The Dolphin Cross
The Dolphin Cross
is an unfinished fragment (about the first third) of the sequel to The Face in the Frost
, and shares the two protagonists from that novel, Prospero and Roger Bacon. In this adventure, Prospero is kidnapped and exiled to a lonely island. He escapes and manages to unravel some of the mystery as to who would want to do this and why....
"...a perfect continuation from The Face in the Frost...." - Matthew David Surridge
About the Book
The second story – though never completed – to feature Prospero and Roger Bacon. The story is set mere months following the adventures documented in The Face in the Frost.
Bellairs sent the manuscript to author Ellen Kushner in early 1980. Kushner held the manuscript for close to thirty years, until it was included in the 2009 anthology, Magic Mirrors, published by the New England Science Fiction Association press.
There are no known adaptations of this work.
There are no known allusions to this work.
Prospero thrashes about his newly-found magic sword, shouting out a battle cry that identifies St. George.
Prospero finds evidence of Romans in the Southern Kingdom based on the discovery of the SPQR abbreviation.
The kidnapped Prospero is taken from the Southern Kingdom and stranded on a deserted, rocky island known as Skellig Padraic.
Prospero comes across a prominent road in the Southern Kingdom and recognizes it as Roman.
He walked on, swinging the lantern. The iron ring creaked, and the lantern cast crazy slashes all over the road. By now Prospero was thoroughly spooked. He kept looking from side to side. How many miles was it? It seemed like twenty tonight. What was that? A white thing under a scabby maple tree. A road marker? Not here. Somebody’s wash? Not this far from town. A horseman.
Out into the middle of the dark road he cantered, covered from head to foot with armor that shone gray like the moon. The same featureless coal scuttle helmet, with a black slit for eyes. The same blank shield. The horseman charged, his lance leveled. This time there were no bushes to hide in; there was no mirror handy with spells. In the few seconds he had, Prospero thought, “This is my death,” and shook himself – somehow – out of his fear-frozen trance. He only had the lantern for a weapon, so he wound up like a Sunday softball pitcher. Three times he whirled the creaking lantern over his head. Three times it made a yellow oval orbit in the pitch-black air. When the knight was almost on top of him he let the lantern go, and when it went out, he did too.