The foreman's boots crunched gravel as he stepped back, surveying us with a critical eye. "Right then," he muttered, tapping his clipboard. "Numbers 4 and 5—you're on freight trials tomorrow. Numbers 1 and 2—passenger coaches." His pen hovered over Number 3's name. The bitter green engine stiffened, steam hissing from her valves like a teakettle left too long on the hob. "Yard shunting," he said at last, and her face twisted into something truly spectacular.
"But that's not fair!" Number 3 wailed, wheels spinning uselessly. Her voice screeched like a brake shoe dragged too hard. "I'm *far* superior to these rust buckets!" Percy gasped at her rudeness, while the black engine—Number 5—just sighed a lazy puff of sooty steam. I snorted, steam billowing from my funnel in smug clouds. "Guess *special* engines get *special* duties," I rumbled, my pistons twitching with petty satisfaction.
Despite my simmering temper and boiler pressure that still bubbled like an angry stew, I focused on the foreman's next words. "Number 4—you'll lead the goods train at dawn. Don't cock it up." My wheels ground against the rails reflexively. "Oh, I won't," I muttered under my breath, steam curling darkly around my dome. If I was going down, I'd go down fighting—dragging every last truck with me if necessary.
Percy's hopeful face peered at me from the sidings, his funnel puffing timid little clouds. "Jolly good luck!" he wheeshed. I rolled my eyes so hard my brass dome rattled. "Luck's for engines who need it," I grumbled, but my pistons pumped with stubborn determination all the same. Tomorrow would either prove me right—or prove them all wrong. And either way, I'd make damn sure Number 3 heard about it.
Soon we were all in the shed again, tired and quiet—except for Number 3, who was still puffing angrily in her siding. "This is *outrageous*," she hissed, steam curling from her funnel like smoke from a spoiled dragon. Percy tried to cheer her up with a timid "There, there," but she just snapped, "Shut your buffer beam!"
I volunteered to stay next to her simply because I didn't hate anyone else enough here to subject them to that punishment.
Meanwhile, Percy was busy wheeshing happily to himself as he rolled back and forth in his siding—his wheels squeaking slightly as he moved—while Number 2 and Number 5 simply rested quietly, their steam puffing lazily from their funnels. The bitter green engine's smokebox rattled with pent-up frustration. "This is *ridiculous*," she hissed—though she kept her voice low enough this time that Percy didn't hear.
Despite my pessimistic mood and slight anger issues—*especially* toward her—I still tried my best to not go fully crazy and wake everyone up by shouting at her. Steam escaped my valves in short, angry bursts as I rolled slightly, my buffers clanking against the rails. "Oh, pipe down," I muttered under my breath, my pistons throbbing with irritation. "Your complaining is worse than Number 1's wheeshing."
The bitter green engine—Number 3—shot me a glare that could strip paint. "Oh, *you're* one to talk," she hissed, steam puffing sharply from her funnel. "Mr. Perfect-Pistons over here thinks he's so *special* just because he didn't derail *once*." Her wheels ground against the rails like she was trying to shred them. Despite my simmering anger and the coal dust clogging my bearings, I focused on keeping my steam pressure steady. "At least I didn't stall halfway up a hill," I muttered, steam curling darkly around my dome.
Percy's high-pitched whistle cut through the tension like a rusty brake shoe. "Oh dear," he wheeshed, his wheels squeaking nervously. "Perhaps we could all—could try getting along?" The bitter green engine snorted so hard her safety valves popped. "As if!" she bellowed, making Number 2 flinch and Number 5 sigh a lazy cloud of soot.
"How about names?" I offered , if only to stop Number 3's incessant whining. Steam hissed from my valves like a sigh as I rolled slightly, buffers creaking. "We can't keep calling each other by numbers like we're scrap waiting to be smelted."
"Oh bother," grumbled Number 3, her smokebox puffing sour clouds. She was painted green with black lining and always acted like she'd swallowed a bag of nails. "Names won't fix *your* rusty pistons," she sneered.
I just ignored her.
"I think I'll call you Percy, Number 1," I muttered toward the small green engine, steam puffing from my funnel in resignation. His face lit up like a signal lamp, wheels squeaking excitedly. "Oh! Oh *thank you!*" he wheeshed, puffing happily in place until Number 3 groaned loudly from her siding. "That's the *stupidest* name I've ever heard," she snorted, her smokebox rattling with contempt.
"What about me?"
"And me?"
Number 2 and Number 5 piped up at once, their voices a jumbled mess of hopeful wheeshes and deep chuffs. I snorted steam irritably, rolling my buffers slightly. "Fine," I grumbled, steam hissing from my valves like an overworked kettle. "You—" I jerked my smokebox toward the blue engine, "can be
Alice. And you—" I nodded at the black engine, who barely reacted beyond a lazy puff of smoke, "can be Melanie."
