Date: Thu, 5 Oct 1995 05:49:14 +0000 From: "January M. Tavel" "No Use Crying Over Spilt Tea" by January Tavel Please send all comments to me at: QHTB10B@prodigy.com This story is dedicated to my aunt and best friend, Cousin Laura. Thank you Laura for your encouragement and friendship. It was you who first introduced me to the relm of the undead and all the darkness has to offer. All of my stories, but especially this one, are for you. ---------------------------- "Don't forget to mind your P's and Q's." LaCroix said authoritively as he glanced over Nicholas's shoulder. "Nicola, this really is the most insane idea you have ever had." Janette added, wiping dust off the iron printing press, and rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. "This is a complete waste of eternity." The trio had only been in Boston for a short time but already Nick had grown quite tired of the place. He had become restless and discontent. To LaCriox, he always seemed bored and dissatisfied. "He is constantly complaining," thought LaCroix. "And that will never do." LaCroix may be considered a villain, evil and deranged, but one must always give him credit. He is brilliant and thoughtful and above all, bent on making his beloved son happy (as long as it suits his own needs). With such ingenuity, LaCroix wove his plans. Ever so early in the evening, LaCroix had left, just after sunset. With a mysterious smile, LaCroix had said,"I will return shortly." And now, more than three hours later, *this* is what he had returned with. "What are you planning to do with it?" Janette asked skeptically. Nick looked up from his printing press, ink smudged on his forehead. "I'm going to print a newspaper." A broad smile crept across his face. "Sounds like fun doesn't it?" "Fun? Oh yes, I'm sure," said Janette, not totally convinced. "It will be called the Boston Knight." Nick said proudly. Janette sighed, "How quaint." Nicholas shrugged and went back to his work. "LaCroix..." Janette hissed into the old one's ear and motioned for him to follow her into the next room. "What is *that* all about?!" She pointed an accusing finger at the machine. "He's going to print a paper." LaCroix smiled innocently. "It will be called 'the Boston Knight,'" he quoted. "Play along, Janette, for Nicholas's sake." For Nicholas's sake! Wasn't it always for Nicholas's sake? Janette thought jealously. LaCroix is so naive! He gives Nicola everything he wants and more! But in return he gets nothing! No obedience. No affection. No gratitude. Absolutely nothing. Unlike me...at least I attempt to play LaCroix's game. Then she felt it, mental fingers, gingerly brushing the fringe of her mind. "No!" she yelled mentally in a voice only he could hear. "Don't," she whispered. LaCroix's lips curled into a small smile. "I wish to order a new suit...I believe there is a dress of some kind you have been gawking at for some time now..." LaCroix took his ebony cane from a stand by the front door. "Janette," he said softly, as he extended his arm to her, "walk with me." And the pair left Nicholas alone with his printing machine. ********** Nicholas smiled happily. Finally something to do! This iron printing press was not a new invention; it had been around for some time; however, Nick was not very familiar with it. "How smart of LaCroix!" Nick thought. It would take him a while to figure out how it worked, however it would not be too difficult. This newspaper would give him something worthwhile to do. Each day after he finished he would have something tangible that he could say he had accomplished. Unlike the days,the months, the years that had preceded, he would be productive and life would not be humdrum.Nick laughed aloud. His own news paper...how exciting! "Oh what news be there in this port city of Boston!" he chuckled gleefully. Nick tapped and poked in and around the machine a while longer. Then , finally, all seemed to be in working order. "Mind your P's and Q's," he said softly then excitedly began to roll thick black ink over the iron letters of the press. ********** LaCroix tapped his cane on the cobble stone street thoughtfully. "Why do you hold such contempt?" He asked finally. "Contempt?" Janette said feignly bewildered. "Whatever do you mean?" "You know full well." LaCroix said calmly as the two entered the silversmith's shop. "It is not contempt, just misunderstanding." She paused as the silversmith's young apprentice approached them. "Mr. LaCroix, can I help you?" asked the bright lad. "Yes boy, find your master. I must speak with him." "Yes Sir," the boy smiled. A sneer appeared on Janette's face. "Do you not wish *your* boy was so obedient?" she asked pointedly. Ah! So that is it, LaCroix mused. She is jealous. The master silver smith