Archive of Our Own

Tidmouth 1968

The shed was empty when BoCo had dropped off his trucks—except, on further inspection, the Great Western autotank. He was tucked deeply away in the corner, his fresh dark green paintwork blending into the shadows, as if he were accustomed to hide away and make himself invisible. But at BoCo's horn the new engine nearly lurched off the track.

BoCo stopped short, nose scarcely in the shed. "All right there?" he called over, wary. He'd never seen an engine nearly jump the track while at rest. "I can call someone for you, if you need."

"Y—Yeah." The autotank's voice shook, then steadied. "I mean, no. You just caught me by surprise is all. It's all right, come in. You're BoCo, aren't you? I'm Oliver," he added, unnecessarily. "I'm new here."

BoCo smiled, but didn't move yet. "I think everyone here knows you. You're the first steam engine this region has gotten in several years. We're all chuffed."

"I am too, believe me!" Oliver appeared to make a valiant attempt to return the smile, but it came out as a grimace. He seemed to realize it. "I meant it. Come on in."

"You're sort of... shaking."

This was putting it mildly. Oliver's face had gone ashy, his eyes still wide and round even though his brow was furrowed with the effort of trying to act normal. And then there were the tremors. His wheels were actually wobbling.

This was all the more impressive when you noticed his steam didn't tally with so much activity. It had gone still and transparent. All but drooping, like the tail of a cowed dog.

But there was nothing else cowed about Oliver, who looked all the more fierce and determined now that this had been pointed out. "Yeah, I know. I'm a bit of a mess today. Don't mind me. I know I'm safe here—and the others have told me all you North Western diesels are a good lot—I just can't seem to help it, though, when I hear your engines. That Hymek, Bear, he caught me by surprise the other day, and I've been a right basketcase ever since."

BoCo smiled faintly. "Bear's a bit loud."

"Don't I know it!" Oliver rolled his eyes, but at his own expense. "I leapt three feet in the air. It was a gas, really. If my old crowd could've seen it, they'd have laughed me out of the shed. But there were no diesels around while I was at the Works, and—"

"Hang on," BoCo interrupted. It was becoming obvious that, with this engine, you had to make an opening, rather than wait for one. "I'm going to come in and get settled, and then we'll see if we can talk more comfortably."

"Right-o." Oliver's mouth was set in a stubborn battle against his own panic.

BoCo rolled in, though he stayed a track over. Oliver had crept so far back that they were still face to face even when the diesel was completely under the roof.

Then BoCo cut his engine.

The quiet was so sudden that Oliver rather jumped again, though there was clear relief in every line of his face. "Ha!" he said. "But—isn't it against protocol, for your sort? I'm surprised your driver let you do it."

"Well," said BoCo ruefully, as his driver disembarked with an air of put-upon aggrievement, "I suppose I didn't ask."

The men rather stomped on out, leaving BoCo without a further word. The two engines looked at each other with scarcely-suppressed grins.

When they had gone, the autotank gave up his struggle not to laugh. "You're for it now, ain't ya?"

"I think I'll pull through. And if it means you won't be frightened..."

"Oh," Oliver scoffed. "It was nothing! I don't frighten so easily, not after the time I've had of it these past few years, believe me."

"I do believe you," said BoCo, mildly. Though he'd never been that way inclined, he was very used to listening to the boasting of other engines—and it seemed to him that Oliver the Autotank had far more cause for it than many another. "They say you were on the run with your coach and brakevan for three years."

"You've heard right." Oliver said this with a proper dash of swagger. But on closer expression it seemed to BoCo that this lively engine must normally be even more confident, and that he was still clamping down a certain amount of panic. His eyes darted involuntarily towards and away from BoCo again and again, all but gawping at the diesel's shape and face. Still, the autotank spoke with a frankness that was very likable. "Never you mind me, going forward. Only it's been a bit of a shock, somehow, 'cos there weren't any diesels at the Works, so it's been a good spell since I'd heard that sound, you know? Then I came down here yesterday, all spic and span and thinking everything was... back to normal. I knew I was safe here but—I've got to be honest—I've never felt safe since diesels started coming in, back at my own shed. So I wasn't… I just never expected engines like you to be around."

BoCo was not offended. He knew very well this was a common experience, for steam engines. They had every reason to feel that way. "You are safe here though. We all are."

"I know," said Oliver, frowning with determination. "The others have told me. They say you've always shown everyone here respect, and that Bear tells off other diesel engines when they're rude. I'll just need a little time to calm down again, like. I don't mean no offense."

"Take the time you need. And if you need space, you tell us."

"I don't scare so easy," Oliver insisted, but then let down his guard a bit, once more. "Douglas says you and Bear are friends of his, and I'd trust Douglas with my life. I already have, you know! If he hadn't come and helped us, me and my train would've been goners for sure. I—I want to make new friends here. Not new enemies."

"Oh, I think you'll be plenty popular here." BoCo was privately somewhat surprised, though he didn't let on. He'd caught a few sneers from the Caledonian twins as he'd settled into Sodor, and although it had been a few years since the last sour look it could not be said that any of them had ever addressed it so he'd never been sure where they stood.

Oliver brightened, eyebrows raising in hope and relief. "Yeah? You think?"

