Further Info on Son of Sobek

I think I may have shown you all this link already, but it has some good info. Not to mention, it kind of drops hints that Rick will be reading from The House of Hades for the first time on May 31 at an author's breakfast.

Also, here's the full excerpt for The Son of Sobek from the Kane Chronicles Facebook page. (I don't own this text; it all belongs to Rick Riordan and Disney Hyperion.) For some reason, it didn't catch any of the letter Fs, or the last page. (The last page only has a picture of the hieroglyph and the words "You wouldn't think it could cause so much trouble.")

417

THE SON OF SOBEK

The surace o the river churned with bubbles. The croco-

dile was gone, but standing in the marsh about twenty eetaway was a teenage guy in jeans and a aded orange T-shirt

that said CAMP something. I couldn’t read the rest. He lookeda little older than me—maybe seventeen—with tousled blackhair and sea-green eyes. What really caught my attention was

his sword—a straight double-edged blade glowing with aint

bronze light.I’m not sure which o us was more surprised.

For a second, Camper Boy just stared at me. He notedmy

khopesh

and wand, and I got the eeling that he actually

saw

these things as they were. Normal mortals have trouble

seeing magic. Their brains can’t interpret it, so they might lookat my sword, or instance, and see a baseball bat or a walkingstick.

But this kid . . . he was dierent. I fgured he must be a

magician. The only problem was, I’d met most o the magicians

in the North American nomes, and I’d never seen this guy

beore. I’d also never seen a sword like that. Everything abouthim seemed . . .

un-Egyptian

.“The crocodile,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm andeven. “Where did it go?”Camper Boy rowned. “You’re welcome.”“What?”

“I stuck that croc in the rump.” He mimicked the actionwith his sword. “That’s why it vomited you up. So, you’re

welcome. What were you doing in there?”I’ll admit I wasn’t in the best mood. I smelled. I hurt. And,

418

THE SON OF SOBEK

yeah, I was a little embarrassed: the mighty Carter Kane, head

o Brooklyn House, had been disgorged rom a croc’s mouth

like a giant hairball.“I was resting,” I snapped. “What do you

think

I was doing? Now, who are you, and why are you fghting my monster?”

“

Your

monster?” The guy trudged toward me through the

water. He didn’t seem to have any trouble with the mud. “Look,

man, I don’t know who you are, but that crocodile has been

terrorizing Long Island or weeks. I take that kind o personal,as this is my home tur. A ew days ago, it ate one o our pegasi.”

A jolt went up my spine like I’d backed into an electric fence.

“Did you say

 pegasi

?”He waved the question aside. “Is it your monster or not?”

“I don’t own it!” I growled. “I’m trying to stop it! Now,

where—”“The croc headed that way.” He pointed his sword to thesouth. “I would already be chasing it, but you surprised me.”

He sized me up, which was disconcerting since he was

hal a oot taller. I still couldn’t read his T-shirt except or theword

CAMP

. Around his neck hung a leather strap with some

colorful clay beads, like a kid’s arts and crafts project. He wasn’t

carrying a magician’s pack or a wand. Maybe he kept them inthe Duat? Or maybe he was just a delusional mortal who’d acci-dentally ound a magic sword and thought he was a superhero.Ancient relics can really mess with your mind.Finally he shook his head. “I give up. Son o Ares? You’vegot to be a hal-blood, but what happened to your sword? It’sall bent.”

419

THE SON OF SOBEK

“It’s a

khopesh

.” My shock was rapidly turning to anger. “It’ssupposed to be curved.”But I wasn’t thinking about the sword.Camper Boy had just called me a

half-blood

? Maybe I hadn’theard him right. Maybe he meant something else. But my dadwas Arican American. My mom was white.

Half-blood

wasn’ta word I liked.“Just get out o here,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’ve got acrocodile to catch.”“Dude,

I

have a crocodile to catch,” he insisted. “Last timeyou tried, it ate you. Remember?”

My fngers tightened around my sword hilt. “I had every-

thing under control. I was about to summon a fst—”For what happened next, I take ull responsibility.I didn’t mean it. Honestly. But I was angry. And as I mayhave mentioned, I’m not always good at channeling words o power. While I was in the crocodile’s belly, I’d been preparingto summon the Fist o Horus, a giant glowing blue hand thatcan pulverize doors, walls, and pretty much anything else thatgets in your way. My plan had been to punch my way out o themonster. Gross, yes; but hopeully eective.I guess that spell was still in my head, ready to be triggered

like a loaded gun. Facing Camper Boy, I was urious, not tomentioned dazed and conused; so when I meant to say theEnglish word fst, it came out in Ancient Egyptian instead:

khefa

.Such a simple hieroglyph: