"What can we lose?" Chert shrugged.

Gord had a sinking feeling, but he strode jauntily toward a narrow opening between two of the nearby buildings. The space was a gangway between the two structures, opening onto a small courtyard. Sure enough, on each side of the courtyard were stairs leading to apartments on the upper floors and above. Three storeys later, both adventurers stood on the roof. There were dovecots, small gardens, lines of washing, and the like. By positioning themselves just right, they could see a good bit of Weird Way. Beyond the area. In the place where adjacent buildings should be, where Greyhawk was, there was a wall of impenetrable, colorless nothingness. Sunlight came through but nothing else.

"Trapped!" Chert growled, desperation keening in his voice.

"Use your head, man!" Gord exclaimed. "How can we be trapped here? Look at all the people — and other creatures too — that we see down there. The plaza is jam-packed with shoppers. The public houses are full. There are more living things here than will fit into these buildings, and they come and go somehow!"

"They must all know something we don't, then," Chert sighed, hefting his massive axe.

"Possibly some do," his comrade agreed, "and we will just have to acquire this information for ourselves, now, won't we?" He nudged his gloomy friend in a playful manner. Chert managed a weak grin and Gord continued. "Mark you the gate area," he said, taking Chert and turning him so he faced the end of Weird Way. "Wait for two minutes and tell me how many folks you see coming and going in" the space of time."

Chert squinted and watched for almost two full minutes before asking, "Is the time up?"

"Close enough," Gord replied. "Now, how many did you see?"

"Six leaving, two seeming to come."

"Passage through that portal is too cumbersome for all to use. Besides, would not the folk of the city notice such a stream of pedestrians — especially strangers of such unusual nature as these — coming and going from the Old City's less frequented sector? There must be other places from which to come and go!" Gord exclaimed, hope rising in his voice. The iron portal is controlled by some magic. and I am convinced that all other means of entrance and egress are also tied to some dweomercraeft."

"Agreed," Chert said glumly. "But can we discover it? There's the rub."

"With all the traffic that flows in and out of this place? Come now, my giant friend, how can we not?" Gord chided as he clapped the barbarian on his muscular shoulder. "We just have to think a bit."

"In that case, I’m going to sit down. Thinking wears me out," Chert said half-heartedly.

Gord stayed where he was, taking in the aerial view of Weird Way and its establishments. "How can one person be so bereft of his senses?" the young thief suddenly cried, hitting the side of his head with his open palm.

"Hey! Insulting me isn't going to make me think any faster!" Chert protested. "In fact, that kind of talk may cause your own brain to suffer some serious damage if I have half a mind to use your head as a stomping ground, which I just might decide is worth the effort."

Gord laughed. "No, you idiot. I was referring to my own mental abilities." He pulled the confused barbarian to his feet. "Look, down that way, what do you see?"

"A crowded street with strange-looking people, so what?"

"No, no, no! Look at the sign across the way. We didn't know what we were looking for. Now we do. If you could discern the written word half as well as you can — Oh, never mind. The sign I'm referring to proclaims the edifice to be the 'Pavilion of Portals'. What quest could be simpler?"

"Perhaps," Chert said with a ring of doubt in the word. Patting the steely bit of Brool for reassurance, the great barbarian followed his slender companion down the stairs and back into Weird Way.

Streams of people were leaving and entering the Pavilion of Portals. The broad double doors were shaded by the wide portico that ran the entire length of the large, plastered building. The whole had an exotic air, with its strange columns, tent-like roof and tower tops, and the draped windows and entrance. It was cool and dim inside, with the faint hum of conversations and comings and goings to be heard. Broad corridors led left, right and ahead. The marble walls and tiled floors seemed to lead away endlessly.

"May I be of assistance?" inquired the owner of a high-pitched voice.

Both men turned quickly. The speaker was a spidery gnome dressed in tailored livery of apple red and saffron which displayed many modish puffs and slashes that revealed flashes of contrasting colors. Gord nodded and replied. "Yes, I believe you can be of service." he said handing the gnome an electrum coin.

The gnome tucked the lucky into his pouch without expression. "Pray tell?"

"We are considering the utilization of your . . . services. Be so kind as to enumerate them for our edification," the young thief instructed the spidery servitor — if indeed he was not the proprietor.

"Novices to the Way, I see," the little gnome squeaked. "Well, your worships have certainly come to the right place!" he added with enthusiasm. "Unlike some of our competitors, the Pavilion serves the main parallels - and a few of the trunk lines, of course - of the multiverse. We have no trunk with the unhospitable planes, off byways, dead-end dimensions and the like. No, sirs!"

Taking them by the arms with his gnarled hands, the colorfully garbed gnome led Gord and Chert a few paces along the corridor. He gestured to a strange maze of shifting lines and glowing, pastel-colored dots displayed on the wall of an alcove. "There, see? All the routes that our gates serve are shown here. Fares are given in credits, domars, and sequins, as well as the standard precious metals, as displayed to right and left."

Chert stared wordlessly at the display. Gord nodded, pretending to study and understand the complex depiction.

"Would this perhaps deposit us within the City of Greyhawk?" Gord asked as casually as he could.

"Never, good sir!" the gnome reassured him.

"Oerik?"

"Of course not!"

"Any other of the towns or principalities of the Flanaess?"

With an expression of pain showing clearly, the gnome drew himself up to his full three feet and said. "This establishment provides safe and convenient travel to safe destinations along every proper line. Our record is nearly accident-free, and not even a major scrambling of fluxes would bring such disaster to our patrons!" he squeaked indignantly.

"Ahem!" Gord managed.

Chert just looked confused and scratched his mop of curly hair reflectively.

"Do you hail from Yarth? Aerth?" the little fellow asked in a barely restrained horrified tone. Gord and Chert exchanged glances and said nothing, prompting the little fellow to conclude hurriedly. "I must be off, for there is much business to attend to." As he scuttled away, the gnome called back over his shoulder. "Gates are clearly identified with sigils that correspond to those you see. You'll have no trouble finding one you desire — unless, of course, you wish to travel to lands this establishment does not see as being worthy of visiting!" And with that he turned a comer and disappeared.

"Now what?" demanded Chert.

"I was wondering just that," his friend replied.

The barbarian snorted. "It is certain that we have no need to use any of the gates that gnome raved about. They will carry us only to some other place from which we know not how to escape!"

"You speak the truth, I fear," Gord said somberly. "It seems that this place is a nexus for travel to the probabilities common to our own existence."

"What?"

"The portals lead to parallel planes similar to our own — the Prime Material, as we call it on Oerth."

"Oh," the huge barbarian said in a subdued tone, for he understood that. "That explains why there are so many oddly dressed folk and unnatural creatures here."