Troublesome Trucks

Arc 16 S.C.Ruffey

With the ropes tethered between us and the door handles, the Jays stood back to watch the spectacle. It's either this or ramming the door and risking my identity being revealed. At my command, Daniel pulled. The ropes went taught, and strained. Some bits began snapping. Finally, with creak and a crunch, the doors flew open, remaining on their hinges. Good, very good.

With the ropes removed, the Blue Jays left Dan and I to inspect. As we edged closer towards the darkness of the shed, the moonlight shined through the side window, casting a familiar silhouette. With the dim light reflecting over his face, I could make out a large rectangular face, with a distinct lower buck tooth protruding from his mouth. This was Scruffey, the big shot from decades long gone, his knowledge could prove vital in our fight against this cog machine of a railway.

The truck's old eyes met ours, like soot left over from a fire, 

"You my death bringer?" He asked with a cough. 

"No, not quite." I replied softly, "I doubt you don't know who I am but I know who you are, and I've been looking for you for quite some time, Scruffey." 

The truck chuckled with some degree of relief, "So they remembered me. Ah, I'm glad. Even if I'm painted as the villain, I'm glad they still know of my existence." Scruffey said, a tear running down his cheek. This was unsettling to say the least. It was now I realized the extent of what had happened. Despite being torn apart and put back together like humpty dumpty, he had been locked within this small shack of a shed, left with no one for company except for his own thoughts for God knows how long. He couldn't even see out of the shed's window. There was just darkness, just darkness. 

My attention turned to the sky, it had turned from an ebony color to navy. Our time together was running out, the time was now. "Dan, Dawn approaches. Get the ballast train ready, I'll get the info." Although Daniel wanted to hear the stories too, he understood how dire our situation was. "I'm on it, I'll leave you to last. Take your time." He uncoupled and set to work.

Our eyes met again, Scruffey's more curious than before. "What is it you want? Clearly you weren't ordered to break me out of here." He was smarter than his buck tooth led me to believe. "You're right on that assumption. I did this of my own free will," I declared, "I did so that I might obtain knowledge of Sodor's history from a veteran big shot like yourself." Scruffey looked me over doubtfully, "A big shot in the making huh?" He snorted, "Tell me then bigshot, what have you done in the time that you've been birthed?"

After a lengthy recap, Scruffey seemed deeply disturbed, as if I had taken things too far by killing an innocent human. I told him that from my point of view, they were the slavers for not only trucks but for all rolling stock, engines included. Scruffey warned to pick my enemies wisely, that they might prove more essential than I may first realize.

From there I asked about the tales from times long past, and its 'killer engines,' Scruffey told me three stories.

The first was his own. How after Oliver, NWR's number eleven had been pushed into a turntable well, and how after being mended, Scruffey had begun teasing him, mocking him. For merely making meaningless jokes and singing songs about him, the engines decided to to shut him up for good. They purposely set Scruffey up, he was put on a long train with other trucks filled with ballast. Scruffey ordered the others in line to hold back. Oliver, seeing his chance pulled so hard that Scruffey's old frames gave out and he fell to pieces. Miraculously he had survived. Whilst in pieces, the Fat Controller, Sir Charles Topham Hatt, came to inspect the damage. He claimed that Scruffey was "Unserviceable from the start" but only Scruffey heard this. As the Fat Hat proceeded to whisper to Oliver "Don't tell the other trucks that. Bad for discipline"