"I do." BoCo wasn't sure Oliver, fresh from overhaul, needed the pressure (or the temptation) of knowing how celebrated he already was on the island. But he spoke with perfect confidence, and Oliver grinned again.

"You don't know me yet. My old shed complained of what a pest I was often enough!" Sudden grief flickered on the tank engine's face again, but he fought it back. "So, are you based here?"

BoCo accepted the invitation to veer toward lighter ground; they didn't know each other well enough yet, and Oliver still seemed to have difficulty meeting his eye at times. But they talked about all the Sodor engines Oliver had met so far, and about what kind of traffic went in and out of Tidmouth, and Oliver's crew and how they'd entertained their engine on the long hours hiding over the past few strange years.

Evidently, it had been by comic books and radio programming. BoCo knew nothing about comic books but was gratified to discover that Oliver enjoyed rock and pop. He loved Sodor but the people's taste in music was generally a decade or two behind the time, and the engines were worse. Oliver, however, properly appreciated that the signal for Radio Luxembourg could be picked up at the Works.

They were so deep in their discussion of all the music Oliver had missed the past few years that they didn't even notice the sound of another, lighter diesel engine, not until it had all but barrelled right into the sheds. "BoCo! My dear engine!!"

It was a trill and a wail and a horn all at once.

All the life seemed to instantly bleed out of the Great Western autotank as the new diesel rolled into the shed.

She was on Oliver's track, but Oliver had receded into the shadows, and in any case she was apparently disposed to see nothing in the shed but a sympathetic and perhaps helpful listener.

"'Morning, Daisy," said BoCo, resigned to the grievance that rang out loud and clear in her voice. He didn't mind the diesel railcar, and counted her as a friend, although if truth be told he'd never had as good a chat with her as he'd been having with the newcomer.

"I've just 'eard the most 'orrible zing." Daisy shuddered, very earnest. She often overdramatized the most minor slights—meaning she would have fit in very well with the big Tidmouth lot, had she ever dared approach them. But this morning her eyes were smudgy with real distress. BoCo would have felt concerned if her next words hadn't been: "Zat Thomas 'as ’ad me transferred to ze new branch line! Moi!"

BoCo blinked.

"Can you imagine, mon cher," Daisy said earnestly, shuddering until she rattled the tracks. "Running day in and day out, by the coast! All zat salty air! All zose storms off ze sea!"

"It sounds nice," said BoCo blandly. "Daisy, this is—"

"Nice! Nice! Oh, mon cher, perhaps for some —but my constitution is more delicate zan most. Perhaps you can run no matter 'ow much salt and rust is t'rown at you, but I am 'ighly-strung—"

"They clean engines here often," BoCo observed, looking directly at Oliver, who was staring as he tried to absorb this onslaught of information. "But you needn't—"

"And for what, you ask, am I condemned to such drudgery and disgrace? Why am I to be exiled to a new line, aftair a decade of loyal service, even condescending to risk my 'ealth and frames by hauling tankeurs de le lait? It seems it 'as been for naught. I come in late once , and zat clapped-out old tank engine 'as ze audacity to say—"

"Sorry," ventured Oliver. "Are you talking about Thomas the Tank Engine?"

Daisy lurched backwards. "Bloody Nora! ! !" she shrieked... suddenly sounding every inch the West Riding railcar that she really was.

It was Oliver's turn to rattle the tracks, though in his case he was laughing fit to burst, his steam rising heartily.

"WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?" demanded the railcar, eyes nearly popping out.

"Exmouth," chuckled Oliver. "Nice to meet you."

His eyes met BoCo's, and the autotank winked. Clearly, his instinct to skulk out from the sight of dieselkind had evaporated in this one case, even though Daisy's engine still whirred and spluttered with indignation.

"This is Oliver," said BoCo. "He's had bad experiences with diesels in the past, and I think we ought to hold off from bellowing right in his smokebox." This might, of course, mean nothing to her: it sometimes baffled BoCo how Daisy had somehow bumped around on the mainland for a couple years in the late '50s without, seemingly, grasping in the least the stakes of the crisis convulsing the railway around her. Daisy was proud of her modernity, of course, and she did snub steam engines; but then, she snubbed everyone (including diesel shunters, and Metrovicks for that matter), and, having transferred to Sodor years ago, seemed still oblivious that the state of steam and diesel within the nation had changed from the lively balance of power she'd been built into. To her it was all yet another form of petty everyday rivalry, and not an existential crisis in which steam as a whole had been soundly routed. No, so far as Daisy saw in her little corner of the earth, steam very much ruled the roost, and although all her friends were steam engines she felt oppressed by a sense that she did not fit in and that her difference was unappreciated. That sense was fair enough—BoCo himself knew the feeling, at times—but to Daisy that was the beginning and end of it; to her it was not balanced by an appreciation of how infinitesimal their occasional moments of discomfort were in the bigger scheme of steam engines piled by the thousands into scrap yards, nor of their own luck to have such a good home and good friends. She now opened her mouth and began a question that was clearly going to make this situation even more ridiculous, and BoCo pointedly cut her off. "Cut your engine, please."

