Doctor Who_ Atom Bomb Blues - Andrew Cartmel [67]
The train rattled along in a dreamy rhythmic sweep through the landscape of the American west. ‘Tickets for Los Angeles,’ repeated the inspector as he worked his way along the observation car. He was a tiny, pale old man with a seamed face, wearing a black cap and a black uniform with brass buttons.
He smiled at Ace as he took her ticket, his face sprouting new networks of wrinkles. ‘We got ourselves some big names on the train today, miss.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You English, miss?’
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‘That’s right,’ said Ace, truthfully enough. ‘From London.’
‘Terrible things those Nazis did to that city of yours. The bombing. Still they got theirs now. Berlin looks a heck of a lot worse than London ever did. Ha ha ha. Thanks to our boys.’ Then he added hastily, ‘And your boys too of course.’
He squinted at her ticket. ‘Going to Los Angeles on holiday?’ He pronounced it Loss Ang-galeez.
‘I’ve got some work to do there.’
‘Well you sure picked a swell train to take you to the city. Like I was saying, some big names on board. We’ve got the entire Duke Ellington band here with us!’ He leaned forward and spoke in a lower voice. ‘They’re all coloured fellows of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Ace.
‘So naturally they’ve got their own Pullman car.’
‘Naturally,’ said Ace.
‘Big names in music,’ confided the man, finally punching her ticket and handing it back to her. Ace felt a warm sense of relief. She’d assumed that the tickets the Doctor had got for them were legit but you could never be sure, and the last thing she wanted was to end up under arrest here in California in 1945 for fare dodging. It was probably a hanging offence. Or did they use the electric chair in California? ‘I used to be quite a fan myself,’ said the ticket inspector. ‘“East St Louis Toodle-Oo” and “Creole Love Call”. But not of their new stuff. The modern stuff. It’s just noise. The kind of noise the jitterbugs go for. You’re not a jitterbug, are you miss?’
‘I certainly hope not.’
The ticket inspector chuckled. ‘Of course you’re not.’ He moved on down the observation car. Ace waited a polite minute or two before getting up, so it wouldn’t look like he’d driven her off, though in a way he had. In any case, it was time to rendezvous with the Doctor.
Their pre-established rendezvous point was the baggage compartment of the train, where the TARDIS had materialised when it had brought them here.
Ace had followed the Doctor out of the blue police box carrying a huge roll of brown paper, some adhesive tape and a fat black pen. The hasty application of these materials had succeeded in making the TARDIS look convincingly like a large package of some kind – a very large package – complete with destination address and admonitions to handle with care.
Now Ace moved through the cluttered compartment to the tall brown parcel and stood in front of it. She tapped her toes and checked her watch. Either she was on time and the Doctor was late or she was running a little fast. Most likely the Doctor was late. She sat down on top of a large wicker hamper and had just begun to reflect on the irony of an unpunctual time traveller when the door at the far end of the compartment opened and the Doctor came bustling 118
in. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, but it took rather longer than I expected to do my reconnaissance.’
‘They’re in their own Pullman carriage,’ said Ace.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said the Doctor.
Ace sat there on the hamper, swinging her legs and feeling smug. ‘The ticket collector told me that the Duke Ellington band is on this train. And that they’re in their own special carriage. Because they’re coloured blokes, don’t you know.’
‘Yes.’ The Doctor shook his head. ‘One is often brought up short by the more ugly aspects of this era. But how did you even know I was looking for Duke Ellington?’
‘Oh come on. The way Cosmic Ray kept banging on about his music it was obvious he’s a pretty important factor in this whole operation. So when I hear he’s on the same train you decided we should