Chapter Text
Railway engines were quite versatile machines. They could be built to any size and built for any job. Mixed-traffic engines were especially special in that they were the most versatile of all. That’s what everybody told James anyway, but he doubted such a designation mattered as much as they said. Gordon wasn’t “built” for goods trains, as he reminded everyone, but he could pull them and did so well enough when he cooperated. Tank engines were small, small, small — meant for nothing more than shunting for bigger, important-er engines like James himself. If they did take their own trains, they only managed small and pitiful ones. But, much as it pained him to admit, if many tank engines banded together, even the express could be conquered. Barely on schedule, and most definitely not every day, and no James was not still bitter about, instead of asking him, Thomas, Duck and Percy getting a shot instead.
All in all, “mixed-traffic” seemed like a bunch of rubbish meant to justify why he had so much work saddled on him. James never got a moment’s rest these days. Whenever he finished one job, another began promptly after. There was no time for a good washdown, let alone a repaint. The others got off easy, so, of course, they never took him seriously, but righteous complaining was a third as therapeutic as a washdown.
“I’m put upon.”
Emily didn’t answer for a moment; James didn’t think such a natural and true statement needed much effort.
“I suppose,” she said at last with a smile in her voice, “it’s a matter of perspective. Your boiler is ‘put upon’ your frames, and your frames are ‘put upon’ your chassis, and your chassis is-“
“No, no, no!” James cut in, hissing steam indignantly. “That’s not what I mean at all, Emily. I know you know!” She did know, because she appeared unimpressed. He figured he’d get no sympathy from her, but he pressed on regardless. “Put upon with work, that's what I am.”
“Oh?”
“Oh yes! My paint is faded, Emily. Faded. But I bet you couldn’t even tell, because I haven’t seen any soap for weeks. I know I’m reliable, but you can’t all rely on me so much!”
For her part, Emily paused to consider this. “You’ve been working hard, James…” she conceded; his sulk began to lift. “…but so have the rest of us.” It fell right back down. “It’s the summer holidays, after all. We all have to make some sacrifices.”
“Oh yeah? What have you lost?”
Emily solemnly glanced back at her brass safety valve. “I haven’t been polished myself.”
“Pah! It’s not like you care about that! Some of us like to keep up appearances, you know.”
“I can tell ye somethin’ we’ve lost, lad: Any moment of peace.”
James hadn’t noticed Donald and Douglas until then, They sidled into the yard one after the other, Douglas not very far behind Donald. The brothers puffed slowly but methodically; they had just returned from delivering a heavy goods together and were keen to get a drink — and for James not to spoil it.
“Dinnae fash yersel, ye muckle nuisance,” added Douglas, “It’s no use making us as miserable as ye.”
“I ought to,” James huffed, taking the remark much more seriously than its origin did, “Then you might understand.”
“Och aye, ye wouldnae last a season in our wheels,” said Donald. “Ye’d keep us up all yon night! ‘I’m so put upon,’” he added in a faux-pained voice.
“‘Relieve me of my burdens!’” Douglas pretended to wheeze. Emily frowned initially, but the impression of James amused her so much it made her chuckle, which unfortunately dragged James’ ire back on her. He shot her a sharp glare before he flounced away to Donald and Douglas’ rigorous guffaws. A look of guilt briefly crossed Emily’s face. She hesitated, then called out.
“James!”
But James was already gone. He had work to do.
He had even more the next day. Though framed as one job, bringing many deliveries to the docks by sundown, truthfully it was more akin to ten. Mixed-traffic indeed. James had to wake up extra early; in fact, he was just about ready to go when Percy puffed in from his mail run. Percy yawned and almost rolled onto the turntable before it suddenly swerved away from him. He shot back as his wheels nearly had nothing under them.
“James? What are you doing?”
James only grunted in response, leaving Percy rather befuddled. James was in no better spirits when he collected his first load of the lot: newly fashioned metal from the Ironworks. He’d decided to get the worst over with and escaped the red glow and sneers from the shadows almost before the flatbeds could be coupled up. Following this, he had to wait at Knapford station for a guaranteed connection with Thomas’ branch line. James seethed with impatience and filled the whole station with a bad atmosphere.
“Put upon, put upon…” he growled. Passing engines snickered — and though he didn’t get a good enough look, James was pretty sure one of them was Douglas. Passengers and porters knew to steer well clear; when Thomas arrived with vans filled with vegetables, James glowered right through him.
“‘Hello’ to you too, James!” said Thomas cheekily, “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the shed!”
