as he set off at a quick place, quite sure of his direction. "I don't have a Gate in Wormegay," he said, "but except for this one finger that touches Vidal's domain, it's the only way into this area. Most people don't like Wormegay, but it has outlets into about twenty Other places." He was silent for a little while, then said thoughtfully, "I wonder if Wormegay is a sink of some kind, if all the oddities without power drain down into it and then can't get out."
"You do have weird ideas," Rhoslyn said, keeping her mount right on Pasgen's heels. She did not want to become separated from him in the formless mists and either need to call for help or spend who knew how long sensing for a Gate which he, doubtless, had hidden well.
Rhoslyn never did see it. She only knew they had passed through by the brief sense of disorientation, which made her not-horse hiss, and the fact that she was suddenly on the outskirts of the Bazaar of the Bizarre. Rhoslyn sighed, knowing Pasgen would not let her stop. She envied him his self-control as they rode into the market and were deafened by every creature known and unknown crying his/hers/its/their wares, assaulted by such a variety of odors in such quick succession that one could not enjoy the delectable or reject the obnoxious, and the sights . . . they were en masse indescribable.
Without hesitation, Pasgen wove through the crowds—here even the not-horses received no particular attention—and darted down this alley and that. Eventually he opened a shabby but not noticeable gate and passed through to what seemed the backyard of an inn. He rode into an empty stall of the stable . . . and disappeared. Rhoslyn rode in on his not-horse's heels and rode out into another Unformed area.
Here at last they came to the Gate that debouched into Pasgen's Domain, although Rhoslyn admitted to herself that she probably would not be able to find it again. That wasn't significant. Pasgen had provided her with her own path to his domain, but that, equally devious, started