"I 'ave a return to Ffarquhar een—"

"And you will be able to turn over again then. You know that rule isn't as important here as it is on the mainland, when they maintain us so well here." The railcar, still fit to burst with her slights and wrongedness, obeyed. "Thank you, Daisy. Now, Oliver here," he continued, getting to the heart of the thing, "is the engine who the Fat Controller is going to have run the Arlesburgh branch with Duck."

Daisy blinked from one to the other.

"Oliver," she repeated at last.

"That's right."

Her engine had ceased its plaintive growling, but she still looked irate. "And—Montague ."

"None other."

"So... I am not wanted."

"I don't know about that," said Oliver, cheerful. "But you certainly sound a lot less French than you did a minute ago. Odd that!"

"Smart-aleck!" sniffed Daisy. "Newcomers shouldn't be so fresh and bold."

"Be fair, Daisy. None of them would ever get on here if they weren't."

And Daisy, slowly, unwillingly, began to crack a smile. "No," she admitted, "I suppose not so much... you did, somehow. I still do not understand zit."

"BoCo's a mate," said Oliver stoutly. "I can understand it. So you're a branch line engine, yeah?"

"I am. I run the Ffarquhar line."

"With Thomas the Tank Engine." Oliver sounded teasing, but there was a star-struck note lurking in his voice all the same.

"Oui," Daisy sighed. "It can be most tirezome. He is a bossy old engine, and very full of himself."

"Of course he's full of himself," Oliver laughed. "He's the most famous tank engine in the world!"

"Oh," said Daisy, affecting a great lack of interest. "So you 'ave read 'is leetle books."

"Oui," agreed Oliver. "Well, some of them. I've been a bit busy the past few years, you know."

"You are mocking me. Rude. 'ave you read ze one I was in?"

"No." Oliver was grinning, enjoying this. "Never heard of you!"

"Eet is just as well. It was full of lies and mistruths."

"Oh. Lies and mistruths."

"Such a life that leetle tank engine leads me," sighed Daisy. "'E takes Toby's side against me, every time. Alzhough I suppose 'e likely nevair followed zhrough, when 'e said 'e should tell ze Fat Controller to transfair me. 'E was only fussing, and likely forgot all about it when 'e next saw 'is fishermen or 'is schoolchildren or 'is leetle red bus. But Toby!" she realized, her eyes now widening. "And Percy! Zey must 'ave been lying to me zis morning, when zey said my transfair 'ad gone zhrough! Percy was 'ere last night, 'e must 'ave met zis Olivair and known all about zit! Ze cheek of it! Ze audacity of it! Mon cher BoCo, can you believe the bald-faced deceit of zose two?"

BoCo had only the slightest acquaintance with Percy and Toby, whereas Daisy lived intimately with them. Yet, unlike her, he found it very easy to believe. "Never mind, Daisy. If you raise a fuss, you will only give them what they wanted. Why not get well acquainted with Oliver here. If you become friends their joke will fall flat."

"We are getting well acquainted," said Daisy airily. "We 'ave much in common, don't we, mon cher tank? You 'ave been persecuted by diesels for years— I am persecuted by steam engines to this very day. I zink we will understand each other very well."

Oliver's mouth was dropping open into an O. It appeared he was struggling to not let this statement cleave his smokebox in two from the funnel downwards, and the Metrovick couldn't blame him.

"Don't be so daft," said BoCo crossly. "You can't possibly think that's the same thing!"

"Oh, well." Daisy adopted an air of awful humility. " I cannot pretend to undairstand all you can. I nevair pretended to be clever. Zat is not among my graces."

Now Oliver was amused rather than offended. "It's all right, BoCo," he laughed. "Daisy's right. I understand her, anyway."

Being understood always agreed with Daisy very well. Perhaps it was even good for her swerves. "Zank you, mon petit. You are quite 'andsome, for a tank engine," she observed, surveying him carefully for the first time. Her eye was practiced and critical. "Probably ze most pleasing lines of our small lot 'ere."

"Why, thanks." Oliver beamed genuinely. "They always said us Great Western autotanks were good-looking. I have sisters who are movie stars, you know."

"I do not care for cinema," said Daisy. "Why do zey call you an autotank?"

Oliver warmed to this subject quickly. As he told them about Isabel, his eyes snapped with warmth and fun and he became quite animated indeed. It was not hard to see who was going to star in the next "leetle book."

But Daisy broke into his explanation frequently. She never had any trouble with others dominating her in conversation (not unless they were the big main line tender engines, of whom she was quite in awe).

"Zen we 'ave autotanks already," Daisy concluded. "Thomas can run his coaches just the same way, and so can a couple of engines on BoCo's line, n'est-ce pas?"

"They might be push-pull fitted," Oliver allowed. "But they're not autotanks, because they don't have autocoaches."

"But zey do ze same things as you and zis Isabel. Zey could call zemselves autotrains if zey wanted."

"But they couldn't. Isabel and I were made for each other. The others here might be push-pull trains, but they're not autofitted." 

"Zat is stupid," said Daisy, amiably. "It is ze same thing."

It was actually a very cozy conversation, and all were more or less startled at a long, loud honk beyond the shed walls. It was a bellow so deep that it could have been a great freighter ship, except that it was too close, coming as it did from the yards.

