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The man had come aboard at Cherboug. Reimer knew that much, though as was the typical case for him he did not quite know how he could possibly know that, recognize a face he had seen only in passing a few times. It was an odd talent.
Perhaps in this case, it was because the man had stood precisely at the stern of the ship the past few nights, as far back as a passenger could go. Most of the souls on this ship would look out the port or starboard sides at the vast ocean, or look forward, as though they would be able to spot their faraway destination. The Old World was behind them – Europe with Reimer’s beloved Bavaria entirely passed from sight four nights ago, and even Ireland had disappeared behind the horizon three nights back. And yet, the man looked back at where he had come from, rather than forward to where he was going.
To be sure, the man was not the only one who wanted to see the great churning of the vessel’s propeller, the wake she left on the ocean. But other passengers would come, look for a few minutes, and then carry on with their night. In particular they would hurry back inside, to the bar, the salons, or to their cabins. It had been cold these past few nights, and the Kine did so hate the cold.
Ah, Reimer thought as he regarded the man’s back, knowing at last what made him so curious, but this man does not. Certainly, he is dressed warmly enough, and yet…
Reimer decided to focus his senses a little, a trick he had picked up over the last half-century, though it had come only with difficulty. The world seems to shift just so, the metal and wood around him fading to indistinction, while the few people in sight seemed to flare up with colors, their emotions becoming a bright tapestry before Reimer’s eyes.
But not the man. The colors surrounding him were vague, muted, pale…as sure a sign as any for what Reimer was looking for. Just like the colors of Reimer’s own aura would be if someone else were to cast their auspices on him.
Another vampire, then? Well, this was interesting…Reimer had expected to be the only one of Caine’s get aboard. Though there were some exceptions, vampires overall were not noted for their mobility. And yet apparently, he would have a fellow traveler about this mighty marvel of Kine engineering after all. But what to do with this information…?
The man stirred a little, glancing up slightly, then over his shoulder, his eyes locking with Reimer’s own. His noticing had been itself noticed, even as Reimer returned his sight to the material world. Well, nothing for it now. A few options were considered and quickly discarded, before the only real way to deal with this came forth: Reimer stood up straight, walked towards the man, and once near enough took off his hat with his left hand while he held out his right.
“My apologies, mein Herr,” he said. “I did not mean to disturb your ruminations; I was merely surprised to see another such as myself aboard.”
The man regarded the offered hand a moment, but only that long. He took it his own. His grip was rough and strong, but not challenging.
“That’s fair enough, sir,” the man said, his accent carrying vauge tones of the Balkans in it, “though that does leave us with a conundrum.” He glanced around slightly to make sure none of the Kine were close, and continued, “two Cainites, one vessel. Not a combination that has historically gone well.”
Reimer offered a grin, but he kept it friendly. “Yes, this was true once. But consider the vessel! Two thousand souls aboard, and a journey lasting but a week on the outside.” He chuckled a little. “We are in no danger of going thirsty.”
“True. And no matter our politics, whatever they are, this is certainly no place for them with so many eyes. A truce for the duration of the voyage, then?”
“It seems the most sensible option.”
And with a firm shake, that was that. The two men released each other, and Reimer drew himself up, before giving a slight bow. “Joist Reimer von Erding.”
The man’s bow was as slight as Reimer’s own. “Josip Pandurović.”
“And what brings you aboard the Titanic, Herr Pandurović?”
To that, the man offered a grim smile, even as Reimer placed his hat atop his head once more. “Politics,” Pandurović said, “of a sort. I apologize, but in the spirit of that truce…”
Reimer held up his hands. “Say no more, my friend. Come, let us retire inside. The cold is getting to be a bit much, I think.”
Pandurović offered no objection, getting the door for the two of them as they entered the ship. “How are you traveling to America, Mr. Reimer?”
“Second class. Frugality is my only vice.”
“The same as myself, then. The smoke room?”
“Yes, that would be agreeable.”
In just a few minutes, the two men were walking through the doors into a warmly lit room. The air within smelled of scotch and tobacco already in spite of this being the ship’s maiden voyage, and several tables were occupied by Kine, some playing cards, others talking, one or two simply relaxing in reverie.
As they entered, the steward at the bar waved to them slightly. “You’re welcome to come in, sirs,” he said, “but the bar will be closing in the next ten minutes, and the room itself closes promptly at midnight.”
“Not to worry,” Reimer assured the young man. “We’ll just sit and relax, and no loss on the bar – I do not sup.”
Pandurović let out a laugh at that, while the Kine only looked confused. The two left him to wonder while they found a table away from the Kine, settling in. Pandurović pulled out a cigarette case, offering one to his companion, then lit them both up. Here, as long as they kept their voices low, they would be able to talk with relative freedom without worrying about breaching the Masquerade.
“So, you’ve read Stoker, then,” Pandurović said at length, chuckling again.
