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Informationen zum Autor Susan Cooper is one of our foremost fantasy authors; her classic five-book fantasy sequence The Dark Is Rising has sold millions of copies worldwide. Her books’ accolades include the Newbery Medal, a Newbery Honor, the Boston Globe–Horn Book Award, and five shortlists for the Carnegie Medal. She combines fantasy with history in Victory (a Washington Post Top Ten Books for Children pick), King of Shadows, Ghost Hawk, and her magical The Boggart and the Monster, second in a trilogy, which won the Scottish Arts Council’s Children’s Book Award. Susan Cooper lives on a saltmarsh island in Massachusetts, and you can visit her online at TheLostLand.com. Klappentext Part of Cooper's Dark Is Rising fantasy, "Over Sea, Under Stone" is now available in this digest edition.Over Sea, Under Stone • Chapter One • “Where is he?” Barney hopped from one foot to the other as he clambered down from the train, peering in vain through the white-faced crowds flooding eagerly to the St Austell ticket barrier. “Oh, I can’t see him. Is he there?” “Of course he’s there,” Simon said, struggling to clutch the long canvas bundle of his father’s fishing rods. “He said he’d meet us. With a car.” Behind them, the big diesel locomotive hooted like a giant owl, and the train began to move out. “Stay where you are a minute,” Father said, from a barricade of suitcases. “Merry won’t vanish. Let people get clear.” Jane sniffed ecstatically. “I can smell the sea!” “We’re miles from the sea,” Simon said loftily. “I don’t care. I can smell it.” “Trewissick’s five miles from St Austell, Great-Uncle Merry said.” “Oh, where is he?” Barney still jigged impatiently on the dusty grey platform, glaring at the disappearing backs that masked his view. Then suddenly he stood still, gazing downwards. “Hey—look.” They looked. He was staring at a large black suitcase among the forest of shuffling legs. “What’s so marvellous about that?” Jane said. Then they saw that the suitcase had two brown pricked ears and a long waving brown tail. Its owner picked it up and moved away, and the dog which had been behind it was left standing there alone, looking up and down the platform. He was a long, rangy, lean dog, and where the sunlight shafted down on his coat it gleamed dark red. Barney whistled, and held out his hand. “Darling, no,” said his mother plaintively, clutching at the bunch of paint-brushes that sprouted from her pocket like a tuft of celery. But even before Barney whistled, the dog had begun trotting in their direction, swift and determined, as if he were recognizing old friends. He loped round them in a circle, raising his long red muzzle to each in turn, then stopped beside Jane, and licked her hand. “Isn’t he gorgeous?” Jane crouched beside him, and ruffled the long silky fur of his neck. “Darling, be careful,” Mother said. “He’ll get left behind. He must belong to someone over there.” “I wish he belonged to us.” “So does he,” Barney said. “Look.” He scratched the red head, and the dog gave a throaty half-bark of pleasure. “No,” Father said. The crowds were thinning now, and through the barrier they could see clear blue sky out over the station yard. “His name’s on his collar,” Jane said, still down beside the dog’s neck. She fumbled with the silver tab on the heavy strap. “It says Rufus. And something else . . . Trewissick. Hey, he comes from the village!” But as she looked up, suddenly the others were not there. She jumped to her feet and ran after them into the sunshine, seeing in an instant what they had seen: the towering familiar figure of Great-Uncle Merry, out in the yard, waiting for them.<...