“Be quiet and get those hooked up so I can leave.”
“Oh, I will, but you can’t leave.”
“What? Why not?” James almost burst his safety valve. He wouldn’t get his answer for another half an hour. Thomas idled nearby as a ding-a-ling heralded Toby’s arrival. Behind him was an even longer line of trucks filled to the brim with stone. James gawked, unable to believe his eyes.
“Why?”
“You already got your answer, James,” said Thomas. Toby smiled as if nothing were amiss.
“You’ll have to wait for me to shunt these onto your lot.”
“Lovely,” James muttered through gritted teeth.
“Unless you’d rather arrange them yourself. That’d be just fine with me.”
“No! I’m put upon enough as it is!”
Toby rolled his eyes but didn’t argue as he puffed off to run around the trucks. From his platform, Thomas chuckled.
“‘Put upon’ indeed. That’s an awfully silly saying, James.”
James had taken to repeating it under his breath, so fortunately for the sanctity of the peace, he didn’t hear. When Toby pushed the stone trucks, the impact sent a flood of quarry dust right over the steel beams and collided with James’ already dire paintwork.
“Put upon, put upon, put upon!” He whistled with feeling and stormed off without another word. Toby trundled up alongside Thomas and gave the verbal equivalent of a shrug.
James huffed and puffed and snorted so quickly that he arrived at the flour mill earlier than expected. The workers hadn’t fully loaded the sacks into the waiting trucks yet, so James was forced to wait even more. Out of spite, he didn’t plan to move until the trucks were loaded so everyone could see his disapproval. The sacks, however, produced a lot of dust when they were tossed one after the other into the trucks. It all peppered James’ already dusty coat; the workers laughed, and they laughed even more when James’ face became the reddest thing about him. By the time he left, his train had doubled in length and weight since he picked up the steel beams. The coupling tightened as he managed to get it all moving.
As if he hadn't suffered enough, James’ next stop was the main line stall at Knapford Harbor, where Violet the Fishing Trawler was bound to give him her latest catch of fish.
“Couldn’t you…have taken that…yourself?” wheezed James with enough ferocity to make a nearby mouse run for the hills. Violet grinned up at him from the water.
“Nah, you’re gonna do great. Everybody needs a little fish in their lives.”
James begged to differ, but he hadn’t the steam to argue. The end was within sight. Now, all he had to do was take this horrible lot to the Docks. He tried to move. His wheels slipped on the oily rails. Violet watched him, her grin widening.
“Havin’ some trouble there?”
“Shut…up!” With one last heave, and with one final blow to his dignity, he got the hefty multitude of deliveries rolling. The trucks had never made things easy, but now that so many of them were in the same place, they pounced on a chance for mischief. James tried to intimidate them into obedience; it was all a bluff and the trucks could tell. They held back as much as they could, they bashed into each other and into James which sent more dust flying in all directions, and, worst of all, they sang.
“James says he's put upon, put upon; gets no rest from dusk ‘til dawn; his beloved coaches are all gone; James says he's put upon, put upon; silly old, tired old, dirty old James!”
Normally, such a display resulted in a firm bump, but James couldn’t even think of it. If he lost any speed, the train wouldn’t get to its destination at all.
James arrived at Brendam Docks tired but not very triumphant. The resident tower crane swiveled to sneer at the new arrival.
“I can’t even tell which one you are. Aren’t you engines supposed to be fussed over all the time? All fancy like and never doing anything too useful.”
“I’m James,” replied the red-faced engine behind the quarry dust and flour dust and fish oil and bruised ego. Cranky immediately turned away.
“Whatever, I don’t care. Make yourself scarce before you scare off all the tourists from ever coming back.”
James wanted to wheesh Cranky, but his cabin was far too high for his steam to ever hope of reaching it. Instead, he matched the crane’s scowl and trundled away with aching axles and a foul disposition.
To James’ dismay, he had to head straight home to Tidmouth Sheds without so much as a dusting off. He considered staying out on a siding, but that would dirty him even more, and that wouldn’t do.
“Put upon, put upon, put upon,” mumbled James as he clanked along the line. When he reached the sheds, all the other engines already found their berths. They watched with scarcely suppressed smiles as James suffered the humiliation of showing off his ruined paintwork from every angle while turned on the turntable.
“We can see what’s been ‘put upon’ you!” grinned Thomas. Donald and Douglas roared with laughter, and that got the others to join in too. All except Emily, who possessed a concerned frown.