“How could I not?” Reimer asked, grinning himself. “It was fascinating in its own right, even without the subtext. And I find it a good way to determine how interesting a Kindred may be to talk to.” He nodded to Pandurović. “You’ve passed my little test, of course.”
“You don’t even know what I thought of it yet.”
“No, but that you’ve read it at all instead of rejecting it out of hand tells me enough.”
Pandurović’s smile turned a little wryer as he puffed the cigarette. “I see. So, you’re still gathering information on me.”
Reimer shrugged. “I mean nothing by it, my friend, I assure you. I am curious by nature. If it puts you at all at ease, I am also an apolitical creature. Clan, sect, allegiance, fealty…it’s all quite tiresome to me.”
Pandurović’s brow raised. “And what does your sire think of that?”
That prompted a great sigh from Reimer, and a long draw on his cigarette. The tobacco did nothing for either vampire, of course, but even the undead could form habits, and it did serve a useful purpose of letting Reimer gather his thoughts.
“Very little,” Reimer said. “I must admit that he finds me a great disappointment. He told me as much last I saw him, though that was a long time ago now.” He chuckled. “Really, it’s his own fault. I swear, if I had to listen to one more rant about the lost glories of Carthage…”
“Ah…” Pandurović let out, leaning back and looking Reimer up and down. “Brujah.” He quickly held up a hand. “I don’t mean to imply anything.”
“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Reimer said, and waved a hand down at himself. “I don’t quite fit the mold, I know. I hold it as a point of pride, in fact.” He looked to Pandurović. “If you don’t mind…?”
The man started to reply, before grinning and again drawing from his cigarette. “No, I think I’ll keep that to myself…I’m interested to see how refined that curious nature of yours is.”
Reimer nodded to him, accepting his little game. “You’ll tell me if I guess right?”
“Only if you tell me how you guessed it, rather than running down a list.” He waved his free hand at himself. “I’ll tell you only that this is my real, original face. No disguises.”
“So not Nosferatu, then.” Reimer considered. “And almost certainly not one of the Dragons, else I think you would have taken my earlier jest more personally…hmm, this will be an engaging way to spend the night.”
Pandurović nodded. “Now if you don’t mind me asking, since you are such an apolitical creature…why are you traveling to America?”
“Ah. That is a question with an involved answer.” Reimer set the little game Pandurović had lain before him off to one corner of his mind as he ruminated for several moments. Pausing before speaking at length was a learned habit. It gave off the impression that what one was about to say was worth listening to and taking seriously.
“Caitiff,” Reimer finally said. “Caitiff are my reason for traveling to the New World.”
Pandurović’s brow rose once more. “Caitiff?”
“Yes. They are quite a bit more common in the Americas than in Europe, or so I’ve heard, and are a subject of some interest to me.” He waved a hand. “Not, perhaps, in the way you are thinking. I am not a Noddist scholar looking for signs of Gehenna, or the like. But I must admit to a fascination with them, their history, and their future.”
“Since when did the Clanless have a history?”
“Everything on God’s Earth has a history, Herr Pandurović. It often might be lost or buried or forgotten, but it is there for those who care to look.” Another draw on his cigarette. “The Clanless are not an exception. They pop up here and there throughout our history. Always, I have noticed, during times of upheaval, but I do not think they are the cause. I think that when things start going poorly in the world for our kind, we start looking for excuses.”
He paused a moment, looking to Pandurović. “Outside…you called us ‘Cainites’. An archaic epithet for our kind…but still quite popular among Lasombra I’ve met in Coimbra…?”
Pandurović shook his head. “I am no Keeper, Mr. Reimer. As for you…why the interest in Caitiff?”
“I don’t suppose you’d accept mere academic curiosity? No, I thought not.” Reimer found himself sighing. He finished his cigarette, and stubbed it out in the tray at their table.
“There was…a woman. Isn’t there always, even for us? It must have been fifty years ago now, in Amsterdam. A beautiful creature, but smart as a whip too, nose always in a book, and so creative. Her particular interest was history. She was determined to become a professor of history – not for children, and not merely a tutor, but an actual professor at a university, her sex be damned.” Reimer chuckled.
“And you found no trouble with something so revolutionary as a woman devoting herself to historical studies?” Pandurović asked as he finished his own cigarette. “And you found yourself caught in a fit of passion? Perhaps you fit the Brujah mold more closely than you think, my friend.”
Reimer nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. Well, you know how things were half a century ago. Her dream was dead on arrival. But I could not let that passion die. So, one thing led to another, and soon, I Embraced her.”
“Oh,” Pandurović intoned. “And I can imagine what happened next…”
The pity stirred Reimer’s blood, made it grow warm – but he had long practice with keeping his Beast under control, and besides, Pandurović’s expression was one of sympathy, not scorn. “Yes. It is not always easy to tell these things, of course, especially with my Clan…but she expressed no talent for the physical Disciplines, no blood-born majesty…but she could disappear into shadows, and see the auras of things, talents that I lacked totally at the time. She was Caitiff.”