After it had faded, and everyone had once more begun to feel their teeth, it was replaced by the irritated steady growl of a diesel engine. It all but rattled their window panes, and a mouse or two scattered underwheel, fleeing the coming apocalypse. 

"Never mind," said BoCo quietly, seeing that Oliver had again frozen up in saucer-eyed terror. "It's only Bear."

Oliver attempted a devil-may-care smile back. Unfortunately his brave effort was undermined because more and more sunlight had crept into the sheds, meaning his quavers were quite visible to them both. Daisy eyed him with bemusement, and perhaps concern, although as it was an expression no one had ever known to cross her face before it was not easy to say. "I reckon so," Oliver said, trying to sound careless. "Sounds like his engine, anyway." But the growling increased, approaching them, and Oliver's rusty smile flickered. "Are you, uh. Sure another diesel couldn't have gotten here?"

"Those slack, stinking, SNOT-FACED LITTLE TOSSERS!!!!"

"No," said Daisy calmly. "Zat is Bear."

The Western diesel burst with looming backlit drama into their sheds, where fortunately Daisy's men had already set the points to protect her, so he roared up the far side. "Those mouthy little matchboxes want YOU, BoCo, and as far as I'm concerned, they can HAVE you! Better I'm sent back to Bristol, maybe, than I'm driven stark raving mad!"

"You're already raving," observed BoCo, very mild, "so you may as well stay here."

Daisy clearly felt this was rather unsympathetic. "Was it ze trucks, cher-Bear?"

"It's always the trucks, ain't it? Those little unfitted wagons. They hate me."

"You are not much fonder of zem."

"Too right!"

"Per'aps," said Daisy, sage with her vast experience in winning over enemies, "you may find zat you catch more flies with honey zan with vinegar."

"Yeah, maybe—but who wants flies? They think it's funny to make an engine mad. And I'm the newest and I get the maddest, so I reckon I'm the best sport going right now." Bear sighed heavily, engine still idling with grinding rumbles. "I'm stupid to lose my cool. They want me to curse them out. Don't suppose there's much point hoping the Fat Controller finds it as funny as they do. What's your problem?"

This last question was abruptly thrown over the tracks to Oliver, whose smokebox front was again grey and ashen-colored. He wasn't shaking as he had been when BoCo had first arrived, though, and BoCo thought his growing steadiness pretty impressive.

"Bear," he said, "this is Oliver."

"I know that, BoCo; we met last night. I'm asking him why he keeps flinching, like I'm going to take a bite out of him. If I h'aint yet smashed any of those wicked wagons to bits" (Bear made a face of disgust) "I'd say no engine has much to fear from me. You don't think I'm some bullying buzzbox B.R. rail-licker, do you? I know I have a temper, but I'm not mean."

"Ha." Oliver's smile was weak, but it wasn't fake, either. "Nah. I don't think you are. I'm just jumpy, still."

Bear looked around. "Is that why we've all cut our engines, eh? Reckon I'm the odd one out—"

"Bear—"

BoCo tried to stop him, to give him a chance to think twice about it. Unlike him and Daisy, Bear wasn't yet a permanent North Western engine. It was pretty certain he soon would be (despite Bear's own deep-seated worries on that point), but it was also true that for him ignoring regulations could have more significant consequences.

But Bear had already gone ahead. Thinking twice was not his style.

Oliver slumped on his wheels and frames with relief at the fresh silence, but he looked ashamed of it. "Don't want to get you in trouble," he muttered.

Bear snorted. "Mate, this ain't nothing. You saw the fuss I just made. If the Fat Controller sends me away, it's not going to be for cutting my engine mid-day!"

"'e is not sending you away," said Daisy... but she spoke with a touch of shyness, too. The truth was that big main line engines overawed her, just as diesel engines spooked Oliver. Her campaign to befriend Bear was going well but sometimes she showed these flashes of anxiety still… which BoCo doubted was doing much for Bear's confidence. "I declined to pull anything at all when I feerst came, and 'e kept me when I changed my mind. Everyone knows you are trying your best to conquer your temper. 'e likes zat sort of thing."

"He likes when we make friends with his engines," said Bear, determined to persist in his post-roar gloom.

"And 'oo are!"

"I mean with his—you know what I mean." Bear's eyes roved the tracks again, pointedly raking Oliver when he changed course. "The Tidmouth lot."

"The steam engines, you mean," said Daisy.

"Don't be rude, Daisy."

"'oo is being rude? 'e is not stupid, ze handsome leetle tank engine. 'e fooled ze Ozzer Railway patrols for a year."

"Autotank," said Oliver, smiling bravely (he even met Bear’s eye). "And it was three years."

"See? Zree years. 'e may as well know what you mean."

BoCo, always wanting to cut off conflict, broke in. "You are making friends, Bear, with all kinds of engines."

"Not among the Tidmouth crowd. With them it's only Henry."

" 'Only Henry'," repeated BoCo.

"Damn it all, BoCo, I didn't mean it like that. Henry's a great old engine. But that doesn't mean the others like me."

"They'll come around. The three of them squabble, but when you're in with one you're in with them all."

"Which three of them?" asked Oliver.

"Gordon, Henry, and," Bear sighed, "James."

