of them would go mad before the evening was over.
Of course this was everything James hated. Country tracks were largely for freight and goods. Whereas he himself could see the beauty in whatever scenery was laid out before him, if it were up to James, he'd never work off of the main lines. He liked people. He liked engines. He liked talking. And he loved to show off, even if his only audience were the toads in the river leaving the goods yard.

A nice game like I Spy might have taken the edge off. But it was out of the question, since the only identifiable shapes were the black silhouettes of wild trees against the navy colored sky. Not to mention Edward's vision was almost entirely obstructed by the shape of James' tender.

Still, they needed something to do to pass the time, and take the edge off. "I've got an idea," Edward said at last. "How about a prayer?"
James made a funny face before asking: "Why?"

"Well, it is Christmas Eve. In some parts of the world, people attend mass at midnight."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," Charlie said. He could use the distraction himself. "Besides, it might benefit us to look on the bright side of this situation. Consider our blessings."

"I can think of a dozen of them," James said. "Starting with the fact that Yetis can't swim across large bodies of water."

"Not that we know of," corrected Edward's fireman.
"Come now, James." Charlie began scolding him, though gently. It wasn't his engine, after all. "You wanted something to do."

"Alright! Here we go." James squeezed his eyes shut. "Lord in heaven, thanks for not recalling my soul when I clapped my buffers with the old signalman's tower."

"Interesting way of starting…. Here, let me:" Edward cleared his throat, and prepared his voice for a tone befitting the respect he felt the prayer deserved. "Our Father, who art in heaven… come on, James, you remember how this one goes, don't you?"

"I do," James groaned. "Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...

Edward continued, and the two engines began to say the words together. "Thy kingdom come...

"Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

"Give us this day our daily coal,

"and forgive us our trespasses,

"as we forgive those who trespass against us…"

"Or, you know. Don't," muttered James, thinking of Spencer.

"… and lead us not into temptation…"

"Or brick walls."

Edward sighed in defeat. "Forget it. Let's just… pray in silence."

"Sure thing," James replied neutrally, making it clear to Edward that he would do no such thing.
Edward felt his face grow hotter. He was embarrassed to have shared this part of him with James. So why had he tried? What was he thinking?

Then again, it's not like James has any reservations about talking his funnel off about the things he likes.

Or so Edward thought, until tonight. "New idea," Charlie stepped up to the plate. "Let's talk about… ambitions?"

"Huh?" In the decades they worked as a team, the topic had never come up between Ed and his crew.

"Why not? We may get on our knees every night and ask the Good Lord for the things we want. But a man knows he has to put in the elbow grease if he really wants to achieve those dreams. I believe all four of us blokes have aspirations. I myself want front row tickets to the World Cup someday. Tell me, boys," he said. "What do you want, in this whole wide world, more than anything?"

"Right now? A pair of wool socks, and a warm set of curves to keep me warm," said the fireman. "But I guess… in the long run… I'd like to retire before I reach sixty. Buy a big boat, the finest pole a man could find, and go fishing. Float on the waters all day, fall asleep in a warm bed in the county at night. And if I've earned the right… I want someone to share the sheets with, in those last years."

"Blimey, man." Charlie hadn't expected to be moved like this. "You have the whole thing planned out."

"Hey. You asked." The fireman shrugged. He was smiling. But he wouldn't look at Charlie. He quickly ran a finger against his eye when he thought no one was looking.

"What about you two? James? Eddie?"

"Uh…" Edward couldn't form the thought. Charlie wasn't just speaking to him and James, but the fireman, too. It was an honor for an engine just to be spoken to like this, grouped in with humans. He thought he knew Charlie well enough that nothing he did could surprise him, but this was incredibly validating.

Nobody had ever asked Edward what he aspired for. Aspirations were for kids. Those who had their whole lives ahead of them. Not weak, old pack mules who'd already far outlived their planned lifespan.

He was so thrown by the question that it took him a moment to process the surprise of James, deciding to share. "I've… got one."

"You've got an aspiration, James?" Even Edward's driver sounded impressed. "Well, go on, then! Don't leave us hanging!"

