In Due Course

[Ascendancy]

Hendrik van de Berg spoke on his phone, quietly, in one corner of the hotel lobby. A subtle shift during conversation and he checked on the expensive travel bag at his feet. Despite his comfortable posture, his demeanor was slightly wary, but such could be explained by being a foreigner in a foreign land. Indeed, for any who were close enough to eavesdrop, which none were so brave to cut through the steely warning in his gaze, they would hear a guttural accent, harsh but not quite as hard as the more recognizable German.

He was still on the phone when two gentlemen, as foreign to India as he was himself, passed by. He studied each for a moment to size either up in petty curiosity. But it was an act; he was above such comparisons. He knew his place in this world: where he would be before the end of his days.

His conversation ended shortly after the two men were gone. He tucked his wallet away into the fineries of his jacket, gathered his bag and approached the valet. "A taxi to the train station, please." Very soon, he was on his way.