by Ed Zenith
“All my life I was scared of that bully. He beat me, scarred me and carved his initials in my soul and then all it takes to finish him off is a flea-bitten old mutt.”
“Careful. He’ll hear you.”
Acton looked up at Ash in surprise. Ash stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. They all stayed deadly quiet and listened for the padding of paws. Through the open door burst a flurry of fur and Studley jumped up on the chaise longue, his tail wagging like a tree in a hurricane. He stood on Acton’s chest and licked his face. It hurt Acton, but it was a pain he was happy to bare.
“Studley!” he cheered. “I thought you’d been left behind!”
“As if we would!” said Sandy. “We stopped five hundred yards down the line when we had left the Heath’s shed and sounded the whistle. This little one came running at sixty miles an hour, carrying this in his mouth.” She produced her famous jewelled belt. It glinted in the sunshine, casting colourful rays around the carriage. “I don’t think I’ll wear it anymore. More trouble than it’s worth.”
“It did look a little conspicuous,” said Ash.
“Yes,” said Sandy thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ve got this now!” She lifted up the silver sword that she had taken from Hayden Wick and stored it in the side of her belt.
“Oh, much better,” said Ash.
Studley licked at Acton’s face until he winced with pain and Ash lifted him off.
“So where does this leave us? On the run, exiled to a foreign country, with no money and no work.”
“I wouldn’t say no money. When Ash threw the knife in the fire, the metal would have melted, but not the precious stones. Once the engine has had time to cool, we should just be able to fish them out of the grate. Also, Cornwall is always looking for engines to pull the tin from their mines, so we could easily pick up some work.”
Sandy smiled, proudly.
“What about you?” said Acton. “Are you just going to give up your life in Swindon and go on the run with us?”
Sandy frowned and shrugged.
“It seems I have little choice. With gangsters, the police and a group of mercenaries after me, you seem to be the safest option. Besides, the business with the Heaths made me realise how naïve I’ve been, trusting everyone and never living for myself. So I’ll stay here with you, if that’s alright.”
Acton looked around at the impossibly tidy carriage. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having a woman around the place. As long as she wasn’t too bossy.
“And I’ve been having a look at your log book. Your finances are in terrible shape! Some changes are required around here.”
Acton clenched his jaw.
“I’ll get us moving toward the border,” said Ash, knowing when to leave. He rose from his seat and carried Studley off.
“Not so fast,” said Acton, in serious tones. “This is still my train and I say what goes on around here.” Ash sighed. Maybe the old Acton was still in there, ready to give him a hard time. Or maybe he was just joking. “But as I am temporarily incapacitated, you may proceed with my permission.”
“Cheers boss,” grinned Ash.
“You are forgetting one thing though,” said Sandy. She stood and moved to a cabinet which she opened. She took out something and Ash knew it instantly. “Every footplateman must have a cap,” she said, presenting it to him. Ash was amazed. He reached out and took it reverently. Frampton’s cap. No more than a rag in real life, but he knew what it represented.
“You're part of the crew now lad,” nodded Acton approvingly.
*****
Ash pulled himself into the cab of the Horton and placed Studley down, who immediately found a warm corner to kip in. Using some petty cash from Acton’s bureau, he paid the locals who had looked after them for their short stay.
Behind him in the carriage, Ash could hear Acton and Sandy bickering over Acton’s bookkeeping records. It sounded good natured however. For now.
He primed the engine, made ready to move off and paused for the briefest of moments. He remembered Drew, back in the Home and how he always dreamed of being free. He remembered Frampton and how the engine had made him happy, giving him a purpose to carry on. And now he was an engine driver. It was more than he could have ever wished for.
His future was uncertain. He was on the run, on the rails and he didn’t care. He was free and that was all that mattered.
He pulled on the whistle and a brief feeling of power surged through his body. He released a lever and the Horton began to move away from the sidings, the engine red hot and boiling, the pistons pumping up and down, the chimney sending plumes of smoke into the air. Ash smiled and laughed with delight. The Horton started to speed away, with Ash on the footplate and a life of adventure waiting for them.
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by Ed Zenith
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