"Alright!" He let out a tense breath. "Well… I do enjoy the island. And my friends… if I can even still call them my friends…"

Edward raised a brow.

"... But if I could have one thing in the entire world, not including the ability to hang onto my friends… I guess I'd like to travel."

"You?" Edward couldn't hide his surprise if his life depended on it.

"Don't get me wrong. I like Sodor as a home just fine and all. Lovely place, truly. But I want to see the world! I want to meet as many new engines as I can! See the sights!"

"But where to?"

"Paris, of course!"

"Paris? Paris, France?"

"Yes, Polly Parrot." James rolled his eyes. "Paris, France."

"But… why?"

"Why? Who wouldn't? I want to be immersed in it all! See the city life! The coats and suits on the people walking down the streets, the boots! And at night, see the city twinkle. And can you imagine how it must look this time of year? Such grandeur would make Knapford look like a luncheonette stand, even tonight!"

Edward chewed on all these thoughts quietly. This was probably some of the most thoughtful conversation he'd gotten from his junior in decades, and he didn't take it for granted. It made sense that James would have a dream of this magnitude, granted they were far fetched. But he'd never thought of James as one to have a heart for travel. He was almost ashamed of himself for not knowing this about him.

No wonder he was so crushed about not getting to pull the Christmas train. The decorations at Knapford, lit up at night, being at the center of attention. The hoopla, the fashion, the romance… It was as close to Paris as Sodor could get!

But James wasn't done yet. "But that's not the main reason I want to go," he explained. "Since I was first built, one of my goals in life is flying by the city on historic Parisian rails, and seeing the Eiffel tower, with my own eyes."

"But why that?"

"Well, think about it. It's old—older than we are. It's big, it's handsome, and it's even functional! My original driver told me that there is an elevator that will take you to the top! You don't get that with Stonehenge or Niagara falls."

"Better start thinking about losing some weight so you can ride it," joked the fireman.

James didn't elaborate further, but Edward supposed James had a kinship to the iconic building. Like James, the tower was pretty and purposeful, with a top that seemed to scrape the sky—one of few landmarks in the world that was almost as tall as his ego. But in terms of functionality, at least the Eiffel Tower had a lift to the top.

"That's not a bad dream, boy!" Charlie said. "Why, I'll be. James has ambition."

Edward was stone quiet. James… has a dream. The red rocket who lived his life for today actually had plans for tomorrow. How he was going to accomplish them was still a big question mark, but…

To see James being so enthusiastic, so passionate, about anything, was… well. Lovely.

Not that it would last.

While the prestigious Christmas trains left the main line heading south towards the bay, the double-header bound the Steam Works kept on east, getting further away from civilization than ever.

The only light to help the engines on their journey came from James' lamp iron—which, thanks to the glass lamp easily switched out with a powerful electric torch, still worked.

Relatively so, anyway. It was turned on by Edward's fireman before they left Wellsworth, and flickered off and on again every time they encountered a bump. It would have to do until they reached The Works. There wasn't a spare on hand, nor any torches to speak of.

While Edward's lamp worked fine, its beam was blocked by James' flatbed. And most of Edward's vision was eclipsed behind James' tender—would a big butt joke be so fitting here, if not for the fact that the engines were the same size.

There was only one other source of light, albeit not a sight for sore eyes. When the dark clouds finally parted, they gave way to a great, white sphere in the sky.

A full moon.

This particular moon was so big, it seemed like it was close enough for earthlings to touch. Children across the island might have been pleased to discover that Father Christmas would have sufficient light from which to guide his sled across the skies—

"James? Are you alright?" Edward broke the silence. "James? Aw, Come on, don't tell me you fell asleep—!"
"Stop, Edward."

"I'm just only trying to help!"

"Not that!" James snapped. His eyes were not on their forebodingly close moon, but earth before them. "Ease on the breaks. Now."

"We can't stop every time you're in pain."

"I'm not! There's something… " his eyes narrowed, trying to put words to what he was seeing. "Something down the line, right in our path!"

"Surely it's just another snow pile," Charlie suggested. "Hopefully it's small enough for us to push through."

