The Maritime Line rarely stopped moving. No matter what time of day it was there was always something going on, be it the movement of freight, and conveyance of passengers, or even the shunting of trucks in the yard. Not only that, but the spring holiday season was close to beginning, and this was bringing more passengers than usual to the quaint Cornish towns of the Fal River Valley. From Truro to Falmouth people were coming to visit.
Porter was most surprised about what he saw. "Izzy," he asked, "why are people photographing Sunny's house?"
"They probably think it's a tourist attraction and that it's no longer lived in," Izzy replied. "They could always check first, though."
They both watched as Sunny tried to make her way through the crowd. "Excuse me! Pardon me! You woudn't mind letting me through?"
"Looks like they didn't realise the place was still inhabited," Porter noted.
"Technically the lighthouse isn't," Izzy said. "Sunny lives in the house next to it!"
"I knew that."
The entire scene was interrupted by the familiar roar of a diesel engine, and from the mainline Charles roared into view with a rake of coaches behind him. "Holidaymakers' express, coming through!" he shouted.
He pulled into the platform and came to a complete stop, before the guard permitted the passengers to get off the train. As they walked down the platform, they were all talking to one another.
"Honestly, they thought this was acceptable!" said one. "A trip to the seaside on a smelly diesel, no less!"
"Agreed!" said another. "And look at the state the paintwork is in! It looks a mess!"
Charles looked at them. "It has a name, you know," he said. "Read the nameplate, unless your reading comprehension really is that poor."
"Charles!" Zipp hissed.
"Just saying it as it is," Charles replied. "If they can't be bothered to read a nameplate it speaks volumes about their ability to process information."
Truth be told, Charles was a bit worried. He knew that appearances were important to the average visitor, many of whom did not tolerate dirty locomotives. And if he wasn't exactly in prime paint condition, then that reflected badly on the railway.
"Should we try to get a repaint?" he asked.
"Can't get one in this week," Zipp replied. "The workshop's booked out for the rest of the week, so we'll have to keep going as we are." She shut down his engine in preparation for Brookes to pull in and take the coaches away (the platforms at Falmouth having no run round loop).
As Brookes moved into position, there was an odd ticking noise.
"What is that mysterious ticking noise?" Brookes asked.
"I don't know," Zipp replied. "But it's not forming a consistent beat so we cannot make the obvious joke."
"You could make the obvious joke with an alternating time signature," Argyle suggested, as he hopped behind the coaches and the engine to couple them up. "Keep an eye out for me, would you Zipp?"
"Sure," Zipp replied.
Later on, Charles had been placed on shed for the night, and his engine was once again shut down. Unfortunately, the mysterious ticking noise started up again.
"Whatever is that noise?" Porter asked.
"It's a mysterious noise," Rebecca said.
"A ticking noise," Salty added.
"A mysterious ticking noise," finished Sophie. "If he's still making it tomorrow Pipp could make a remix from it."
Charles looked over. "Don't you lot have anything better to do than make jokes at my expense?"
Bellerophon sighed. "It is making sleeping a bit difficult. And it's not as if we can stick a pair of ear muffs on and block the noise out."
"You know," Rebecca said, "I've always wondered how we can hear things when we have no apparent ears."
"Probably the same way Jazz does," Porter commented.
"She actually does have ears," Ray chimed in. "It's just that she styles her hair in such a way that they are under them."
"Ohhhhh," said an assembled chorus.
"Now then, we'd probably best be gettin' some shuteye," Salty said. "Dockside won't run itself."
The next day, Charles was off bright and early with passenger work. "I don't get enough respect," he grumbled. "Just because the visitors seem to always want to see steam engines doesn't mean we diesels aren't important. Why, without me and Sophie this line would probably grind to a halt."
"It didn't grind to a halt when we were back in Dorset last year," Zipp pointed out.
"Zipp, read the room," Charles replied. "But if we can get them there on time they probably won't mind a slightly shabby diesel on the front of their train. Perhaps they should stick me on the front of a dining train and see what happens."
After a while, they arrived at Truro, and prepared to run round for the return trip to Falmouth. They had a few minutes to pull this move off, so Zipp placed a lamp in position next to the coaches to remind people she was working underneath the coach closest to the engine.
Nigel was already at work in the yard. "Did a bit drop off?" he asked. "A BOAC."
"British Overseas Airways Corporation?" Zipp asked.
"Bit Off A Crompton."
"I see," Zipp answered. She hopped up again and got Charles run round his train, then shunted the coaches to the other platform to let the connecting train from Exeter arrive.
And when it did, the passengers were soon onboard. But some of them were very rude. "We just spent over an hour on a diesel!" she snapped. "And now we'll be stuck behind another for the rest of our journey! I thought the Maritime Line used heritage locomotives!"
This made Charles very cross. It was about time the other engines treated him with respect, he thought, and so he decided to take matters into his own wheels.
Later on, after arriving at Falmouth, Charles was once again released from his coaches. "Speed it up!" he called. "I can't afford to be kept waiting!"
"You're not due to leave again for another twenty minutes," Brookes pointed out. "What's the rush?"
And Sophie was very surprised when Charles arrived at the fuel pump. "I need the fuel more urgently than you!" he said. "Back off!"
Pipp leaned her head out of the cab. "Captain Charles!" she snapped.
Nothing happened.
"Huh? That always works!"
"Only when mom does it," Zipp sighed, as she got the fuel hoses lined up. "I'll be out of your way in a bit."
"And another thing," Charles said. "You are all to sound your horns-"
"CHOO CHOO!" shouted the trucks.
"We're not having overused jokes around here!" Salty said.
"-Or blow your whistles when I pass?"
"Why?" Porter asked. "You're really full of hot air today."
"Because," Charles said grandly, "I am important. I don't see you pulling passenger trains." And he powered away, his engine rumbling.
"Whistle if you want," Rebecca said. "I won't be bothering. I don't play into delusions of grandeur."
Charles was on his way once more, but not with passengers. He had been switched onto an empty tanker train bound for the yard at Truro. "Do these people ever stop complaining?" he said, the irony lost on him.
He pulled into the loop at Penwithers Junction to await the line, and as he looked over he suddenly saw a train roll past- another tanker train. "That must be what we're combining our stock with," he said.
"Probably," Zipp said, as she observed the signal suddenly change as the points moved. "Away we go!"
As they pulled away, they didn't see the signalman shouting to them. As they rattled out of the tunnel, Charles suddenly saw something long and silver in front of him. "BRAKES!"
Zipp slammed the brakes on, but it was too late. Charles slammed into the rear tanker- and got a face full of some mysterious pink substance for his trouble.
Later on, Porter had arrived to pull them free. "Whatever is this thing?" he asked. "I mean, it reminds me of Charles, but it can't be him as he'd never end up this messy."
"I see your sense of humour is as good as ever," Charles replied.
Once they had been pulled back into the loop, Izzy walked up the train to the cab. "Are you OK, Zipp?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Zipp replied. "But what I don't understand is why we were let out when another train was in the section."
Then the signalman arrived. "The signal rodding snapped before I could finish setting the interlocking up," he explained. "I did try to warn you."
"Why didn't you use the radio?"
"The set in the signal box is broken."
Charles had sustained other damage in the collision, and had to be taken out of service and shunted to the big workshop. He would almost certainly be there for a long time.
"Never mind," Bellerophon said. "I know what it's like to be covered in sticky things- like the jam and fruit we spilled all over Falmouth."
Charles sighed. At least one engine showed sympathy. He only hoped he wouldn't be out of traffic for very long.