by Will Taylor
I closed my eyes, completely content, and was about to drift off when a soft, distinct thump sounded from behind the pillow that led to Fort McForterson.
I sat up, squinting blearily into the dark. Ugh. Not this again.
“Samson?” I whispered. “Is that you?”
Silence.
“Um, Uncle Joe?”
More silence.
“. . . Mom?”
Nothing.
Frowning, I crawled through the link, switched on the light, and got the fright of my life. There was someone in the fort with me.
But it wasn’t my mom. And it wasn’t Uncle Joe.
It wasn’t even Samson.
Seven
It was a girl, younger than me, with a baseball cap over her wavy black hair, sitting calmly in the center of the fort with her arms crossed, looking for all the world like she owned the place.
“Whoa!” I said. “What? Hi?”
“Maggie Hetzger,” said the girl. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes . . . ?” I’d never seen this girl before in my life. How did she know my name? And how long had she been here in my very own personal pillow fort? And hey . . . where had she even come from?
I started with the obvious question. “Who are you?”
“My name is Carolina,” said the girl. She pronounced it the long way: Cah-roh-LEE-nuh. “I’m here to escort you to a meeting.”
“A meeting?”
“A meeting. You need to come with me, Maggie Hetzger. Now.”
We stared at each other. This was too weird. Thirty seconds ago I was half asleep in Fort Comfy, and now here I was being ordered by a perfect stranger to attend some sort of meeting in the middle of the night.
The secret-agent corner of my brain kicked slowly into gear, analyzing the situation. Hmm. Based on the available evidence, this might be some type of adventure.
“Well, we should go then,” I said, deciding to roll with it. “I’ll just get Abby.”
Carolina shook her head. “Only the leader of your network is invited to the meeting.”
The what? The leader of our network? If she meant our linked-up forts, then that meant me, but Abby definitely wouldn’t want to miss this.
Except, said a quiet little voice inside me, you missed out on camp. Why shouldn’t Abby stay behind this time? She got her solo adventure. Why not you? Isn’t it your turn to come back with stories to tell?
“That’s me,” I said, swallowing hard. “I’m the leader.” My stomach swooped—my first solo adventure!—but my heart gave a twinge. Abby hadn’t left me behind on purpose; she’d had no choice. This wasn’t quite the same. Then again, it didn’t sound like I really had a choice either. Right?
“We know you are,” said Carolina. “This way.” She reached out and seized a blue-plaid wall pillow. It was one of the ones Abby had pulled down the day before, so I knew for a fact it led nowhere. I was just about to tell her so when Carolina yanked it aside, and a shining gold cushion appeared behind it.
I felt my jaw drop straight through the floor.
Carolina pushed the metallic cushion out of her way and crawled into the impossible link. I followed, dragging my jaw along with me . . .
. . . and staggered to my feet amid clamoring voices and a dazzling golden light inside a massive, gargantuan, how-am-I-not-dreaming-this pillow fort.
“Whaha—?” I said intelligently. “Whohow—?”
Whoa.
It was cavernous, at least five times bigger than the cafeteria at school. There was enough room to fly a helicopter. Carolina and I were at the outer edge, standing against a wall of mismatched pillows that curved away to either side, pillow after pillow after pillow circling the entire space. A bright patchwork bedsheet-and-blanket dome arced above our heads, rising to at least sixty feet high in the center, where a chandelier the size of a house shone like a sun made of fireworks, filling the whole place with that shimmering golden light.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and looked down from the ceiling to the jam-packed floor beneath. And oh, that floor.
It was full to overflowing, a packed maze of sofas and pillow forts of every shape and size, with little paths and roads cutting between them. My eyes pinged around, trying to see everything at once. A fluorescent-teal sofa palace! A double-decker fort with a swing set! A row of minifridges! An avenue of bookshelves! An actual ball pit! And hey, it was the middle of the night—how were there kids everywhere?