"It's not snow!" James protested. Although from this distance, he had no idea what it was. It was dark, and low to the ground, but after hours of watching the same tracks come and disappear beneath him, he was sure of it. Before the silver bands of the tracks' highlights disappeared into the black of the horizon, there sat a round shape, low to the ground. James suddenly cursed himself for causing his accident. If he just had a little more trust in him, maybe they'd listen to him.

As they crept closer and closer to the dark figure, James' eyes grew bigger. The panic moved to his voice, now. "No, really! There's something on the track!"

"There's nothing out here for miles! This is the country!" Edward was too afraid to acknowledge the idea. Yeah yeah, the engine who cried obstruction. The annoyance made him chug even faster as his annoyance climbed. "And we're not camping out here for the night!"

"Edward, seriously! Stop!" Couldn't Edward hear the desperation in his voice? "There's—"

The lamp light was coming up on the obstruction fast.

Pink skin and low to the ground, James saw it move. It was alive.
Horrors.

"HUMAN ON TRACK!" James blew his whistle as long, and as loud as he could. His scream ripped from his throat with a desperation unlike he'd ever felt before. "STOOOOOOOP!"

The sounds of Edward's brakes screeching coroused with the horrendous squeal of a living creature, cutting through the stillness of the country. But by then, it was too late. Something hard and heavy smacked into James' front end.

In the cab, Edward's fireman braced himself. Charlie wheezed, unusually veiny hands gripping Edward's break. He shuttered to let go. His heart dropped to his stomach, the unspeakable thought already entered his mind. After decades of perfect, eventless service—
The force of the impact knocked James' flatbed to the side of the track. Edward rocked forward, this time on his own power, hovering millimeters over the track, and collapsed with thundering finality.

It took a moment for everyone to remember where they were.

Panting, Edward was the first to speak. "WHAT? Who—what is it? James?"

James' mouth hung open in shock. Now up close, their path's obstruction was as plain as day. In the light of his makeshift lamp, James identified the figure as not a human, but a country creature he was shamefully familiar with, thanks to his freight work. "It's a… it's a pig!"

"A what?"

As soon as he got his bearings, Charlie hopped from the cab. "Piglet, you mean."

"You're kidding!" It sounded as if Edward wouldn't even believe it if his driver hadn't told him himself.

Charlie tipped his cap at the creature, sighing in relief. He pulled off his cap and rested it against his heart. "Well, I'll be! This lil' fellow nearly gave us all coronary attacks."

"Nearly?" James eyed the scraped remains of the massive wooden crate, the forsaken object that had just ruined their trek been fittingly smashed to pieces. A mess of golden hay littered the ground, on the rails, and under and around the wheels of the flatbed. Wet strands even wrapped themselves around his buffers. One came flying up to stick to his nose. "PHAW! Off! Off!" He blew with his breath until the strand of gross pig bedding unstick itself from his face. "If its crate hadn't pushed the flatbed's wheels off the tracks, it'd have turned into a ham steak!"

"But where on earth did he come from?" wondered Edward. "What's it doing out here all alone?"

"Maybe he fell off of someone's live load," suggested Edward's fireman, coming out to look at the scene himself. He bent down on one knee and gave the piglet a thoughtful look over. "Doesn't appear harmed at all. Heh! I'll wager he's just as shaken as we all are!"
"Sure," James said with an eye roll. "I'll believe that."

The piglet looked up at the two men with a focus almost implicative of civil intelligence. His squeal accompanied a frantic run from the scene of his box—his only means of shelter—being blown to bits by the train's impact. He was clear out of the way when James' flatbed had derailed, but for whatever reason, he did not run off into the dark of night. Instead, he stayed close to the scene of the action. "Bold little thing, he is," Charlie said. He joined the fireman in a kneel in the snow, and turned his hand upwards towards the pig. "Almost more dog than pig. C'mere, son. It's alright. Come out of the snow. That's right."

"Are we… sure it's a boy?" asked Edward thoughtfully.

"Oh, we're sure," the fireman told him, watching as Charlie picked him up in his arms.