"Zey are very famous engines," explained Daisy, a note of awe lurking in her voice. She might twit the Ffarquhar lot more days than not, and she condescended to the likes of Sodor’s other famous engines with a gall and conceit that was more funny than anything—but she seemed to consider the three engines just named to be on quite a different tier.

Oliver's eyes had widened a little too. "Yeah. I know... Henry does like you though, Bear. Even I've noticed that, and I've only been here like five minutes."

"Henry's been a mate," said Bear gloomily, "and that means Gordon hates me. I'm not sure I can stay here, if he doesn't like me. The others put a lot of stock in what he thinks—they pretend not to, but they do. And if the trucks and I are forever going at it..."

When he trailed off, they could hear a cackling chorus off in the yards. 

The words were indistinct, but it was clearly coming from the trucks. Something something kept waiting... more something something then (here they all shouted in proud unison) bear-baiting!

The other engines looked sympathetically at Bear, who sighed.

"And that means James will have a few cracks for me later, too," he concluded, face stormy.

Even Daisy did not seem to think there was any point trying to encourage him to believe otherwise. Instead she turned to Oliver.

"You do not have to worry about zat, mon petit," she assured him. "Gordon and James take little notice of tank engines, nor branch line engines, and zeir opinion will not matter to you so much... but you do have to work wiz Montague—and boy! that'll be enough to be getting on with."

Oliver did not smile this time, when emphasis again made Daisy's natural accent shine through. "I know I'm to work with Duck," he said, sounding businesslike—or as businesslike as it appeared he ever got. "I—I'm looking forward to it. I think we'll get on."

"Oh, good luck," said Daisy, darkly. "Better you zan me."

Oliver's natural warmth chilled significantly.

"Why," he asked coolly, "what have you got against Duck?"

"Oh, funny leetle Montague is a marvelous worker, everybuzzy says so. 'e is a great favourite of ze Mr Hatt. But 'e is such a critic! 'e looks askance at me, and I 'ave nozing at all to do with 'is yard or station; I don't even leave any coaches for 'im to 'ave to sort. 'e looks down on me. At least Toby and Thomas treat me like a fellow engine. I 'ave tried, but I cannot find any rapport wiz that one—"

"Maybe," interjected BoCo, "it would be easier to make friends with him if you call him what he likes to be called."

"'is nickname does not suit him," sighed Daisy. "'e is simply no fun at all."

"He has got an opinion on everything," said Bear, still sounding rather gloomy.

Oliver looked conflicted, torn between a reflexive desire to defend another Great Westerner no matter how slightly he knew him, while also battling the beginnings of fears that he could never live up to such a model of perfection.

BoCo was cross. Unfortunately long habit meant that it was hard for him to speak as forcefully as he wanted. But Duck's readiness to defend his friends vociferously was one of the things BoCo most admired in him, and he often tried to emulate it despite how it went against all his training in mainland diplomacy. "Duck is a wonderful friend. He's always helped me and lots of other newcomers too. It's not true that he's no fun either, he's a great one for a laugh. You're lucky to work the new line with him, Oliver. I am sure you'll be happy there."

There was a pause, as everyone checked the temperature in the shed, trying to figure out if the Metrovick had just chewed them out or not.

They concluded, correctly, that he had.

"He's great for putting big engines in their place," conceded Bear, moving for resolution. "I do love to watch him tear into some blustering fool four times his size... so long as it's not me!"

Oliver grinned. "Size don't matter. When you're right, you're right."

"Yes, well," sighed Daisy, and went on as if she hadn't showed up as the new engine on the Ffarquhar line bullying every human and piece of rolling stock in sight, "you Westerners, you are vairy forward."

"We're both Westerners, aren't we?" Oliver said to Bear. A peace branch. "And we're the two newest here. We ought to look out for each other."

Bear didn't exactly jump to respond. Indeed the pause might have gotten very awkward if a new engine hadn't chuffed towards the shed at that exact juncture.

One of the Scottish twins poked his boiler in. His eyes swept the shed, with the autotank on one side in his corner, apparently boxed in by the three diesels.

BoCo hadn’t been able to see which brother it was, but the way the engine wheeshed suspiciously told the whole story. Frowning as he loomed from behind his steam, the newcomer looked like nothing quite so much as a dragon returned from a jaunt to terrorize some villagers, now counting up his gold after detecting some change in the way his mounds were stacked. 

"Hi!" Oliver seemed oblivious, beaming in answer to the Caledonian's scowl.

"Hi," growled Douglas. His eyes did not stop surveying the set-up.

"'Lo, Douglas," said Bear, with a little wisp of caution, quite unlike his usual self. "Thought you had a heavy goods?"

"Nae. It's ye that has it."

"Me?"

"You." Douglas gave Bear a dour look. The eyebrows really sold it. "They want to see if ye can take the train me and Donal usually take on ye oun."

It was at that point BoCo noticed that an unusual number of men were crammed onto Douglas's footplate, and two were clambering down. It seemed Douglas had brought Bear's crew.

"Ah. Well, I don't know if they know, I've been told to cover a boat train—"

"They ken what they're aboot. My brother'll take it while I help in the yards."

