Chapter Text
2001
It was barely spring on the Island of Sodor, and already the railway was being pushed to its limits. Congestion at other ports on the mainland had forced more ships into the port of Tidmouth (and, by extension, the ports of Knapford and Arlesburgh), and so the cargo trains got longer and more frequent.
At the same time, the Easter holidays coincided with a spate of unseasonably early warm weather, so the island was swarmed with people seeking sunny beaches and scenic getaways. Tourist class tickets were in especially high demand, and on some days the Limited and the Midday Express would strain under the weight of five, seven, or even ten third class coaches.
Fortunately, none of the engines were “down” for heavy maintenance, so while there wasn’t a scrabble to find available motive power, some… interesting schedule choices had to be made.
-
“Henry, it’s occurred to me that I haven’t seen you leave to pull the Kipper in some time.” Gordon said one morning.
“I haven’t been.” Henry yawned. “BoCo’s been taking it.”
“BoCo?”
“He said yes, don’t worry.” Henry said blearily.
“But why aren’t you-”
“Because I’m getting about two hours of sleep if I take the Kipper and the morning stopper train, and that’s if someone isn’t snoring loud enough to shake the dust off the ceiling beams.”
“I assure you that I do not-”
“S’not you, you daft thing. It’s James. I think there’s something wrong with him.”
--
Bear growled in displeasure. It was a deep, bass-y sound that seemed to echo through the ground, and Bill and Ben fled back to the clay pits in terror.
“-and if I catch you pulling that ever again, I’ll be the last thing you ever see!”
Edward looked on in awe. “Can you teach BoCo how to do that?”
--
Duck goggled. “I think I’ve seen it all now.”
Emma smiled meekly. “I know it’s a little unusual, but-”
“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing., Duck cut in graciously.
“Oh thanks.” She looked around. “I wish we didn’t have such a long train, we could probably come down here more often. It’s very pretty-”
“Oi!” cut in Mike, from the Small Railway’s tracks. “What’s wrong wit’ Oliver?”
Looking back, Duck could see Oliver trying and failing to hide from Pip, much to her chagrin.
“Don’t worry about it! He deserves it!” he said after a moment’s deliberation.
--
“Excuse me,” the big EWS diesel asked as he rolled into Crovan’s Gate with a line of flatbeds. “But is this a heritage railway or something? What are you doing here exactly? Are you on a railtour?”
“Railtour?” James sniffed. “I’m not a railtour! I'm late! Ta ta!”
And he steamed away in a hurry.
“That… didn’t answer my question.”
----
During this time, the Fat Controller was nowhere to be seen. Rumours flew between the coaches and trucks that he was out finding them another engine, but the engines themselves knew better.
“From where would he find a King class?”
“I don’t know! But there’s a biiiiig engine back there under a sheet, and a bunch of paint all labeled “GW Green” sitting around - more than Duck and Oliver could need put together!”
Well, some of them did.
“James, what now?” Henry groaned as he rolled into the shed. All he wanted to do was sleep,but it seemed like this wouldn’t happen soon.
“Look,” James spluttered, as Gordon and Bear stared with skepticism heavy on their brows. “All I know is: Engine, sheet, paint, and soon!”
“Soon?” Bear scoffed. “Soon what? Soon the hols will be over? Soon that summer will come? Show me some proof.”
“Oh for- what about that tarped over thingy that came in last Christmas? I saw it! That’s real!”
“That could be anything!” Gordon butted in. “There’s dozens of preserved lines that wish to make use of our facilities. For all we know, it is a King class that’s being restored for a museum!”
Henry suddenly felt very bemused. He had something to say now, but it needed to be timed perfectly.
He waited a few minutes, as Bear and Gordon continued grilling James over details that he couldn’t possibly have known. It was quite funny, but not as funny as what he had to say.