"Oh, blimey!" the driver grunted, lifting the baby pig from the ground. "You're not as light as you look!"

"All the more reason to just turn it loose and let him go find its mother," said James. "Heh… I-Isn't it?"

"James, this pig fell off someone's train," Edward reminded him. "His mother probably isn't anywhere around!"

"Neither is anything else." Charlie wrapped the pig in his coat, while the fireman petted the white hairs on the top of his head. "We're the branch lines, and the next village isn't for miles."

"Wha—s-so that means…" James sputtered. "We-we're stuck out here?"

"Until we can get some help." Charlie stood up with the piglet in his arms. "We'll have to walk back into town and radio the sheds. See if they can't get a crane out here to put you back on the tracks."

"But that'll take hours!"

"It is rather cold out," Edward said.

Suddenly, everything went quiet. Edward never complained.

James' frown lines deepened, not that the other engine could see it.

"I'm sorry, boys," the fireman told them, wearing a sympathetic frown. "I'm just glad you two aren't more hurt than you already are."

How could that even be possible? thought James, his body thrown into a state of pure ache by this second derailment. "So, what? You're just gonna leave us here?"

"I'm afraid we don't have a choice."

"We'll be back as soon as possible," said Charlie. He turned to the fireman. "If we just follow the track—EUGH!"

A horrible squeal made the driver stop, only two steps away. At once, the calm and collected pig, who'd practically leaped into his grasp, had begun wrestling to get out. His little hooves dug into Charlie's sleeves and chest. The driver bit back a cuss as he thrust the creature away from his body. "What the—?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say I don't think he wants to leave," said the fireman. He rubbed his chin. "Peculiar."

"I've never heard of anything like it," Charlie said. "Come now—"

But the pig absolutely refused to be moved. He only calmed down when the men's feet stopped moving. After a painful scrape to the arm and more squealing in his ear than he could take, Charlie had no choice but to put the pig down before he accidentally dropped him. As soon as his hands were free, the piglet returned to the part of the track with broken pieces of wood and metal, and promptly sat down.

"Why would he want to be near the engines that nearly ran him over?" asked James. He began to sound less upset and more entertained at the curiosity of it all. He didn't know a lot about animals, but this was truly odd.

"They say that Christmas is a time of miracles… " Edward started, sounding hesitant: "... Maybe the piglet is some kind of sign."

"Of what? Our doom?"

"No. A sign of change." His voice grew confident. "Think about it: Farm animals are usually born in springtime. This pig is just a baby. Since when do you see a farm animal born in the winter?"

"Oh, please."

"No, he's got a point there, James," said the fireman.

"Obvious bias aside," said Edward's driver. For the first time that evening, Charlie sounded somewhat frustrated. Even James understood why: This derailment put the men out, too. "We have no choice but to leave this lil' fella here until we come back with a cage, or a box, or something to hold 'em, anyway."

James felt gutted. "You're leaving the pig here, too?!"

"We'll bring back food and water for him." Charlie pulled on his thin jacket. "Don't worry you two. It's not like he can harm you in any way."

"I can't leave your fire unattended, but I've smothered it until it's just embers," said the fireman, hopping out to look at Edward. "It'll burn out by morning. We'll be back before you know it!" The fireman patted Edward's side, and waved at James.

"Just hang on, you two." And free of the weight of the pig, Charlie and the fireman stretched their legs before practicing their best impression of train robbers. They sprinted up the track back towards the nearest town, doing their best not to slip on the ice and snow that leveled the cracks between the stones and sleepers.

"But… but…!" Just as he and Edward seemed to share a moment, James felt besides himself. His lips were bit by the cold, making his shout at them falter into a murmur. "Why would you go together?"

"Hey… hey… James, it's okay." Edward's voice was soft and soothing again. "They haven't abandoned us. They're going for help. My driver's done this for me before."

"What if they don't come back for us?"

"Of course they will! You heard Charlie! And besides, you're not alone out here. I'm right by your side. And I'm not going anywhere without you. I promise."

James turned teary eyes down, watching the pig sit on a small mound of hay, chewing on his hoof. "First, my buffer plate gets totalled, then we'll miss the party, and now we're both stuck out here in the cold, keeping ham on ice."