"Oh, *marvelous*," Number 3 sneered, her wheels grinding against the rails like a knife on slate. "Alice and Melanie. How *utterly* original." Steam jetted from her funnel in sharp, bitter bursts. "And what about *me*? If anyone here deserves a name it's me!"
Despite my simmering anger and the coal dust at her, I got an idea in my funnel, a very good idea...
"Cadela."
Thank God I took Portuguese classes.
"Ah,a special name for a special engine like me, perhaps you can actually make some good ideas you oversized red tin can!" Cadelia grinned smugly, steam curling proudly from her funnel like she'd just won the railway cup. Little did she know what the word really meant—but I'd sooner admit my own wheels were square than explain it to her.
"What about you?" Percy wheeshed excitedly, his tiny wheels squeaking against the rails. "You can't just name *us* and not yourself!" Steam curled lazily from my funnel as I considered this—though my pistons still throbbed with leftover irritation from Cadela's endless whining. "Fine," I muttered gruffly. "Call me... Clifford."
Eh fuck it, why not right?
That finally got Percy and Cadela to go asleep, and soon the shed was quiet—except for the occasional lazy puff of steam from Melanie's funnel. I rolled my buffers slightly, adjusting my stance on the rails, steam curling darkly around my dome.
Soon even I went to sleep, my pistons settling into a slow, rhythmic chuff as my boiler cooled. Steam curled lazily from my funnel, mingling with the night air like smoke from a dying campfire. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted—its mournful cry blending with the soft hiss of valves and the occasional metallic creak of cooling metal.
The next morning dawned with the shrill blast of the foreman's whistle, yanking me from uneasy dreams of scrapyards and smelters. My firebox roared to life with a violence that made my buffers clank, steam bursting from my safety valves in angry clouds. "*What?*" I snarled, blinking sleep-grit from my eyes.
Despite my pessimistic mood and slight anger issues, I still tried my hardest to get the job done right—even if the foreman's impatient glare suggested he already expected failure. "Move it, Clifford," he barked, slapping my buffer with his greasy clipboard. "Freight train's waiting." My wheels screeched against the rails as I rolled forward, steam billowing around me like an angry storm.
Cadela's smirk from the sidings was the last straw. "Try not to derail, *Clifford*," she sneered, her smokebox puffing smug little clouds. My response was a violent hiss of steam right in her face, making her cough. "Oh, shut your funnel," I growled, pistons pumping hard as I charged toward the waiting trucks—ready to prove them all wrong once more.
With freight trials for Melanie and me and passenger service for Percy and Alice—and Cadela stuck shunting—it wasn't long before the others got sorted into their tasks. Percy's trial run with two coaches went well, much to Cadela's displeasure. "All that wheeshing and you *still* can't pull properly," she hissed as she shunted trucks nearby. Percy's face fell slightly, but Alice's gentle encouragement—"You're doing *splendidly!*"—kept him puffing along happily.
Meanwhile, Melanie and I were shoved into grueling freight work—hauling endless strings of trucks through the twisting mainland lines. "Oh *wonderful*," I growled as the foreman coupled us to a creaking line of rusted wagons. Steam jetted from my valves in furious bursts. "Scrap metal for the scrap engine." Melanie just sighed a lazy puff of soot beside me, her deep chuffs echoing like resigned shrugs.
"Why are you like this Melanie?" I grumbled as we lumbered forward, my pistons pounding like a blacksmith's hammer. The rusted trucks behind us groaned and clattered, threatening to derail at every curve. Steam hissed from my valves in short, angry bursts—each one carrying another complaint. "We're freight engines, not glorified scrap haulers!"
Melanie just chuffed noncommittally, her smokebox puffing lazy clouds that drifted over my red paintwork like a dismissive shrug.
"Oh bother!" Percy wheeshed as his wheels slipped on the greasy rails, his tiny green frame struggling to pull the two small coaches. "I'll never get this right!" His funnel puffed pathetic little clouds, like a deflating balloon. I snorted steam softly beside him. "Just give it some patience Percy."
On the other end of the yard, Cadela was grumbling loudly as she shoved trucks violently into sidings. "Stupid useless yard work!" she hissed, her buffers clanging roughly against the wagons.
I simply rolled my eyes as I looked back at Melanie behind me, steam curling from my funnel in irritated bursts. "At least *pretend* you care," I muttered under my breath, my pistons grinding against the rails with unnecessary force. The trucks clattered violently behind us, threatening to derail at every sharp curve—but Melanie just sighed another lazy puff of soot, acting like this was all beneath her.
Despite my boiling frustration and the coal-dust anger clogging my valves, I heaved the stubborn freight train forward with grinding determination. My wheels screamed against the rails like nails on slate, steam jetting from my funnel in furious bursts that would've made Percy faint. "Stupid trucks," I growled under my breath, feeling every clattering wagon drag against my pistons like anchors. But I'd show them—show *all* of them—that Clifford the Big Red Engine wasn't scrap metal just yet.