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."
Gord motioned toward the entranceway behind^ them. "Let's try our luck elsewhere. We now know where humans and demi-humans enter and leave this pocket-sized place. Somewhere are the gates that lead to more alien planes, too."
"And our world?"
"If we
"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."
Gord motioned toward the entranceway behind^ them. "Let's try our luck elsewhere. We now know where humans and demi-humans enter and leave this pocket-sized place. Somewhere are the gates that lead to more alien planes, too."
"And our world?"
"If we
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