appeared. "Paul," Janette smiled and nodded to him. "Good day," he said warmly. "My good man," LaCroix said, tossing a pouch of coins onto the table, "how goes your work?" "As promised, your order will be finished by the end of the month," the man answered, picking up the pouch. LaCroix smiled, glancing at Janette. "Not only the best silversmith in Boston, but the very fastest too. Thank you my good man." ********** "Janette, don't be jealous,it doesn't become you." LaCroix whispered into her ear. "Become me! What are you talking about?! I am not jealous!" fire danced in her eyes. "You are mad!" LaCroix chuckled merrily. "Perhaps I am, but I still know you." Then she felt it again, that sweeping tingle. LaCroix's mind touched hers. "So...you think he is ungrateful. You think I deserve better than him...well, Janette, I'm flattered." LaCroix ran his thumb across the edge of her jaw, tilting her chin upwards so that he, who was much taller, could look directly into her eyes. "What is that...? He uses me?" LaCroix's grip on her jaw tightened. "Why do I give him everything, unconditional love. Why, when between the two of you, your loyalty is far stronger? Well," he said as their minds parted, "now I understand." Janette sighed, realizing she had been holding her breath the entire time. LaCroix bent close to her, his cheek brushing hers. "I do love you Janette. I do." He whispered into her ear. "You are more faithful than he, it is true, but.... he is my... son." Neither of them spoke for a while until LaCroix said finally, "Janette, there is one gift which I bestow upon you that I can not give Nicholas..." "Oh?" Janette said quietly. "Mmmmmhummm."Lacroix nodded. "Trust." he said kissing the under side of her wrist. "A substantial amount of trust." ********** "What is this?" LaCroix asked as he tossed the day's edition of the 'Boston Knight' onto Nick's desk. "What?" he asked, picking up the paper. "What do you mean?" "This!" LaCroix said pointing to an article on the front page. "What so you think you are doing printing this?!" His eyes narrowed. "You've been talking to that Adams man again haven't you! And after I told you not to!" LaCroix picked up the paper and once again slammed it down onto the desk. More than a tad amused at LaCroix's tantrum, Nick snickered. "Why do you care?" Enraged by Nick's neglecting to take him seriously LaCroix yelled, "No, why do *you* care? Their cause is not yours." "Well I don't see what Adams has to do with it," said Nicholas defiantly. "Adams is a bad influence. He is a politician and that is something you don't need to become involved in!" "LaCroix, did you ever stop to think that he could be right? The taxes are wrong and we shouldn't have to stand for them." "*We*?" LaCroix's eyebrows rose. "But don't you see, they are mortals and *you* are not! You don't belong with them." Nick didn't speak. "So..." LaCroix smiled smugly. "What do you suggest these colonists do? Hummmm?" LaCroix paused. "I guess you don't have all the answers now, do you?" LaCroix sneered. "Nicholas *we* have nothing to do with these Americans, their problems or their causes. *We* belong to the night, no king and no country. Don't forget that." ********** Nicholas sat alone for along time. He pondered what LaCroix had said. Why *did* he care about these people and their dispute with their king? This really wasn't his fight. The taxes forced upon these Americans had no real ramifications on him. The article he had written pleading their case certainly was very controversial. And LaCroix had a right to be displeased. But there was something inside him that told him writing that article was the right thing to do. Somehow it went beyond a simple editorial, it went beyond even the taxes and American displeasure. There was something restless inside of him bursting to get out but he wasn't quite sure what. Nick thought a moment, then began another article. ********** "Nicola," Janette said slipping into his study. "guests to see you." Nick looked up from his desk. "Mr. Adams and Paul Revere," her mouth curled into a smile. "Oh?" Nick said as he stood to greet the two men. "What can I do for you two gentlemen?" "Nicholas, we request your services." Adams smiled. Nick had met Adams in a pub he and LaCroix frequented. He had seemed like an intelligent man but very opinionated. The two men sat in chairs opposite Nick's desk. "My services? What do you need, Sir?" he asked. "Mr. Knight," ventured Paul Revere, "Mr. Adams and I have read a few of your editorials. There are many men, like you, who are less than content with the situation in Boston as it is now." "Let us not beat around the bush," Adams broke in impatiently, "are you familiar the organization 'The Sons of Liberty'?" Nick chuckled. "Who in