“That’s enough,” she said sharply, but she had little effect. The gossip and teasing continued. Far as James was concerned, they were all lucky he didn’t have the strength to fire back and instead fell asleep as soon as he was stopped by the bar at the back of the shed.
A few days later, James’ mood improved little. He had to make another connection, this time with the mainland. His whole morning was wasted at the dusty, dirty yard at Vicarstown. Trucks came and went, and still James stayed and brooded. The coal delivery from the Other Railway was bound to arrive soon, and James’ job involved taking it on to each and every station on his own railway. A cumbersome task, James had, of course, performed it before, because he was so generous and did so much for everyone. Donald and Douglas ought to have done it. No one would notice if they got covered in coal dust; they sure wouldn’t themselves. They enjoyed messing about with dirty trucks in dirty sidings. At least let another engine take the brunt of it. Let Emily or Henry see how they liked it when saddled with such a tortuous job. Even a tank engine like Duck could do it. In fact, let the engine from the mainland carry on their job the rest of the day and skip the switch. That would be more efficient, in James’ opinion anyway.
Today, no engine came over the bridge. James had already done his unfair share of waiting, yet he waited still more, and still the connection didn’t come. While he fussed over it. he didn’t notice Donald passing by to drop off his own trucks until Donald saw him and had the nerve to laugh.
“What’s this, laddie? Resting on the clock, are ye now? Let us know when teatime is over!”
“Teatime?!” shrieked James, fit to burst. Before he had the chance to get into a shouting match, Donald wisely disappeared. A shunter appeared in his stead.
“Show a wheel, James,” she said, “The diesel has been dispatched elsewhere. We’ll need you to head to the mine and pick up the delivery yourself. Quickly now!” James hadn’t even been finished being cross with Donald, and here someone else came along to make him crosser still.
“Me?” His voice sounded much smaller than he wanted it to. The shunter’s face set like flint.
“Yes, you. There’s no other engine available.”
Donald had just passed by not a minute ago, and as well established he should really be in charge of the job to begin with, but James was too at a loss for words to attempt a retort. He couldn’t get out of this one.
The Island of Sodor was self-sufficient in many ways, but it did not possess its own supply of coal. Instead, it imported it from other regions that had more than enough of their own to spare. The mainland possessed many coal beds, albeit it once hadn’t been so eager to share with the troublesome island. After relations thawed, the mainland went from the least to most proportional supplier of coal. Some from farther away mines came by boat, but most was delivered by rail. It was a big responsibility — at least, it would’ve been if James remotely cared about the significance. All he wanted was to get it over with.
The coal dust hit first. If James didn’t know any better, the whole establishment would seem like it was on fire. Particulates clung to his running board and swirled round his funnel. He coughed and sputtered, but more kept coming. Finally, he made it through the cloud and came upon the dirtiest, sootiest, downright miserable place he’d ever seen. Trucks were everywhere. All their little eyes aimed straight at the fresh metal that entered their domain. James gulped; trucks smelled fear, so he tried (and failed) to not show his.
“A-All right, you lot. What am I supposed to do?”
This was met with worse, hoarser laughter than any of his teasing friends ever managed.
“Pipsqueak wants us to hold ‘is buffers for ‘im!”
“Crushed into scrap in no time.”
“His face is nice; pity about his paint, though!”
“What?” James looked around for any assistance since it was clear the trucks insisted on being unhelpful and strange. Workers milled about the site, all with hard hats and the same uniform that may have been a different color at one point but had been etched black now. Tall piles of mined coal lined up beside the line as if wood didn’t exist for fencing. James wanted nothing more than to leave.
Scanning the sidings revealed no sign of any engines. His brow furrowed involuntarily. Where was a small engine when you actually wanted one around?
A new cloud of dust kicked up. Amidst it came a dull sigh and the clatter of wagon wheels. The dust decided it had better things to do than remain suspended in the air and settled, much of it all over James. He blinked it away from his eyes and stared at the dirtiest, sootiest, downright miserable engine he had ever seen. The engine had no funnel, but they weren’t a diesel as steam found its way out of what looked like a hole in the cab. What an oversized cab, too. James wondered how this engine ever kept their balance. They had large sloped tanks on either side and a leery glower.
“You’re the arrangement.”
“You’re ugly,” replied James, stating it almost more as a fact than a judgment. The engine’s scowl deepened.
“Right original, mate. Not like you’ve seen an honest working engine in your tushy little life anyway.”
Before James could retort, the engine moved off to carry on shunting, albeit he didn't seem particularly interested in shunting James’ train.