Bear's driver fired his engine again, and Oliver, though perfectly well braced for it, still gave a small jump, siderods jerking him a pace backwards almost of their own accord. Douglas glowered at Bear, as if the bigger engine could help it. Accordingly the others' good-byes to Bear were somewhat subdued—except Oliver himself. He whistled with good cheer as the Hymek departed.

Not much cows that tank engine, BoCo thought to himself, with a hidden grin of appreciation. It reminded him of another one he knew. Maybe they did make them differently at Swindon.

"How's your morning been, Douglas?" asked Oliver, eager.

"Fine," puffed Douglas, not much pacified by Bear's departure—although the shed did feel much airier without the big diesel. Now he seemed to have zeroed in on BoCo, or to be precise the narrow space between BoCo and Oliver. It was as if he, too, had noticed that Oliver kept avoiding looking at BoCo even though they were facing each other on the nearest track. "I maun be getting a start on shunting this train. What d'ye say, laddie, come on oot and lend me a wheel? I could use the help."

"I can't, my crew's not here," said Oliver reasonably. "I wouldn't be much use to you anyway, I've barely ever shunted before."

"Well." Douglas still looked intensely uncomfortable with the situation. "Then it's high time ye learned."

"You're in a rush, you wouldn't have time to show me every little thing." Then Oliver smiled at the stormcloudy steam engine. "I'm doing just fine here. Really. We've all been having a good chat."

Douglas, unconvinced, studied BoCo for a moment.

And then for another.

"Hello," said BoCo.

Douglas grunted, and turned his scrutiny to Daisy.

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Mon Dieu," she sighed. Her accent was the thickest BoCo had ever heard it. "I cannot pull zree full milk tankers at a stretch, mon cher, and I 'ave not been on ze mainland for almost ten years. Unlike toi I am not forever gallivanting around. I cannot drag zee 'andsome leetle tank engine anywhere and I know no one to turn him over to if I could."

"I can outrun her, too," grinned Oliver. "They ran trials between our classes, you know."

Daisy sighed again, much put-upon. BoCo was impressed at her meeting Douglas's stare-down so calmly. She was so tongue-tied around Gordon, whom BoCo knew to feel nothing but vague benevolence for her. But in the face of real resistance she could be quite magnificent. "'e is quite capable of looking after himself, mon cher. 'e 'as enough cheek to pad 'is small self in a crate wizzout preparation."

"It's called gumption," said Oliver sunnily.

He winked at Douglas, and the tender engine seemed to melt against his better judgment. "Och aye. I can take a hint, ye know. I ken when I'm nae wanted."

"You are wanted! I wish you could stay."

Oliver's frankness seemed to calm Douglas further. "Ah, some of us have work to be gettin' on wi'. Cannae imagine how this lot ever got on before me an' Donal came on. Have ye a good gossip while ye can, I s'pose."

The goodbyes they exchanged were amiable enough. But once Douglas had chuffed backwards, Daisy seemed rather tense. It was only in this lull that BoCo noticed that her men had come in, too. They had tried to turn on her engine but she remained pointedly idle.

Oliver's face had fallen too. He looked not at the track from which Douglas had departed, but Bear's. "Did I keep flinching that much?"

"Never mind," soothed BoCo.

"I thought I'd stopped."

"You'll need more time. Maybe a lot more."

"What," said Daisy, "are ze two of you talking about?"

"Bear," said Oliver glumly. "He doesn't like me."

Daisy snorted. "'e was polite enough, I zhought! You two are ze new engines. It took less zan a day for ze Fat Controller to announce 'oo would stay. Bear 'as been here a month, working all sorts of big trains each day. 'e 'as fought wiz ze diesel 'e arrived wiz, 'e 'as made friends among the fleet, 'e 'as taken the mouziness of ze trucks day in and day out, and still 'e 'as no word. Now 'e is off to anuzzer trial. If he fails ze Fat Controller will not like him for it and if he succeeds ze Scottish twins will not like him for it, although zat hardly matters as already zey are not fond of him. You came later zan him, and here you are repainted and with a new number and a nice new assignment. Of course 'e does not like you, darling."

Oliver's mouth was gaping once more. "Cripes! Sorry me being here is such a bother for him. Next time I'll just go trundle onto the scrap train like a good boy."

"Don't be absurd," said Daisy—faster than BoCo could speak. "Nobuzzy said 'oo had to be sorry, mon cher. All of us know zat 'oo made a grand escape 'ere, and all are happy 'oo made it."

"I've heard Bear himself talking about your story," agreed BoCo quietly. "He wouldn't want you sent back, Oliver. He's just stressed. You've been on trials before, haven't you?"

The autotank considered, his eyes distant and thoughtful. "Yeah..."

"He doesn't want you sent back," continued Daisy. "But what is he to make of it, eh? What 'appens to 'im if more daring, dashing tank engines make zeir way 'ere? What if ze Mr Hatt ees een talks to buy ozzer steam engines from scrap yards, does that mean there is no spot now for Bear? Or BoCo, or me?"

"That's rubbish," said BoCo. "Well, I don't blame Bear for worrying. But you and I are overhauled and numbered , Daisy! They don't send away their own engines here. As long as we're willing to work, we have a home."

"Ze big engines, they would protest if 'e sent 'oo away," said Daisy, darkly. "But little moi? Not so much, I zink!"