Boston is not?" "Do you sympathize?" Adams said seriously. "Theirs is a noble cause..." Nick straightened. "That is a dangerous question to ask and even more dangerous to admit to." Nick lit a pipe and puffed on it. "In some circles, Mr. Adams, it is said that *you* are an active member." Grey smoke curled above Nick's head. Adams glanced uncomfortably at Revere. "You are a smart man, Mr. Knight." Nick laughed ruefully. "Only smart enough to realize the obvious." his eyes twinkled. "How can I help you gentlemen?" ********** "You are a fool, Nicholas! Do you realize what trouble you are helping to cause?" LaCroix hissed. Nick ignored his pleas, insults, and threats. For, now there was a higher purpose. "Your paper is small," they had said. "we dare not 'advertise' in the Gazette; it is much too large." Nick rolled more ink onto the press. "There are many of us now," they had told him. "We all will subscribe and in turn when we need to notify one another, we will do so through 'ads' in your paper. Subtle notifications that only the 'Sons' will know how to interpret." Nick smiled, enjoying the fact that he alone was trusted with these secret messages. A month had gone by since the agreement had been made. Nick knew every move the 'Sons' made. It had been confirmed with only a hand shake. Nick didn't care what the fops in England thought, these men were gentlemen and truly had class. ********** More and more taxes were force upon the people of Boston but still the 'Sons' waited. The time had to be just right. On the evening of December 15. Nicholas received a note from Adams. The time had come. Nick quickly set to work, and by dawn the day's edition, with the secret message, was completed. He would have them delivered as usual so not to draw unwanted attention. There was one subscriber, however, he wanted to deliver the paper to personally. ********** He entered the silversmith's shop. "Nicholas," said Paul, "This is a surprise." Nick smiled and gave him the paper opened to the correct 'ad'." Revere scanned the paper pensively. "So Sir, does Miss Janette like Bohea tea?" Paul winked at his young apprentice. "It's gotten rather expensive you know. 3 pence per pound tax." Nick didn't respond for a moment. "Mr. Revere, will you be attending the party tomorrow night?" "Party?" Paul scowled. "Mmmmm... that's right, the party." Nick glanced at the paper. "I believe you have been invited to a tea party." ********** Janette sat, curled up in LaCroix's favorite chair. He was not home. She glanced suspiciously at Nicholas over the top of the book she was pretending to read. Nick had been acting quite odd, in her opinion, all day. He had been jaunting around the house and had barely spoken a single word to her. Janette was not accustomed to being ignored and was quite perturbed. She could always tell when he or LaCroix was up to something and today *something* was definitely up. "Nicola," she said snapping the book closed, "I don't like secrets. Especially when they are kept from me. So... either you tell me what is going on with you or I will get *very* mad." Nick smiled. "It's really nothing." Janette's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare lie to me." "It's nothing you'd be interested in. I swear," Nick said, holding up his right hand as if making an oath. Unconvinced, Janette stuck out her lower lip in a pout. She knew Nick could never resist that. Never. And as usual, she was right. "Oh Janette!" Nick sighed. "Don't be angry. Look, I'll tell you, but you must vow to repeat what I say to no one. Especially LaCroix." Janette's ears perked up instantly. Deception? And he was entrusting *her* not to tell. How delicious! Janette batted her eye lashes and smiled sweetly. "I swear to all I ever loved, I won't tell a soul." Nick, actually eager to tell anyone who would listen about his mischief, began spilling out his secret plans for the evening. "Isn't it exciting," he said giddily. "Very," Janette said, encouraging him. "But you better go before LaCroix returns..." 'You are right," Nick said, picking up his coat and heading out the door. When he was gone, Janette whispered quietly, "He will be furious when he finds out..." ********** It was a dark night-- one with no moon. It was perfect for the deviltry that was planned. December 16, 1773. It was close to 6:00 p.m. when Nick arrived at "Liberty Hall," a small 2nd story room in the Chase and Speakman Distillery. There were many men there. These men, learned, respected, and distinguished, were dressed like crude savages. All of them dressed as Indians-- not one recognizable. Once again, the participants were reminded that not one leaf of the tea was to be spared. Every pound was to be dumped overboard and none was to be stolen. Theft