The Son of Sobek | Page 4

came out in Ancient Egyptian instead: khefa.

Such a simple hieroglyph:



You wouldn’t think it could cause so much trouble.

As soon as I spoke the word, the symbol blazed in the air between us. A giant fist the size of a dishwasher shimmered into existence and slammed Camper Boy into the next county.

I mean I literally punched him out of his shoes. He rocketed from the river with a loud suck-plop! And the last thing I saw was his bare feet achieving escape velocity as he flew backwards and disappeared from sight.

No, I didn’t feel good about it. Well … maybe a tiny bit good. But I also felt mortified. Even if the guy was a jerk, magicians weren’t supposed to go around sucker-punching kids into orbit with the Fist of Horus.

‘Oh, great.’ I hit myself on the forehead.

I started to wade across the marsh, worried that I’d actually killed the guy. ‘Man, I’m sorry!’ I yelled, hoping he could hear me. ‘Are you –?’

The wave came out of nowhere.

A twenty-foot wall of water slammed into me and pushed me back into the river. I came up spluttering, a horrible taste like fish food in my mouth. I blinked the gunk out of my eyes just in time to see Camper Boy leaping towards me ninja-style, his sword raised.

I lifted my khopesh to deflect the blow. I just managed to keep my head from being cleaved in half, but Camper Boy was strong and quick. As I reeled backwards, he struck again and again. Each time, I was able to parry, but I could tell I was outmatched. His blade was lighter and quicker, and – yes, I’ll admit it – he was a better swordsman.

I wanted to explain that I’d made a mistake. I wasn’t really his enemy. But I needed all my concentration just to keep from getting sliced down the middle.

Camper Boy, however, had no trouble talking.

‘Now I get it,’ he said, swinging at my head. ‘You’re some kind of monster.’

CLANG! I intercepted the strike and staggered back.

‘I’m not a monster,’ I managed.

To beat this guy, I’d have to use more than just a sword. The problem was I didn’t want to hurt him. Despite the fact that he was trying to chop me into a Kane-flavoured barbecue sandwich, I still felt bad for starting the fight.

He swung again, and I had no choice. I used my wand this time, catching his blade in the crook of ivory and channelling a burst of magic straight up his arm. The air between us flashed and crackled. Camper Boy stumbled back. Blue sparks of sorcery popped around him, as if my spell didn’t know quite what to do with him. Who was this guy?

‘You said the crocodile was yours.’ Camper Boy scowled, anger blazing in his green eyes. ‘You lost your pet, I suppose. Maybe you’re a spirit from the Underworld, come through the Doors of Death?’

Before I could even process that question, he thrust out his free hand. The river reversed course and swept me off my feet.

I managed to get up, but I was getting really tired of drinking swamp water. Meanwhile, Camper Boy charged again, his sword raised for the kill. In desperation, I dropped my wand. I thrust my hand into my backpack, and my fingers closed round the piece of rope.

I threw it and yelled the command word ‘TAS!’ – bind – just as Camper Boy’s bronze blade cut into my wrist.

My whole arm erupted in agony. My vision tunnelled. Yellow spots danced before my eyes. I dropped my sword and clutched my wrist, gasping for breath, everything forgotten except the excruciating pain.

In the back of my mind, I knew Camper Boy could kill me easily. For some reason he didn’t. A wave of nausea made me double over.

I forced myself to look at the wound. There was a lot of blood, but I remembered something Jaz had told me once in the infirmary at Brooklyn House: cuts usually looked a lot worse than they were. I hoped that was true. I fished a piece of papyrus out of my backpack and pressed it against the wound as a makeshift bandage.

The pain was still horrible, but the nausea became more manageable. My thoughts started to clear, and I wondered why I hadn’t been skewered yet.

Camper Boy was sitting nearby in waist-deep water, looking dejected. My magic rope had wrapped round his sword arm, then lashed his hand to the side of his head. Unable to let go of his sword, he looked like he had a single reindeer antler sprouting next to his ear. He tugged at the rope with his free hand, but of course he couldn’t make any progress.

Finally he just sighed and glared at me. ‘I’m really starting to hate you.’

‘Hate me?’ I