Kids were chasing each other along the narrow paths, crawling in and out of the forts, pulling books off shelves, jumping on sofas, and clambering out from behind pillows, all as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
And just like that I was nervous. This was my first day of tennis lessons all over again. All these kids, talking, laughing, running, and I didn’t know a single one. I didn’t know my way around. I didn’t know the rules. I didn’t even know where I was.
And they didn’t know me, either. No one here knew I was a master secret agent, or that I’d been running my own epic adventure games for years. No one knew I was cool.
“Keep up, Maggie Hetzger,” called a voice, and I blinked back to my body. Carolina was heading off along the wall to my left.
I hurried to catch up, but flashes of sound coming from behind the wall pillows kept hijacking my attention. If these pillows worked like the ones in Fort McForterson, then every one of them, stretching all the way around the room, could lead somewhere. That meant dozens and dozens of possible links. I slowed, trailing a hand across the changing fabrics, listening.
The roar of a waterfall boomed from behind a pillow covered in pink sequins; loud opera-style singing drifted through the next; chickens clucked around the edges of a thin green body pillow; and from an enormous cushion the size of a garage door came a steady bright clinking like a downpour of metal raindrops. I stopped and pressed an ear to it, my spy senses tingling.
“Maggie Hetzger!” yelled Carolina, sounding exasperated. She’d stepped away from the wall and was heading down a path directly onto the main floor. I jogged to catch up.
Kids looked around as I passed. Some smiled. Some waved. A few laughed. There sure were a lot of them. A girl carrying a trombone appeared from behind a bookcase, took one look at me, and broke into giggles. I flushed, my scalp prickling, and suddenly wished Abby were with me. She’d know what to do here. She’d stick by my side. She probably felt the exact same way when she got to camp all on her own. I did my best to summon my music, to walk with my head held high and the wind blowing through my hair. But it wasn’t quite working.
Carolina led the way to the very center of the fort, where a round table sat on a platform beneath the gargantuan chandelier. The chandelier was stunning up close, all gleaming metal and golden lights, and decorated with bunches of . . . wait, kids?
There were kids up there, hanging thirty—no, fifty feet off the ground. I had to squint, but I could just make them out, geared up in black visors and climbing harnesses, crawling over the chandelier, dusting, polishing, and cleaning.
And hey, wait again! There were kids even higher up than that, dangling like window washers from the walls and ceiling, going at the curving blankets with needles and pins and thread.
Whoa. Times. Ten.
Beneath the chandelier four long banners hung all the way down to four chairs situated around the table. Four kids—two boys and two girls—were sitting motionless in the chairs, their hands flat on the table in front of them. They all wore matching silver sunglasses.
We climbed the steps and came to a halt. There was a long pause. The hubbub continued on the floor around us, but here on the platform everything was still.
“Welcome back, Carolina,” said the girl sitting across from us finally. She looked a little older than me. She had silver hoops in her ears and a streak of purple in her short black ponytail. “Please introduce our guest.” Apart from her lips the girl hadn’t moved a muscle.
“Yes, ma’am,” s
aid Carolina formally. “Councilors, this is Maggie Hetzger. Maggie Hetzger”—she held out a hand—“this . . . is the Council.”
I looked around and shivered. There was something deeply impressive about the way these kids were sitting there motionless, serene, bathed in that golden light. They looked like the statues in the Lost Temple of the Saber-Toothed Tiger, ancient and powerful. The one closest to me, a pink-cheeked boy in overalls who couldn’t have been older than nine, had a clipboard and pen set neatly on the table in front of him.
“Um, hello, the Council,” I said. What was the proper way to address a group like this? I needed more information. But I was determined to keep my cool. “So, what are you the council of, exactly?”
“Pillow forts, Maggie Hetzger,” answered the girl with the ponytail. “We are the leaders and representatives of the four regional chapters of NAFAFA, the North American Founding and Allied Forts Alliance.”
Oh. My. Creepy Frog. I felt my cool slip right off the platform.
I mean, sure, I was standing inside a palatial, impossible pillow fort, but what?!
“My name is Noriko,” the girl continued. “Head of the Council and Chancellor of the Forts of the Eastern Seaboard.” She raised a finger toward the banner above her head. It was midnight blue and showed a silver ship sailing over a rolling sea of pillows.
“This is Ben.” Noriko nodded toward pink-cheeked Overall Boy. “Emperor of the Great Plains Sofa Circle.” I looked up to see a grass-green banner with a circle of wheat around a plump yellow cushion.
“Next to him is Miesha, Queen of the United Southern Gulf–Pacific Fortresses.” Miesha had deep brown skin and a pair of fancy tortoiseshell frames poking out from under her silver sunglasses. Her banner was made up of three vertical stripes—blue, green, blue—with a castle of orange pillows rising in the center.
“And last is Murray, Captain of the Northern and Arctic Alliance.” Pale, sandy-haired Murray had a banner showing a polar bear on a mound of white pillows under a pink-and-purple sky.
I nodded, taking it all in, thankful for my years of spy training as I burned their names and titles into my brain. I was deep in unknown territory here; I needed every scrap of intel I could get.
“I’m Maggie,” I said, realizing they were all waiting for me, “Vice Director of Camp Pillow Fort.” Our name didn’t sound cool at all anymore.
I had a sudden horrifying thought and looked down. Ugh. I was in my sleepy-dinosaur pajamas. That probably explained why all those kids grinned and laughed as I went by. “We, uh, don’t have a banner yet,” I finished awkwardly.
“Vice Director?” said Ben. He had a sharp, high voice. “The Alliance rules specifically state that only the very highest-ranking member of a group is permitted to solicit the Council under these circumstances.”
My eyebrows bounced to the top of my forehead. What nine-year-old threw that kind of vocabulary around? And pronounced their consonants so precisely?
“That’s true,” said Carolina, stepping forward. “And I did my best, but I wasn’t able to convince the Director of Camp Pillow Fort to come along.”
“Why not?”
“Um, because he’s a cat.”
It was like someone flipped a switch. The atmosphere of regal mystery swirling around the group shattered as Miesha shouted “Ha!” and slapped the table; Murray squealed “Aww!” and put his hands to his cheeks; and Noriko began giggling, then laughing so hard she was practically crying.
Ben was the last to let his statue pose drop, but he wasn’t smiling. “You broke!” he said angrily. “You were all supposed to stay in character! We were doing so well!”
“I’m sorry,” said Murray, his palms still pressed to his face in delight. “But their leader’s a kitty. A kitty!”
“Hey, we tried,” said Miesha, stretching her shoulders and beaming. “Good effort, Drama Committee. But now it’s Snack Committee time!” She ducked under the table and reappeared with a giant plastic tub of popcorn and a jumbo carton of goldfish crackers.
Noriko was still half giggling. “Sorry! Sorry,” she said, waving a hand at Ben. “I was just picturing Carolina sitting down and carefully explaining to this cat exactly why the Alliance rules require him to come to our mee-hee-ting . . . and the cat looking up at her—like—!” And she was back to rocking with laughter.
Carolina shrugged in a Yeah, pretty much gesture.
“Hey, this is serious!” said Ben. He jabbed a finger at his clipboard. “These rules are in place for a reason. I bet I could’ve got this director to come to the meeting.”
“No, you couldn’t,” said Miesha around a mouthful of popcorn, “because having a cat in here would mean I’d be sneezing for the next three days.” She turned to me. “You have to admit it’s a weird choice, Maggie Hetzger. Do you have any other pets in Camp Pillow Fort?”
“Well, no, I don’t— I mean—Samson’s not mine.” I stammered. I was completely thrown off by their abrupt change in tone. So, what? That first part was all an act? An act to impress or scare newcomers? What sort of game were these Council kids playing?
“Just because someone’s got allergies . . . ,” said Ben grumpily.
“He’s just jealous because the rest of us have pets and he doesn’t,” Miesha informed me. “Do you want me to bring Sprinkles in again, Ben? Would that make you feel better?”
“All right, you two,” said Noriko, pulling herself together. “We do have an actual meeting to get through here.”