"Full moon out tonight!" called Marty from Emily's cab. "And no clouds."

"All the better for a swift, safe ride in the skies tonight," the acting Father Christmas proclaimed. "Oh ho ho!"

"Ho ho ho, dear," his wife corrected.

The air was cold, but the wind was mild tonight. "Mr. and Mrs. Claus" were warm between their tightly bundled clothes, behind the windshields of their sleighs, and the gentle warmth radiating from the boilers of the respective engines behind them.
As they crawled to a stop at a signal, David leaned out of the door to speak to Emily's driver. "What's say you, Marty? Got any parties to crash this summer?"

"Not me, lad," the senior declared. "I'll be pushing down freshly made maple syrup flapjacks come summer."

Right… Marty's due to retire in May.

Emily's driver was currently the oldest driver on the North Western Railway. He had silver, curly hair above his ears, his cap hiding the bald spot and on his head. Despite having passed an acceptable point of retirement on paper, he had carried himself with amplified energy the last ten years, so that the question may never be asked of him.

Marty's personality was quite different. Whereas the former believed abstinence and a strict lifestyle contributed to longevity, the latter believed patience, caring, and a good sense of humor would help him see as many years on Earth as God would allow him.

Emily had many different drivers in her life, and she couldn't pick a favorite if she tried. But they all left their mark on her. Including the one who told her the story of the Forest Green Queen. Often, she'd thought about telling what little she remembered about it to Marty and Kyle, but it seemed pointless. She doubted they'd heard of the story, lesser still that they could fill in the gaps for her. The story, the romance—it was such a girlish interest. And they were men.

She just didn't think they'd appreciate what it meant to her, either.

That wasn't to say she didn't care about them. She did, a great deal, in fact, which was going to make Marty's retirement and subsequent farewell all the harder. He and his wife were going to move to Canada to be closer to his oldest son when he finished. Who knows if she'd ever get to see him again? Maybe she could work up the nerve to broach the topic before he left.

The Mr. and Mrs. Claus trains had barely departed Knapford station, but already, an uneasy silence had fallen. Only when Marty had declared his observation of the skies had that silence broken.

Even though the engines' contempt for each other wasn't at its strongest, they still had no interest in speaking to each other.

With the people safely in the coaches and the bustling station behind them, the costumed engines soon became increasingly and uncomfortably aware of that silence. It was unusual for a pair of engines riding side by side to have no jovial conversation with one another. While peaceful moments of quiet between friends existed, this wasn't it. For Emily, the worst part of their fallout wasn't that Thomas had piled into her humiliation. It was that she felt like he might actually be right. Was she really ruining Christmas for everybody else?

She thought it was bad enough that everybody knew she liked Edward. Now the whole island knows Edward knows too. And she didn't know how to interpret his rejection of the romantic job as anything else but a rejection of her, too.

Ugh. Feelings. Feelings. Feelings. What had happened to her? The bullheaded lass who would throw herself between two of her fellow engines to rescue them both? Where was that Emily? Had love really gone and made her so soft in the wheels?

Bitch.

That curse. That… that had had a long time coming, hadn't it? It was what everyone was thinking… wasn't it?

The guilt Thomas was experiencing now begged to differ. He didn't want to think about what happened between him and Emily, but when he switched thoughts back to Mira, he felt worse. They no longer brought him joy, or gave him the sensation of flying he envied Harold and Jeremy for. The memories of spring fever kept redrawing themselves in his smoke box, each vision holding him back like added weight. There was no safe place to lay his mind.

It wasn't long before the mainline tracks merged into one, and it was pre-decided that the Mr. train was to lead the way, with Emily following right behind. This would be the way they traveled the rest of the way. Seemed to defeat the point of leaving side by side for aesthetic purposes, not that Thomas cared. He would keep a sizable distance between them if he could.

He sort of wished he was the following engine, as pulling the packed coaches was proving to be harder than he thought. His wheels felt heavy, his coupling rods strained, and his fire was weak. How could I accuse her of making this a miserable Christmas for everyone else? After I guilt tripped her about the smelter's yard, and rubbed my relationship with Mira in her face? He swallowed hard. He was just as sorry now for Emily as he was Edward for having to go through with the rejection.