Finally, as his eyelids drooped and his fire died down to embers, he saw his chance. “Excuse me, if I may.” He yawned. Gordon and Bear stopped mid-sentence to look at him. From the startled look Gordon was hiding, it seemed like they’d forgotten he was there. “But I did overhear from the coaches on the Limited, who themselves overheard from the Fat Controller, that we are getting another engine - just not a King, but instead, a Castle!”
The reactions of the others were priceless, and held just long enough for him to close his eyes and fall happily to sleep!
-----
The next morning, The Fat Controller arrived as the sun rose. “Well, my ears have been burning all morning,” he said jovially. “So I assume you already know about the new engines,-”
“ EngineS?”
----
Last year - around Guy Fawkes Night
Stephen Hatt strode into his office to find his secretary holding the phone about three feet from her ear. Even at that distance, a great commotion was clearly audible.
“The National Railway Museum for you sir,” she said, straining to keep the phone as far away as possible. “Mind the volume when you answer.”
He gave her a wide berth and an askance look as he entered his office. Sitting down at his desk, he picked up the handset out of reflex, and quickly set it back down again. Carefully, he moved the phone to the other end of his desk, and pushed the speakerphone button with the corner of a particularly tall book.
Pandemonium burst forth from the device, and it took a moment for Stephen to pick out the sound of a human voice over what sounded like a fully-involved riot in the background. “Hello? Stephen? Are you there? It’s Andrew. Look, Stephen, I shan’t mince words with you, but we’ve made a terrible mistake and you’re the only person left who can fix it.”
Stephen, having recovered from being assaulted by a wave of sound, raised an eyebrow. “Fix it? I haven’t even been told what the problem is yet!”
“What? Can you speak up- oh for goodness’ sake!” There was a sound of a phone handset being put down, and then the sound of a door opening. The sounds of the riot became louder and more pronounced for a moment, and then there was a bellow of “QUIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEET!” that shook the phone.
The door then shut with a suddenly audible click, and then Andrew was back on the phone. “I’m terribly sorry about that.”
“What is happening over there?” Stephen asked, agog.
“My problem.” Andrew said, his tone hasty. He clearly expected the noise to start up again. “We’ve done some, uh. re-arranging of our collections you see, and two engines were put together who really have no business being anywhere near-”
“CITY OF TRURO I WILL KILL YOU TONIGHT.” A female voice came through loud and clear, to the point where the speakerphone vibrated halfway off the desk. “KEEP TALKING AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS.”
Stephen’s expression became slightly more fixed, and he stayed quiet for a long moment.
Andrew could feel his hesitation. “Please. We haven’t been able to open for three days. They’re on opposite sides of the building and they’re still at it. We have to get one of them off property.”
“Andrew…” Stephen said slowly. “You do recall that City of Truro had a most remarkable change of fortune some years ago, correct?”
“Stephen,” Andrew was close to begging. “Nobody will take him. We have to do something!”
“Your use of the word 'we' is very inspired, Andy.” Stephen was actually going to have to get up and walk around his desk to reach the phone.
“Wait! Wait!” His finger stopped inches from the “end call” button. “We’ll do anything! Name it!”
The Fat Controller smiled. “Anything, you say?”
The engine had been brought in under cover - both tarpaulin and darkness. Once it had been delivered, it had been immediately shunted away into a far corner of the works, away from prying eyes.
It was only then that the cover was removed, and the engine was revealed. A six-coupled Westerner, one of the great Castles of yore. She - and she most definitely was a she - was resplendent in Great Western Green and Gold, complete with all the little filigree marks that only a steam-era Swindon would apply. The paint had barely lost its luster, and it appeared from the outside as though this engine had been shunted through a portal in time.
The only part of her that showed any age at all was her face. Around her eyes and brows were laugh lines and wrinkles, a generation of smiles and conversation physically worked into the structure of her beauty.
She wasn’t smiling now, though. Frown lines cut into her face unnaturally, as she sent a venomous glare in the direction of the man standing by her pony truck.
“You were much more compliant back at the Science Museum,” he said, continuing an argument that had been ongoing since the moment he’d arrived in her line of sight.
