The Ferryman's Tale

As I stood among the willows I could see across the river, the tall iron gates of the compound.
Through the gates, I saw a stone wall is studded with wooden pegs. From many of them hung tattered flags, faded with the passing of time, beyond recognition, yet at high noon when the sun was bright, I could see that the flags were once many and varied, in both colour and design.

A display of many nations and none placed higher than any other.

Neutral territory, a meeting place of allies.

For years I tugged upon the chain that linked this side of the river to that. Pulling my ferry along.
My passengers, always cloaked and always hushed.
Not all of them could hide their nobility. It showed in their walk, the straightness of their backs, the formality of their gestures. These were men and women of great importance and with great secrets.