He'd seen Emily angry, afraid, and even undignified. But he'd never, ever seen her cry. The sight awoke a sort of sensitivity for her that he didn't realize he had. How long had she been on the verge of a breakdown before their argument finished her off?
Even if he had the steam for it, the unavoidable nuisance of signals prevented Thomas from getting too far ahead. He rolled to a reluctant stop at Suddery, tense as he felt Emily slowly crawl up behind Clarabel.

This signal was up, meaning another engine would be passing on their left at any moment. Who it was, at this hour, on this day, neither had a clue. But to take precedence over a passenger train meant it had to be important.

It didn't take long to find out what it was, and Thomas couldn't believe the laugh that came flying from his mouth. "Henry!"

The year's last pull of the Flying Kipper, the slow, night freight train, full of fish up from the docks, and east to the mainland.

Thomas pretended to be indignant. "What's the big idea? Making my passengers wait!"

"Do I look like the signalman?"

"None as fat as you!"

"You say that? Looking like the fattest Christmas tree I ever saw? Hope you saved some ornaments for the rest of the island!" But Henry said it with a satisfied grin. For the Flying Kipper to still be treated with such importance after this many years was nothing to be ashamed about.

As usual, Henry pulled in front. Emily thought the train looked especially long tonight, with car after car trundling slowly passed her and Thomas. Even on a better day for him, it seemed impressive that Henry was pulling such a long train. They were all getting older, after all.

And then, Thomas knew why: At the very end of the train was a uniquely large tank engine, one who'd risen to become a supervising engine in his own region. He whistled excitedly as he saw the engines waiting on the right side track. "Thomas! Emily! Long time no see!"

"Arthur!" Thomas gave a quick 'toot' of his whistle, pleasantly surprised. "What are you doing out so late?"

"Extra fish trucks today! Henry asked if I'd lend a wheel!" As he drew closer, Arthur noticed the way Emily and Thomas sparkled and shined in their holiday outfitting. He whistled in approval. "Looking great, you two!"

"Wish I could say the same about you! You look like you just got spat out by Moby!"

"Annnnnd proud of it!" Arthur was funnel to footplate in slime. But as long as it came away with one good bath, Arthur couldn't care less. Arthur was a far cry from the humble engine he was when he first came to the island. A great deal wiser, but also louder. But the one thing that stayed the same was the infatuation with that gorgeous village, and the pride of his line that ran to it.

Not that he didn't need help from time to time, as Henry did tonight. No. 2 didn't mind being out so late, and he was used to fish. But he may or may not have regretted asking Arthur for help as, instead of whistling goodbye, the big tank engine took in a deep breath, and howled at the top of his voice. "Oooooo-wwwwwwwwwwww-oooooooooooooo…!"

The howl echoed into the night. An engine's voice could be heard for miles, if they tried hard enough. It was not as stunning to believe such an undignified, defiant noise came from an engine, but that it came specifically from Arthur?
Henry squeezed his eyes shut and waited it out patiently. "Oh, brother, there we go again."

But Thomas was positively tickled, intrigued in a way he desperately needed right now. Without a moment's hesitation, he sucked in his breath, and put all his emotion into the howl. "Aw-OOOOOO-oooooooooooooooooo!"

"Oh, my!" said Lady Hatt. She pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket and waved it at the other engine as what might be interpreted as a gesture of goodwill and safe travel. Though it was entirely possible she was just hoping the offensive train would pass by quickly.

Naturally, Thomas' fireman could not be left out of the fun. He stuck his head out of the cab and gave his own mighty howl into the still, bitter, winter night.

The passengers were a mixed bag. While some of the adults complained of headaches from this very unorthodox noise, the children were delighted. Some opened the coach windows to add their little howls to the chorus.

Matthew just shook his head. What was there to say? "I don't encourage this, you know!"