Reimer shifted. “I can recite my lineage back seven steps to the Dark Father, Herr Pandurović. I had thought that Caitiff could spawn among only the very weakest and most wretched of our kind. I have created ghouls successfully many times. So, what had happened? Was the failing with her, or myself?”
Pandurović tapped his fingers upon his chair. “Perhaps there was no failing. Perhaps it is simply random chance, or the will of God.”
“Ah, you see Herr Pandurović, that is it exactly.” Reimer leaned forward. “That is what my research these past decades has shown. I think we tell ourselves that the Caitiff spring only among the weakest and most wretched among us, that they are a modern aberration of the blood, because we do not want to admit the truth…that the issue of Caitiff is an old one, a very old one indeed. Before the Anarch Revolt there was a coven of them in Constantinople. I have found evidence of there once having been a whole city in Iberia ruled by Caitiff, before the Greeks or the Phoenicians came to the peninsula. There was a very old Greek manuscript that I found in Kairouan, an account from an Assyrian Kindred, that speaks of clanless hordes, there was…”
Reimer paused, and chuckled. He leaned back once more. “I’m rambling. My apologies, Herr Pandurović. You were quite right about me being perhaps closer to the Brujah mold than even I suspected.”
The other man waved off Reimer’s apology. “Please, Mr. Reimer. It’s no trouble at all. It’s actually quite endearing, and certainly educational.”
Before the conversation could pick up again, the mortal steward made his way over to them; he had in fact been stopping off at each table. “My apologies, sirs,” he said, “but I just wished to alert you that the bar has closed, and the room will follow in half an hour.”
Reimer made to get up, but Pandurović fixed the young man with his eyes. “It’s no matter, young man,” he said. “We’ll be gone long before dawn, so you needn’t hold up closing the room on our account. Just leave me the keys so I can lock up.”
The Kine wobbled slightly. “Yes,” he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a set of keys, handing them to Pandurović. “Yes, of course. Just remember to lock up.”
“I shall.”
The two men watched the entranced Kine leave, Pandurović producing a cigarette case of his own and striking up a new one. Once the mortal was far enough away, Reimer turned back to his companion.
“Ventrue.”
“No.”
“Tremere, then.”
“Certainly not! And you had better not mention those death-merchants from Venice either.”
Reimer snapped his fingers. “I’ll get it yet. And if it’s some obscure bloodline, don’t think that will help, my research has left me quite well versed.”
“Of course, of course.” Pandurović handed over a lit cigarette to Reimer. “Forgive me if this opens old wounds, but I must ask after your childe.”
Reimer took the cigarette. “She lives, last I saw her,” he said. “Prince Castelein discovered her nature. He would have ordered her destruction, but he owed me a favor. Instead, she was exiled – sent to America, as a matter of fact, though I have little chance of finding her again. It is not the purpose of my voyage, though one does hope.”
Reimer heaved his mightiest sigh yet. “I should have gone with her. But I was comfortable in Europe, or so I believed. I had some small power, prestige, and influence, and I did not want to surrender it…” He looked to Pandurović. “‘A contemptible or cowardly person.’ That is the meaning of the word ‘Caitiff’, did you know that? I have come to realize that I was the true Caitiff when I sent my childe away. But the idea of tainted blood – hers or mine – haunted me afterwards. And so, I set out to learn all I could of the Caitiff. I have reached the limit of my abilities in the Old World, and so now I go to the New, to study the Caitiff there. To try and understand. To see if there is anything to understand, or if it’s all just bad luck and the will of God.”
Pandurović nodded. “Well, Mr. Reimer. I wish you genuine luck in your efforts.” He took a draw from his cigarette. “To tell the truth, I also find Caitiff fascinating – even moreso after listening to you. If you have any copies of your research or notes, I would be obliged if you would lend them to me.”
“Not at this time, Herr Pandurović, but I can certainly make some for you. If you give me a means of contacting you once we disembark, I would be glad to send you what I have.”
“Thank you. What was the name of your childe? Perhaps as payment I can keep an ear to the ground for her, find her in America.”
“Miss Darba. Miss Alexandra Darba. Alexi, she used to go by.” Reimer took a long draw from the cigarette – it was truly interesting how mortal habits were so hard for the undead to break – and then exhaled. “I imagine she hates me, and I couldn’t blame her for it. Still, I should like to see her again, if I can, and apologize. I do hope she’s doing…”
His words faded out, as did the conversations of many of the Kine, as a slight shudder went through the room. The men inside glanced around a moment, but the shudder soon passed.
“I wonder what that could have been?” Reimer asked, as the conversations throughout the room began again.
“Probably the engines, or some such,” Pandurović said. “But never mind. Let’s turn to something lighter. So, you’ve read Dracula…have you perhaps had a chance to read Le Fantôme de l'Opéra? The English translation came out last year. If you enjoy the macabre…”