“I’ve got enough business with these louts,” he said, “so you can make yourself useful. I know it’s you lot on that island over there that’s riling them up so much.” He puffed into a new cloud of dust of his own creation, leaving James to brood on all the ills he’d suffered all summer.
It was official. If anyone dared ask him to come back here again, he wouldn’t. That was the least they could allow him. Certainly, he didn’t want to take orders from such a horrid roustabout, and to shunt these even more horrid trucks would possibly mar his paintwork beyond what a mere scrubbing and polish could fix, but his boiler nonetheless bubbled with spite.
“I’ll show him,” he muttered darkly, catching the scornful truck in front of him by surprise with a bump and a lurch back towards her comrades. “I’ll show all of them. I’ve worked more this season than he has in his whole life.”
Somehow, an already cumbersome task just kept compounding on itself. James had always detested shunting, though it was one of the things he was supposedly “versatile” about. He assembled his long train to take home roughly and, it must be admitted, recklessly. The trucks were used to the resident shunter, who handled them with an even brasher touch but hadn‘t the puff to do so very long, and famously when trucks weren’t used to an engine that’s when they were at their most troublesome. James shunted so quickly and so decisively that they hadn’t the chance to pass word of any coordinated plan nor even make such an effort as put on their own individual brakes before James dragged them away to join the growing line.
James was too furious to care about the dust flying off the trucks and onto him nor about the miners who briefly stopped what they were doing to watch in disbelief. Finally, the train was ready, and all James needed was the all clear signal so he could make haste and hopefully finish the rotten job before midnight.
His anger spiked when, once again, something out of his control delayed him. The guard didn’t blow their whistle.
“Come on! Come on!” he snapped, “Hurry up! I want to get out of here before that shunter gets back!” In his mind, the engine returning to a yard half empty and the distant echo of his proud whistle would be better than a snide remark any day. The shunter didn’t come, however, and neither did the guard. James would’ve complained some more if he didn’t notice that the ground trembled beneath his wheels. Some of the coal in the pile next to him slid off the top and down to the ground.
A nearby siren blared.
James had no clue what was happening, but whatever it was, it was bad and probably dangerous. Luckily, he had yet to be coupled to his train, so he hurried off without even thinking about it. He assembled another train even faster with whatever trucks he could scrounge up, this time with empties. The siren wailed all the while. Miners froze in the midst of their jobs.
James puffed beside them, pushing his trucks, and whistled frantically.
“Get on! Hurry!”
The miners didn’t think twice either. They scrambled aboard; James was faster than their legs. He hurried to the next patch of stragglers, who didn’t need the instruction. One ran from a further distance away, ashen despite the exertion.
“The mine’s collapsing!” he said as his fellow workers hoisted him into a truck. James briefly wondered if somehow his shunting rattled a mine shaft below loose. Shrugging it off, he set off again, aiming for a steady balance of speed and safety so as to not jolt any of his impromptu passengers loose.
The air grew dustier and dustier. James had to turn on his lamp just to see. The siren became drowned out by a rumble that grew louder and louder. Whenever James saw anyone stranded, he would stop and a few brave volunteers would hop off the train, grab whoever was left on the roiling terrain and all would be back within the trucks.
“Is that everyone?” James called as yet another miner was dragged up and over the edge of one of the trucks. One of the workers picked up had been the supervisor.
“All in this sector! Fast as you can!” he hollered; James didn’t need telling twice. The trackbed began to crumble beneath his wheels. He didn't dare look back. He weaved through switches and around rusty structures and towers. The workers cheered him on, but James didn’t hear them; the rumbling suffocated the noise.
James broke his rule and yelped. Coal poured down the side of the makeshift hill and gained on them fast. He searched for any means of escape. The track they were on headed out of the mine, but he was slower than the avalanche. In a flash, James spotted the ticket.
He bumped the trucks harder than he'd bumped anything before. They were sent flying down the rails, the workers shouting and the trucks screaming, right past a canvas barrier. The jolt also knocked James’ driver and stoker off the footplate.
“Run!” James shouted; his crew sat up from their fallen positions in disbelief but scurried over the coal littering the ground to safety as the avalanche arrived. James shut his eyes and braced for the worst as a mountain’s worth of coal piled all around and forced the canvas barrier down over him.
Miraculously, nobody had been hurt during the disaster. Workers on both sides of the avalanche found their bearings and grimly assessed the situation. From his side, the resident shunter maneuvered the now very bumpy rails and trundled up to the new obstacle blocking the line.
