Work Text:
Americans
Edward, red faced, hurried into the main station the express and several freight cars rumbling behind him. Thomas then scrambled in looking positively exhausted trucks of stone, garbage, and other goods complained loudly of being rushed around, he pointedly ignored them.
Edward smiled at Thomas as he rearranged the trucks for another train, Thomas grimiced in determination, all the while Sir Topham watched from the platform concern on his face.
That night he walked up to the carrige shed the two blue engines had taken residence instead of the sheds to avoid Gordon, Henry, and James.
“Good evening to the both of you.” He spoke kindly, Edward weakly greeted him as Thomas just slowly blinked. “For the past few days the two of you have gone further than I would ever ask of you, if I could I’d have you repainted 10 times over but we cannot. Currently I’ve been trying to get another engine.”
The two looked hopeful.
“Without success,” both faces fell “so far the mainland insists that it has no engines to spare or sell but nevertheless I shan’t stop looking I ask you to put your best wheel forward and get a very good rest tonight.”
He turned on his heel and walked away hiding a face of fear.
Sir Topham ran a hand over his bald head a lamp showing a very red line for recent reports, the past few days he’d had to lay off several inessential personal and cut down the wages, the way things were headed the looming thought of having his families legacy bought right from under him kept the controller awake at night.
Just then the stationmaster walked in “Any news sir?” Came the pensive question.
Topham walked over the window, Thomas and Edward practically in sync rushing around the yard prepping for the day, “The news,” he paused “is bad. I’ve contacted anyone who may have an engine but it seems they all wish to see me flounder like a fish on land.” His foot tapped “If this continues I fear the board may propose a drastic measure for our three wayward big engines.”
“Scrap sir?” The Stationmaster asked, silence was his answer. “What about the Duke sir?” Sir Topham’s head raised. “Sir Robert Norramby?”
“Yes sir, he is… eccentric but the man is brillaint in his own right.”
“Perhaps stationmaster. Back to the battle then yes?”
“Topham my good man!” The Duke bustled into Sir Hatt’s office several days later the young heir in a striking brown suit, a bowler hat, and an umbrella.
“I hear you’ve been having trouble my good man.” The Duke vigorously shook hands Sir Topham breaking into a small smile at the eagerness of Sir Robert.
“Yes Gordon, Henry, and James are refusing to work for a very silly reason.”
“What reason would invite a strike my good man?” Sir Robert asked flamboyantly sitting on a chair hanging his umbrella on the arm. “I quote ‘Tender engines don’t shunt’ directly from Gordon after Thomas went to manage his branch, I asked Edward to direct the yard, but the three pushed him around as if he were a truck and played me for a fool.”
Sir Robert look agast, “Well I never, as much as I want to tell tale of my recent visitation to another railway it will wait for a different and happier day, I’ll make a call, I made a few friends and perhaps they will have the engines you need. Toodle Oh my good man keep a stiff upper lip.” And just as he bustled in he swiftly bustled out.
A telegram was received days later reading a simple, they are here, with that Sir Thopham grabbed his hat, arranged for Edward and Thomas to go to the dock and drove off.
The ship in port was different from the tramp steamers that usually came in, it was a tad grimy, its name was a very rude word and the crew seemed to be arguing with people aboard.
So far Sir Topham, Edward, and Thomas found it thusly lacking.
The dock crane dipped down into the bowels of the ship and began to pull up the cargo. First a funnel, and dome appeared black and grey, then a boiler and finally six small wheels. Thomas was confused “Where is its tanks and bunker?”
The engine was arguing with someone else in the ship and took little notice until the crane set it on the tracks. It looked around and set eyes on Thomas and then Edward and raised a brow curiously.
“Never thought I’d see an American type this side of the lake, you’ve got a tender so thats fine ‘nuff not sure about your pal there tiny little thing he is. Though your both better company than A CERTAIN RIVER RUNNING CRETIN!” Edward and Thomas jolted at the sudden volume rush from the engine just as its tender was put behind it.
Any questions were drowned out by another voice “IF I HAD HANDS I’D STRANGLE YOU GONE!” “PAH MY DRIVER IS BEATING YOU TOO IT!”
Sure enough two men tumbled down the gangplank wrestling and writhing as the ship crew shouted insults and encouragement, then two other men came cannonballing out one brandishing a shovel to the other.
The chaos was incredible ballast was chucked around, boxes knocked off stacks, fists flung to faces that narrowly dodged and yet the small engine kept hurling insult to the opposition and encouragement to the ones he favored all while the second engine was lifted out of the ship.
The Fat Controller had enough of it, strode into Edwards cab and pulled the whistle hard. The fighting stopped.
“What is the meaning of this?!” He boomed. For a moment no one spoke, trying to figure out an explanation for such violence. The six wheeler huffed, “She and her crew are NYC sir.” As if that explained the entire situation. The other locomotive was then sat right beside the six wheeler. She had four big wheels, four small wheels in front, and two small wheels behind. “He’s Pennsy.” She sneered. That restarted the whole argument.
Sir Hatt, Thomas, and Edward huffed the same word together. “Bother.”