BoCo didn't indulge this. "Everyone expects Bear will stay, they just haven't settled on his trains. And as for buying other engines from scrap yards, that sounds like a very good idea and it's a shame to act as though it would be anything but a cause for celebration."

"Oh, that'd be fab," said Oliver, very warmly. "I can't think why they're not doing it already, instead of—!"

He broke off, thinking twice about what he'd been about to say. Both diesels looked at him.

But only Daisy spoke. "Every engine must run ahead of ze scrapper's torch, mon cher. You had a closer call zan most, but—! If Bear does not find work 'ere, 'e will be back on the mainland, scrambling with ze rest of 'is class to prove—"

"Daisy," growled BoCo.

Really growled it. His engine had turned over, without him realizing he'd done it.

"It eez true, cher BoCo! Ze Hymeks, zey are now called 'nonstandard,' zey—"

"They wouldn't appreciate you gossiping about it!"

Only with a rev of his engine did he realize himself. The very shed windows rattled with the force of his feeling—and Oliver had lurched backwards again, only to be bumped forwards again by the buffers.

"Sorry," BoCo muttered, cutting his engine. Now it was he who didn’t meet Oliver's eyes.

But Oliver smiled, or at least tried to smile, encouragingly. "It's all right, mate. I didn't know that," he said, to Daisy. Either he was thirsty for gossip, or for a distraction. "When I left the Western region, Bear's class were the big new thing!"

"Ze Ozzer Railway does not like diesel-hydraulics."

Oliver frowned. "That's not true! They love diesel. That's why they're booting all my kind to the scrap lines!"

"Diesel-hydraulics," BoCo emphasized. "Daisy and I are diesel-electric. Only your old region uses hydraulic. There are loads more diesel-electrics in the U.K. and the Other Railway wants to phase out hydraulics, just like they've phased out steam."

Oliver's eyes were wide. "Cripes! The Hymeks... they're only like five years into service, innit? That's insane. The Great Western would have never done it that way, that much you can be sure of!"

Daisy and BoCo had to grin at each other.

"Per'aps you will get on with Mont—with ze Duck," Daisy observed.

"I plan to," said Oliver stoutly. "I'm awful glad to have another Westerner around. From the old days, I mean. It'll make it feel like me and Isabel and ol' Toad aren't the only ones who remember."

Daisy's driver knocked on her windshield from within the cab.

"Come on, Daisy," he called. "Let me turn your engine over, it's past time we were at station."

"I will not," she said archly, "let zat uncouth Scotsengine zink zat 'e 'as chased me out of ze shed! I 'ave a perfect right to be 'ere, and won't be bullied."

"I guessed as much," said her driver, well-worn irritation in his voice. "But it's been ten minutes. I think you've made your point."

"Oh, vairy well.—I 'ave not been 'orrible to you, 'ave I?"

Her appeal to Oliver, as she rumbled to life, was quite sudden and impulsive. Oliver grinned.

"Terrible," he said. "Rotten."

"Ohhh," Daisy growled, straining against her gearbox, "get on with you, you li'il rotter!"

"I'm joking. So long, Daisy."

"Joking or not, it's still rotten," Daisy insisted with a great rumbling harrumph, as she too exited the sheds.

Oliver laughed until she had slipped out of earshot into the bustle of the world outside. 

"Oh, she's great. I half wish she was to work the new line with me and Duck."

"You'd get tired of her and Duck driving each other into the buffers," BoCo predicted.

"Nah. I like a cheap thrill. But what's with her... you know. She's English, ain't she? Is there some story behind why she talks that way?"

"No particular story. She just likes it. And I don't think she even realizes she's doing it half so often as she is."

"Get out."

"Fact."

Oliver's grin faded as he studied BoCo's face. He seemed to notice he had done it a second too long, and quickly looked away—again.

BoCo couldn't deny that he felt rather hurt. He had done all he could to accommodate the newcomer—and he wouldn't have blamed Oliver for his nerves. Except that Oliver still seemed ill at ease with him even after he'd settled in so comfortably with Daisy... and with Bear too, despite all the biggest diesel's growling and gnashing of teeth…

The realization slowly dragged his thoughts to a halt.

All at once, everything made sense.

"Was my brother 5701 one of the engines they sent to track you?" he asked quietly, without preamble.

Oliver blinked, and then sighed, mouth tight.

"Yeah, you might say that. Once we got to the Midland region." He hesitated briefly, then, sensibly enough, told the whole of it. “Seemed to us he was the ringleader, actually..."

"I'm sorry," said BoCo. "Oh-One's become a right nasty piece of work. We're all well ashamed of him, and cut him off from the family years ago. I'd had a flicker of hope that it would make him come to his senses but it sounds like if anything he's gotten worse." 

Oliver considered him soberly for a moment, eyes reflecting BoCo's genuine sorrow.

Then he grinned. "This is so weird," he laughed.

"It's—what?"

"I'm sorry!" Oliver chortled. "It's just, if I close my eyes, you sound just like him. Except, you know. You actually sound like you have a brain. He's more of an 'after him!' or 'faster, you fools!' sorta bloke. I never thought I'd hear a Metrovick string together so many words in a row as you do!"

For an instant or two, BoCo felt uncertain, confused and inclined to be put off.