would totally defeat their purpose. Then, in the shadows of the back allies, the men made their way to the harbor where the ships Dartmouth, Eleanor and Beaver were docked. These ships held the Chinese tea. The "Indians" sneaked aboard the ships and lifted chest after chest out of the hulls of the ships. ********** "Nicholas! Nicholas, I have brought you a gift!" LaCroix called but Nick did not appear.LaCroix eyes darkened. "Janette," he said, circling her chair. "Where has Nicholas gone to?" Janette's lips curled into a truly malicious smile. She would have fun with this. Toy with them both before telling where Nicola could be found. "It wasn't my day to watch him," she cooed, pretending not to take the slightest interest in LaCroix. However, LaCroix was no fool. He smiled. "Well that is too bad, because I brought him this lovely gift." He flaunted it in front of Janette's, already red with jealousy, eyes. "Are you sure he didn't give you any hints?" Janette thought for a moment. Yes, it would be amusing to get back at them and their little "guys only" attitude, but LaCroix obviously knew she was sure of exactly where Nicola was. Would it be more fun to toy with LaCroix or get Nicola into quite a bit of trouble with his "Daddy"? She opted for the latter. ********** Nicholas began hacking into a chest with a small ax, when he heard a voice whisper into his mind. Nick looked up into the shadows and saw LaCroix. "Nicholas please... come home," LaCroix pleaded. "You don't know what you are doing." Nick shook his head. "If you aren't going to help, you'd better leave." LaCroix sighed heavily. "Why all this foolishness?" Nick began dumping the contents of the chest over board. He shrugged. "I just felt something. Something buried very deep in side me says that this is right. I ache, LaCroix, and I've felt this ache for some time. I am missing something very important." "But I give you everything," LaCroix said sadly. "Whatever it is you want, I can give it to you." "No. No, LaCroix, you are too selfish. What I want--what I *need*--you would never freely give nor offer." "Your ache does not explain why you are dumping tea off of a ship in the middle of a cold dark Boston night," LaCroix reasoned. "And dressed like an Indian, no less. What does your want have to do with the antics of these mortals?" "But don't you see, LaCroix!" Nick said impatiently. "It has everything to do with these mortals, or more so what *they* want. We ache for the same thing. Freedom." The little patience LaCroix had lent Nicholas was running very thin now. "It is not your place to interfere, Nicholas. All these people will get is war." Nick stared hard at LaCroix. "Yes Nicholas," he nodded, "they will get war, not freedom. War and death." "No," Nick breathed. LaCroix clicked his tongue, his patience gone. "Believe what you like, but I am right. *Please* come home now." "Not until I've finished," he said, hacking into another chest of tea. "Nicholas..." LaCroix said sternly. "No!" Nick yelled, violently chopping his ax into the wooden mast beside him. "You don't understand. Immortality is such a bore. There is no excitement any more. My life is completely pointless." "Nicholas, don't throw a tantrum," LaCroix laughed. "*I* know what your true problem is. You seek mortal thrills and fulfillment." He slapped Nick on the back. "You are going about this the wrong way. What will end your ache is a fresh kill. Come, you've been torturing yourself this entire time." "No, LaCroix. No. That is not it." Nick's eyes were filling up with tears, but he didn't want LaCroix to see. How could he ever understand? "Please I just need to be alone." This sentence hurt LaCroix. In his twisted way he was doing his best to help. Silently he withdrew something thin and flat rapped in brown paper. "A gift, Nicholas," LaCroix said, holding it out to him. Nick wiped away the tears in his eyes and took it. As he opened it, even in the pale moonlight he could see the glint of silver. He looked up to thank LaCroix, but he had already gone. The gift was a small plaque designed to hang on the outside of a door. It read: THE BOSTON KNIGHT, EST. 1773, NICHOLAS KNIGHT, EDITOR. It had the kiss of elegance that every gift given by LaCroix had. He wished he could have told LaCroix the reasons he ached but it would have hurt them both too much. The emptiness was not filled by feeding because the emptiness was in his very nature. Why did he help these Americans fight their oppression? He fought because he felt oppression too. He fought because it was the *mortal* thing to do. And ever so much did he want to feel mortal. Nick dumped the leaves of the chest over board and then watched them mingle with sea water. He sighed then slipped into the night. The End