One morning, a whistle sounded in Falmouth. Now, this wasn't the usual whistle that you'd often associate with the existing engines. It was a rather different tone, higher pitched, and altogether quite squeaky.
Izzy was the first to glance out of the shed. "Porter!" she said. "There's a new arrival!"
"Who is it?" Porter asked, still half asleep. "Hopefully it's not anybody annoying, as that's the last sort of person I need right now."
"It's not a person, it's a person and an engine!" Izzy said.
And sure enough, it was. Rolling down the hill was an old friend, his flywheel whirring as he rumbled to a halt outside the shed. "Hello Izzy!" he said. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Hey Fergus!" Izzy said. "Nice to see you too, Tempest!"
Tempest smiled as she adjusted the controls. "Nice to see you too, Izzy. You're probably wondering why myself and Fergus are here."
"They drove here?" Porter suggested.
"Only the last ten miles from Truro," Fergus said. "I'm not designed to travel long distances at speed. I'm meant for shunting heavy stock in short bursts."
"We're here to take some of the pressure off at Lighthouse Quarry, so you can shunt more trucks here," Tempest explained. "Somebody called Charles is meant to be showing us around?"
A loud horn echoed in the yard, and Charles rolled into view. "What's this little blue thing?" he asked.
"My name is Fergus," Fergus replied. "You're meant to be showing me around the quarry."
Charles sighed. "Looks like I'm on babysitting duty again. Entrance to the quarry is behind you."
Soon, Charles was showing Fergus around the yard and showing him how to handle the stock. Unfortunately, it took some getting used to. Fergus approached one line of trucks too fast and bumped into them, causing them to roll forward and miss the loader.
"Not like that!" Charles snapped. "Do it right!"
"Sorry!" Fergus replied. "I'm new to this!" He looked about. "I thought the cement hoppers were tough enough, but these open trucks are something else!"
"We'll get the hang of it eventually," Tempest replied. "Remember the flying bufferbeam? He used to have terrible trouble with coaches as he could barely see where he was going!"
Fergus was just worried he would keep getting things wrong. And if he kept getting things wrong, how would that reflect on him as an engine and a representative of another line?
Charles just rolled his eyes. "This engine has no idea what he's doing."
"Did you when you first started your working life?" Zipp asked.
"No, but that was a long time ago. That's hardly a fair comparison."
Zipp sighed. "And the Nobel Prize in missing the point goes to..."
Later, Sophie rumbled in with some more trucks. "Hello Fergus!" she called. "I've got some news for you. The yard manager says that you are to go to the sidings they're building near Penmere. You need to collect some oil tankers and take them to Truro."
"Me?" Fergus exclaimed. "I've only just got my head round the quarry!"
"Orders are orders," Charles said, with a smirk on his face.
Fergus sadly steamed out of the quarry. He was only just getting the hang of this.
Charles sighed. "That's seen the back of him. You have no idea Sophie; he's utterly incompetent."
"That's not a nice thing to say!" Sophie replied. "Especially about a new engine!"
"Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind," Charles replied, as he moved off to pick up his line of trucks.
Fergus came to a stop outside the sidings. The light was beginning to fade, and in front of him the new oil terminal, although incomplete, was already partly operational. Flares burned on the top of processing towers, making the place seem quite unpleasant.
"I don't like it here!" Fergus said. "All this flame and noise. It's like a scrapyard!"
Tempest herself looked concerned. "Not to mention hot. But we have our orders."
A foreman walked over, and looked at them. "I must admit I wasn't expecting you two," he said. "But we're glad to have some help. Can you take those tankers for us?"
The tanker train before them was illuminated by the odd flare and the hum of the electric lights. The train was very long and quite heavy. "There's no way we'll shift that lot!" Fergus said. "Let's go find another engine."
"Agreed," Tempest said, and reversed Fergus away.
"Where are you going?" asked the foreman, confused. But Fergus couldn't hear over the sound of his own puffing.
A few hours later, Charles was moved into the shed. The light had faded completely, and the area outside of lighting was pitch black. "Oddly quiet tonight!" he said to Porter.
"I'm looking forward to a quiet night's sleep," Porter replied. "Izzy's just grabbing a bite to eat, and then we'll go resupply a trawler before clocking off for the night."
"I'll need one myself," Charles yawned. "That new engine was quite the handful. What was his name again?"
"Fergus, I think," Porter said. "I met him near Darlington a few months ago. Nice chap."
Suddenly, Izzy arrived again. "New orders!" she said, as she clambered into Porter's cab. "We need to go and find Fergus! He hasn't been seen for a few hours, so nobody knows where he is!"
"Well, there go my hopes of a quiet night in," Porter grumbled as he was backed out of the shed.
"Good luck!" Charles said. "I thought it was strange he was sent to pull an oil train. He looked far too small for that sort of thing."
Fergus and Tempest were now hopelessly lost. They rumbled along the line, but in the dark it can be hard to see where you are going. The lack of light from the sun, replaced only by the sickly glow of the moonlight, made seeing where they were going difficult. The shapes around them seemed threatening and dangerous, like monsters were waiting to attack them.
"This was such a bad idea!" Fergus said. "I want to go home!"
"If we can ever figure out where home is," Tempest said, exposed on top of the engine (as Fergus had no cab). She adjusted her scarf, moved her hat, and struggled on despite the threatening cold all around her. Not only that, Fergus was running low on coal, so they needed to secure some more.
Around Perranwell they came to a stop, and Tempest positioned Fergus in a siding to avoid blocking any traffic. She went inside the station building to ask for a map and some fuel.
Suddenly, a familiar whistle echoed up the valley. "Is that Porter?" Fergus asked to himself.
Sure enough, the distinctive shape of the Fowler Dock Tank loomed out of the dark and came to a stop. "You're a bit lost, mate."
Fergus sighed. "I went to look for help with that oil train, as there was no chance I would be able to pull it by myself. But I seem to have gotten very, very lost."
"You're two stations up the line. This is Perranwell."
"There goes any chance of me making a good impression," Fergus said. "Everybody will be so cross!"
"What are you talking about?" Izzy said. "We're worried sick! We had no idea where you were! But it seems there was a mixup."
Just then, Tempest returned. "I know where we are now. This is-"
"Perranwell," Fergus said. "Porter just told me. But Izzy was just saying there was some sort of mistake."
"Yes indeedy!" Izzy smiled. "The order wasn't for you. It was for Charles!"
Just then, there was a loud engine roar behind them, and Charles rumbled through with a long, heavy train of tankers. "Whose idea was it to give me this lot?" he complained as he rattled by.
"Serves you right for being a pain in the axlebox!" Porter retorted, as the tankers rumbled past.
Fergus glanced back. "Perhaps you're being a bit harsh. Charles only wanted things done properly."
"But it doesn't justify him being rude," Tempest added. "Oh well. Tomorrow is another day, and we can start again tomorrow knowing what we are doing."
And this would certainly prove to be the case. The next morning, Charles apologised to Fergus for his abrasiveness, an apology which Fergus accepted. The two then went back to the quarry, and I am proud to say did everything right this time.