El Caravasar (The Caravanserai)

I am the Caravanserai, the walled inn where foreign merchants stable their camels for the night. The near merchant pitches his tent in my east wing; the far trader ties his mule in the north stall. I charge no rent — I only ask that they follow my rules: the messenger must carry the seal, the stall must report its count, the rider must show his mark. I am the neutral ground, the crossroads of commerce.

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A merchant from the far east once refused my rules. He camped outside the wall, trading through a crack in the stone. For a week he prospered. Then the crack widened; the wall crumbled; rain soaked his goods. He came to my gate and asked for a stall. I gave him one. The Caravanserai does not punish. It waits for the rain.