The Island's Swansong

IX - The Big Dipper

Kelsthorpe had been a bust, providing nothing new in the way of clues. There were few stops between here and Kildane, so it was worth exploring the Kirk Ronan line.

Or at least that's what I'd kidded myself into thinking.

The real reason for my diversion chewed on the back of my mind. This branch line housed a junction leading to the mystical 'Magic Buffers' no engine on Sodor had heard of. That more than anything told me I was pushing on with a map which I knew was imperfect. But in a decade's time, I'd regret not looking regardless, even though in the near future I may also regret chasing a fantasy that wasted my time and resources. It was a lose-lose, so worth doing.

Shunting the thought to the back of my head, I turned my attention to the ruins of the cement works I'd come to. There wasn't much here. The two large hoppers had toppled, collapsing onto the side of the large works building, their legs crippled, bent, and rusted. The main building's chimney had all but disintegrated, while a thick matt of weeds and grass obscured the roads and rails running throughout the complex. On several occasions, I tripped, catching the toe caps of my boots, on unseen rails or hidden sleepers. Something told me this place had been abandoned for a lot longer than the parts of Sodor I'd seen so far.

Walking around the fallen hoppers, I circled to the back of the main works building. A small external office was tucked at the rear, its roof sporting more holes than a sieve. The door had collapsed to the floor, riddled with rot and damp. The curio inside me egged me on.

I stuck my head inside the building. The furniture had fared no better. Tables and chairs had lost their legs to decay. A musty dampness clung to every surface. At first glance, I was convinced there was nothing here, but a metal shelving unit tucked away in the corner caught my scanning gaze. Its black paint had flaked away to nothing, leaving the oxidised metal skeleton visible in its entirety. On one of the shelves sat a plastic folder. A layer of mould encrusted it in an extra layer of urban, post-apocalyptic camouflage.

I carefully walked over. Floorboards squelched underfoot like I was in a bog. Heaving the folder off the shelf, a cloud of rust flakes, dust and mould spores shot into the air, encircling my head like an angry swarm of nano-insects. I tried to hold my breath, but the odorous microparticles were already in my nose and tickling my throat. Spinning on my heels, I staggered for the clarity of the air outside, coughs heaving my diaphragm as my tongue arched inside my mouth.

Escaping back into sunlight, I gulped down the last of the water in my bottle to try and clear my innards of the smell, texture, and taste. The folder remained clutched in my left hand. Collapsing my bag onto the floor, I perched on it as I began unpacking my prize. Brushing off as much mould as I could, I unlatched the clip. Inside were documents, still pristine in their plastic wallets. God bless the longevity of plastic, in this instance at least.

I scanned the documents. They were financial statements. Final bank statements to be precise, wrapping up utility payments, customer transactions and other administrative costs. Sodor Cement Works had closed down. Not suddenly, not overnight. It was planned, meditated and by the legal book. Far from the rapid abandonment I'd seen and heard about. All the documents were from 2008, well before popularity in the show declined. Even before the original line of books about Sodor ended. The causes of Sodor's demise may be more deep-seated and long-term than I was led to believe...

I pulled my notebook out of my trouser pocket and scribbled down the key details and dates before putting the documents back inside their wallets. Everything was rearranged as I found it. Hesitant feet slowly wandered back inside the shell of the office, returning the plastic folder to its rightful place.

Grabbing my bag, I left the cement works behind. If it had gone under in 2008, no wonder Fergus ended up in preservation. He got out before everything else came crashing down. Recalibrating my focus, I pushed forth down the line. Somewhere ahead should be a junction leading to a huge viaduct known as 'The Big Dipper'. If I found that, I knew I was on the right track for finding the 'Magic Buffers'.