“Blimey…” he muttered uneasily. Nothing like this had ever happened before; he was still rather shaken from the suddenness of it all. The supervisor ran across from the other side and made a beeline right for him.
“Don’t just twiddle your buffers, Logan! The Sudrian saved all our hides! Now we must help him! Everyone, pitch in! We’ve got to dig him out!”
Logan gaped, barely able to process what he’d heard before, behind the supervisor, the miners rallied and bolted to get tools and equipment for the job that was bound to take the rest of the day. Automatically, Logan joined them without a word.
Shovels and excavators and many eager hands set to work almost immediately. Hours passed, but finally, as the sun began to set over the mine, James was free. He sneezed the pieces of coal that had fallen down his funnel.
“Wha…?” Truthfully, with very little else to do, he dozed off and forgot where he was or what he was doing. Then he saw all the miners crowded around him and remembered. Then he saw Logan and remembered him too. James’ eyes narrowed.
“What’s this then? Come to laugh? I know I’m filthy. You don’t have to rub it in.”
The miners did laugh: Logan managed to keep his composure. “You’re an odd egg. Got your priorities cab-first, can tell you that much.”
“I think what he means to say, James, is you’re a hero.”
The mine fell silent all over again as, to James’ shock (because he knew who it was) and Logan’s (because he didn’t), Emily pulled up, keeping a safe distance away from the accident site. Her earnest smile surprised James even more.
“But I thought it was me that did it,” he said.
“Not at all, James. One of the supports collapsed inside. That made the roof cave in and, well, you know the rest.”
James would’ve questioned how in the world Emily knew such a thing when she wasn’t even there, let alone with the confidence as if she was, but Emily knew all sorts of things she had no business knowing.
“But- the coal delivery,” he said, effetely. Emily stared for a moment before laughing.
“James, a mine just collapsed on you. Your safety’s more important than any delivery.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.” The Fat Controller hopped down from her cab with an even wider smile. “You acted quickly to help everyone in such dire straits. I’m very proud of you, James.” He turned to survey the remains of the mine, his hands behind his back. His formerly pleased expression turned grave. “The coal matter will be sorted out another day. There’ll be different arrangements, I’m sure.” Logan and the miners shared uncertain glances.
“Now then.” With his attention back on James, the Fat Controller was all smiles again. “Today would’ve been enough on its own, but you’ve put in a lot of effort all season, and I want you to know that hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
James beamed; he couldn’t help himself. Logan respectfully remained quiet.
“When we return to Sodor, you will have a relaxing rest at the Works as you are mended and given a fresh coat of paint. How does that sound?”
“Oh, Mr. Hatt!” James’ boiler could burst if only he had a new fire lit.
James stayed at the Works for a long time; not quite an overhaul, but he was thoroughly inspected, and any old or tired parts were fixed or replaced. That was nice, but truly what elated James were the scraping off of all the rust and dust and flour and fish oil and coal and, at last, the new coat of paint he so sorely needed. By the time he left, the summer was almost over, but his assistance was still a welcome boon. As a further reward, his timetable was switched around so that he helped with the passengers more. The passengers were delighted with his restored shiny look.
Naturally, James took all of this and puffed off to the moon with it. He swaggered around the railway with a newfound inspiration. Nothing seemed to get him down from cloud nine (at least not for a few weeks). His smokebox swelled with all the hot air that poured out of it. He showed off his paint to anyone he came across and bragged about how splendid it finally was again. Many evenings at Tidmouth Sheds were occupied by James on the turntable regaling the others with his heroic day at the coal mine on the mainland.
“So there I was, you see. I was just about to leave! If I had, who knows what would’ve happened? But I was there, and that’s when I heard the siren! I jumped straight to action and saved the day!”
The most annoying part was James didn’t have to exaggerate to sound impressive. On most other occasions, the engines would’ve tuned him out or tried to trim his wheels like normal, but for now they listened well enough and held their tongues. In fact, though many never dared risk letting James know, they were very impressed and gossiped about how well he did when they thought he wasn’t listening.
Emily had the directness and the heart to talk to him personally.
“I’m sorry we teased you,” she said, drawing a blank from James as he had forgotten all about it until then. “I must say you were certainly ‘put upon’ by that avalanche!” James hummed in what he deemed a modest manner.
“Oh, I suppose I can forgive you. After all, just look at me now! I’m being put upon with my passengers who dearly missed me and this lovely new coat of paint!”
Emily just chuckled. She tactfully decided not to tell him that “put upon” didn’t quite mean what he seemed to think it did.