But Oliver's grin was infectious, and BoCo could always see the point of a good joke. "Well then. I'm glad to be able to make your morning a little more surreal."

This made Oliver laugh harder than ever. And BoCo had to chuckle, too. 

"Was that awful?" asked Oliver, afterwards. "I feel like that might have been awful. I reckon you don't want to hear jokes about your brother the supervillain."

"I dunno," said BoCo. "He seems a pretty common sort of villain. Run-of-the-mill, like."

Oliver's laughter faded as he considered BoCo face-on for the first time, not bothering to try to disguise what he was doing. It was much more comfortable for both of them that way.

At least, it was until Oliver mused, "I'm not so daft as to hold it against you. I didn't want to bring it up at all, but—you rumbled me. You're really smart, aren't you?"

It was BoCo's turn to withdraw in part, and then to realize that it made things awkward.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I just—don't like that kind of talk."

"Really? Why not?"

It took BoCo a moment. To gather his thoughts, to accept that he ought to offer at least as much honesty as Oliver had offered him.

He'd never been considered notably bright, on the mainland. Just as he had never been considered notably introverted, until he'd come to the island.

But that was the sort of thing he couldn't just say , when the Sodor lot made these sort of remarks. Most of them would laugh (perhaps rightly) that here he was going and calling them rash and stupid—and some, of course, would get as mad as if he'd said exactly that.

BoCo thought the real difference between his reputation on one side of the harbour from the other was just that the mainland was such a nest of vipers and of simmering resentments. At least it had been that way ever since he 'd been built. It was normal there to think before you spoke, and everyone learned either the easy way or the hard way how to size up the status and the trustworthiness of the engines around them. Unlike on Sodor where quarrelling was normal and the Fat Controller generally refused to let engines play him against their fellows, over there a tiff with your colleagues could and often would spiral out of control all too easily. Of course Oliver himself was fresh from the mainland but he had lived many decades before the rails had become so poisonous and politicized, and anyway (in a terrible, macabre way) it was simpler for steam engines. There was no avoiding their fate: They would be demoted and eventually scrapped no matter what they did.

Unless, of course, they managed to evade B.R. pursuit and travel on dark rails for three years until they escaped to the Fat Controller's railway.

But Oliver was the only engine who had ever succeeded in doing so. Really, the idea of him calling BoCo smart was almost funny.

"I dunno, Oliver," he rumbled aloud. "It's just. I'm fond of steam engines, almost all my best friends are steam. But you lot do tend to think of a clever diesel as 'devious.' I'd rather everyone not look on me as a threat."

Oliver seemed struck by the idea.

"Cripes," he said, mulling this. "You and Bear worry about the same thing then, don’t you? What the steam engines here think of you."

It was BoCo’s turn to be taken aback. He hadn't thought of it that way before, but the autotank was right.

"And Bear has to worry about proving that him and all his lot are useful," Oliver continued slowly. (BoCo remained pokerfaced.) "And you have your family problems, and even ol' Mademoiselle feels she's the odd one out on her line...  gosh," he said, suddenly rather sober. Unhappy contemplation rested too quickly and readily on him... like he'd practiced it often. Too often, for as spirited and carefree an engine as he seemed to be by nature. "I never thought diesels had so many troubles."

The corners of BoCo's mouth quirked. "And I bet," he observed, "you'd never have guessed you'd learn that your first day running on the Island of Sodor."

Oliver chuckled, though he looked very weary now. It was becoming apparent that he would soon need a quiet spell, to recover from all these meetings and chats. He seemed a very sociable sort of engine, but after all he had spent most of the past three years withdrawn from ordinary life, he and his train left hidden for long spells with nothing but their fears for company. BoCo knew from a whole year confined in his builders' shop just a bit of what that was like—and it wasn't so simple a thing, to come back from. Once you were back out in the world, you got revved up very quickly. But then you tired quickly, too. 

"I dunno," the autotank mused. "I didn't expect... really all I thought about was running... I thought about what would happen if we was caught, you know? I didn't think too much about what would happen if I made it here. But I guess, when I thought about a future at all, I guess I sorta thought... engines in my region, steam engines I mean, we all talked about the Fat Controller's Railway like it was..." Oliver gave another ragged sigh. "... like it was paradise."

"It's every bit a real railway," agreed BoCo, thoughtful. "It's not like it's just us diesels, the steam engines all have their own troubles and worries too, even here. It's just... nicer than the Other One. Everyone gets a fair shake."

"Right..." Oliver sighed again.

But it seemed the load that had been dragging on him had lightened. After he had finished exhaling a great cloud of steam, he even smiled a bit.

"Yeah, you know, paradise..." The ex-fugitive winked at the diesel. "It would be boring."

They lapsed into silence after that. A comfortable silence, where they listened to the banging and hissing and rumbling from the work going on about them.

Without feeling the need to discuss it, they soon learned all the words to the trucks' latest song about bear-baiting. BoCo watched in resignation as the faithless Tidmouth mouser bypassed her usual spot under his A cab in favor of sniffing out the newcomer and his intoxicating new-paint smell. Oliver's fire began to settle to a low, dozy flame.

By the time BoCo's men returned from their lunch break, the two engines had been friends for a million years.