"I know you don't, Matthew!" the presiding Santa assured him. He turned in his sleigh to watch as his engine fireman settled back down. His patient stare behind the cotton white beard indicated that outburst wasn't 'nice-list' behavior. But the fact he turned back around with a bemused smile said it wasn't naughty enough to break character to do anything about it.

Emily said absolutely nothing until the trundle of the Kipper could no longer be heard, and the signal came down. "What was that?"

Thomas was still smiling when he chugged until motion. "It's just a greeting."

"That's a greeting, is it? Since when?"

"A year ago? Maybe two? Mighty Mac said he thought he saw a wolf up in the mountain—or at least Mighty did. Mac seemed to doubt it. So Mighty started teasing him by howling when they went out at night. The narrow gauge railway does this all the time. I guess the tradition trickled down here. It's fun! You just get this urge to howl at the top of your voice."

"You wouldn't believe that that noise he just made was heavily practiced," Annie told Emily. "But it is."

"Better watch it," Marty teased. "Or you'll attract wolves from the mountain."

"I think the wolves will find other things to do than chase down a pair of engines," said David.

"Oh yeah, like play poker around the cave fire?" Matthew didn't even look back up from the gauges as he asked.

"I don't know. Huddle in a cave." Thomas's fireman laid his shovel against the door and spun his pointer fingers 'round each other in the air. "Make little wolves."

"You don't say." Matthew's voice was as flat as paper. "You realize your idea of weekend fun is known well enough without pressing onto all of God's creatures, don't you? Howls are meant to claim territory and keep the pack together, Casanova."

David rested an elbow on the top of the door, grinning like the cat who caught a mouse. "Wolves howl to attract mates, too."

This chapter is where I begin to press a few more headcanons onto the characters. Being a novice when it comes to the absolute iceberg that is the series lore, I'm basing most of these again, off of the TV show.

Revisiting Season 2 for the first time, for whatever reason, I had this idea that Edward could be actually religious, whereas the other engines just refer to God in expression. Maybe it's because of his proximity and interactions with the Vicar? These characters were written by a reverend, so to put too much God into the story feels cliche. And yet, combined with the headcanon that Eddie is gay, I dunno, it makes for an interesting internal conflict.

I realize this is probably an unoriginal observation/headcanon, and while I don't mean to turn Edward into a Ned Flanders type, it does give me a better idea for how to explain his actions. And it also gives me ideas to build more friction between himself and James, as well as create an internal conflict that he suffers with silently. ;.; Mean-Scarlet-Deceiver has also been a massive help when it comes to understanding Edward and his origins, when I knew basically nothing about engine history. So thank you like times a million alright? ;.;

Edit: 2/16/23. Finished by December 2021? Hah. Maybe by 2023. Not what happens when you switch obsessions every six months, like what's been happening to me after 10 straight years of being hyper fixated on one thing. Anyway, sorry anybody who has been waiting to see if this gets an update. This chapter was just about done when I ran into writer's block and couldn't fill in the bullet points for what happens here. I picked up 8-10 hours overtime at work every week and have been trying to get back into writing and drawing again, the former having more progress. Helps to look at chapters I almost had finished. I was so hyped to get this bad boy done, too.

Edit: 2/26/25: Revised this chapter. I really rushed to get this one posted in 2023, and upon review, the writing was pretty weak. Not to mention I found a TON of typos I missed. Also, like the revisions with the radio report in chapter 1, it's important that the convo between Charlie and Edward's fireman works as concise foreshadowing, not just reinforcing the unease for the sake of reinforcing the unease.

Also I had to correct my many map layout errors. According to the Thomas Wiki, the Kipper train starts at Brendam Bay in the CGI years as opposed to Knapford yards as it was in the early seasons. In this instance, Arthur and Henry are starting down at Brendam, crossing the junction, then heading east to the mainland terminal, for as confusing as that is. Even though it makes way more sense that the train would go a straight line from Knapford to Vicarstown, I'm taking advantage of this inconsistency so that Arthur and Henry can look Emily and Thomas head-on as they pass, and so Thomas is surprised to find it was Henry and the kipper that took precedence over their coaches. Had Henry started off at Knapford, he'd probably have an inkling that the kipper was on the way.