“Remember how fluffy he is?” Miesha continued.
“So fluffy!” said Murray. “The fluffiest there ever was!”
“That’s right,” said Miesha, throwing him a goldfish cracker. She looked around. “Hey, why am I the only member of the Snack Committee doing my job tonight?”
Ben groaned dramatically. “Because I did all the work on the Drama Committee, remember?”
“You are the Drama Committee,” muttered Noriko. Murray giggled.
Ben glowered at them, but he ducked under the table like Miesha, returning with a tub of red licorice and a bag of marshmallows. “None of you deserve this,” he grumbled, pulling the lid off the licorice.
Carolina nudged me as the others dove at the candy. “Sprinkles is Miesha’s new puppy,” she whispered. “She brought him in to visit last week, and Ben sort of fell in love. It’s been pretty funny.”
“And it’s not even fair,” Ben was saying as I tuned back in. “I can run the entire Great Plains Sofa Circle with an iron fist, but my mom thinks I’m not mature enough to have a simple pet.”
“Well, everything you just said proves she’s right,” said Miesha reasonably, waving a piece of licorice at him. “Pets aren’t simple, and you shouldn’t need an iron fist to run your network.”
Noriko raised her hand. “Hello? Seriously, we still have work to do.”
“I run my network with a Ouija board,” Murray said, to no one in particular.
Ben scowled at Miesha around his mouthful of marshmallows. “Just because you let your network run wild . . . ,” he mumbled.
“Oh, you mean have fun? Thanks! My network is the most fun, and everyone knows it.”
“Oh, give me a—”
“Enough!” said Noriko, standing up and banging on the table, the hoops in her ears swinging. “It’s meeting time, people!” The other Council members fell silent. Ben was still glowering. Murray and Miesha grinned.
Noriko sat back down and turned her sunglasses on me. “So, yes, here we are—and Ben, seriously, we can let the leadership rule slide this one time.” Ben shook his head and scribbled something on his clipboard. “You’ll do fine for talking business, Maggie Hetzger. Welcome to the Hub.”
“Thanks,” I said. Deep breath, Maggie, reclaim your cool. “What’s the Hub?”
“This place. Here. Where you are. The central pillow fort for all of North America. This is where the regional networks meet up, the same way your fort is where all your links meet.”
“It is?”
>
“Wait,” said Ben, holding up a hand. “You hadn’t figured that out yet? About your very own forts?”
“Um, no?”
“Wow.” The corners of his mouth curled. “That should be obvious, even to a complete amateur like you.”
Oof. What was this kid’s problem? “Well, it’s not,” I said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“And that’s totally okay,” said Murray, lobbing a marshmallow at Ben’s head.
Miesha leaned forward. “Maybe I can help, Maggie Hetzger. Try this. Close your eyes—no, really. Okay, take a deep breath. Now, imagine you’re a dolphin. You are swimming through ancient seas. You are bathed in rainbows and starlight. Everything is beautiful. A purple unicorn swims by, leaving a trail of shimmering hearts. To your right is a pink-and-yellow panda. The midnight-blue ocean—”
“Miesha,” I heard Noriko say.
I opened my eyes. Murray was shaking with silent laughter, and the others all had wide grins, even Carolina.
“Ha ha!” said Ben. “You got Lisa Franked!”
Wow. These kids were hilarious.
“Sorry, sorry,” said Miesha. “It was just too perfect. For real now, though, Maggie Hetzger, picture your network for me. Please? Okay. So, where did the very first link from your original pillow fort lead, as far as you know?”
“To Abby’s,” I said promptly, because it had. I saw Noriko and Murray throw each other a look across the table, but Miesha kept going.
“Okay, good,” she said. “And where did the second link go?”
“Uncle Joe’s.”
“Cool. Now, think about this: Do those other two forts connect to each other, without going through your fort on the way?”
I thought.
“The answer is no,” said Ben. Murray shushed him.
“Well . . . they might,” I said, frowning. “We haven’t checked the pillows from the other forts yet. They could maybe link to—”