“I was valued at the Science Museum,” she snapped, putting heavy weight on the word valued. “And then you deaccessioned me.”
“We were renovating!” He protested. “I would’ve thought that you would have loved being amongst your own kind. You were to be put in your own special museum!”
“I was in the Museum longer than I ever was on the rails, but you never cared enough to find out which setting I preferred, did you?” she hissed. “All you wanted was Neil’s job!”
“Sir Cossons stood down to run English Heritage and you know it.”
“All I know is that you were in there for less than a month before I was 'better suited for display in York!'”
“So you could be put in Swindon when the museum there was ready!”
“But I didn’t want to go to Swindon!” she screeched. “And in any event, This. Isn’t. Swindon! You and Andrew sold me rather than deal with Truro!”
“Truro is more…”
“Say that he’s more famous than me. Say it. That’s all Showboat Sharp ever cares about. Not that he’s totally unsuitable for public display, or that he-”
“He can keep his mouth shut when Andy tells him to, which is more than I can say about you!” He looked at her with disgust in his eyes. “You are a train! You are supposed to be seen and not heard, and no more!”
Whatever she was about to say in reply - and it would have been vicious - was cut off by the opening of a distant door. A top-hatted figure emerged from the outside, and made his way towards them.
“And,” the man whispered. “We didn’t sell you. I gave you away. It’s the only way the fat bastard would take this deal.”
There was a quiet “so glad to be valued...”, but it was lost in the arrival of the top hat wearing man. “Ah, Dr. Sharp, and Caerphilly Castle, I’m Stephen Hatt. Wonderful to meet you both in person.”
“Charmed.” Lied man and engine as one as a small crowd of workmen filed in behind the man.
Without prompting, the portly man clambered up onto Caerphilly’s bufferbeam to address the room. To her surprise, he did so gracefully, managing to not snag himself on her lamp irons, and his shoes were sturdy boots that gripped the metal properly. Maybe he wasn’t an officious fop after all?
“Well everyone,” he said, facing the group. “This is the surprise that I have been talking about. Without going into too many details, it seems as though the Science Museum’s recent renovations have left Caerphilly Castle without a home. Now, she was originally relocated to York, however a…” He paused diplomatically. “Certain engine caused much trouble for her there, and she has now made her way to us. I’d like to thank Dr. Sharp, the director of the Science Museum, for this kind contribution to our railway.”
“How much did you pay for ‘er?” came a voice from the front of the group of men. “Was it market value for once?” It was followed by poorly-suppressed laughter from the crowd.
Even with his face away from her, Caerphilly could see that Stephen’s body language turned slightly defensive, but before he could say anything, Dr. Lindsay Sharp PhD., head of the largest Science Museum in the United Kingdom, spoke up. “Actually, you have received her gratis.” he said with a smarmy smile. “We’re just glad to see her go to a good home! Hopefully you can put her on display someplace where the public can learn from her.”
Less-suppressed laughter met this. Stephen Hatt turned to look down at the other man. “Lindsay? Forgive me for disagreeing with you in public, but you do know that we intend to restore this engine to traffic, right?”
There was a not insignificant amount of spluttering and swearing. Dr. Sharp had absolutely not known that.
Caerphilly hadn’t known either. “You want me… to run again?” she said, not quite believing what she was hearing.
“Of course!” Stephen said kindly. “Gordon, our primary express engine, is coming up on his boiler ticket, so we need another express engine to fill the gap.” He paused seriously. “Did you think that we were going to stick you on a plinth somewhere?”
“I… I really did sir,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think that anyone wanted steam engines anymore.” She blinked. “Goodness, if I’d known, I would have insisted on having someone else come with me! Lord knows that Evening Star is never going to run under the current administration.”
Stephen missed the acid glare she sent Dr. Sharp’s way. “Oh, how funny it is that you mention that. We actually have a 9F that we purchased recently. You’ll be meeting her soon enough, her name is-”