a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic
by
C. "Sparky" Read
Part III:
"Whoever Dies With the Most Beer Wins"
"Goddamnit LeFou, step aside!"
LeFou didn't budge. "I'm not moving from this spot!" he declared. "You're all out of your minds! Now back off before I…I…"
"You'll what?" Denis thrust his face into the short man's.
LeFou flinched back, but didn't relinquish his post. "Aw, c'mon fellas," he whined nervously. "I'm sure all of this can be worked out."
"We'll work it out," put in Nicodeus, the old butcher, approaching a step or two, "after you move your keister from that doorway!" The other men crowded forward, grumbling agreement.
LeFou's eyes widened in horror as the mob advanced on him. Bodily harm was imminent. He fumbled with the handle of the door his back was pressed up against and opened it, stumbling back a step into Gaston's house.
When he'd heard the village men plotting earlier that day to raid Gaston's home and sort through his belongings, LeFou had felt it his duty to try and fend them off. What right did they have to paw through the personal effects of a dead man, taking what they wanted and fighting over the choicest bits like starving jackals? Just because Gaston had no family who could lay claim to any of his belongings didn't give the whole town the right to swarm over his house like they owned it.
"Get back," wavered LeFou as the men crowded the porch. "I'm warning you."
Bertram snorted like an annoyed ox. "Yeah right," he sneered.
A quick glance to his left and LeFou spotted something useful leaning on the wall just inside the foyer. He snatched it and all of a sudden the village men saw themselves staring into the wide barrel of a blunderbuss. "I said get back."
The men backed off at once. As a general rule none of them held much respect for LeFou, although the scene in the town square with Belle two days ago had been…interesting. They still hadn't expected to be threatened with a weapon.
"All right, take it easy, LeFou," said Bertram. "There's no need for that. Put the gun down, and we'll go discuss this over a nice friendly drink."
"Like fun we will." LeFou jabbed the blunderbuss towards the men. "Now get off this porch before I - "
At that moment Denis brashly jumped forward, reaching for the gun. LeFou inadvertently squeezed the trigger. It had all been a bluff, of course, he never would have shot a man - and the fact was, he had no way of knowing if the gun was even loaded.
However, it was Gaston's gun, after all. A portion of the porch roof exploded over Denis' head, showering the blacksmith with splintered wood and small chunks of brick. Denis flung up his arms to protect himself and swore loudly. The other men - LeFou included, jumped in shock and surprise.
LeFou stood there frozen, staring down at the now-empty blunderbuss in his hands. Denis, his face beet-red, stomped up to him and snatched the weapon away, flinging it into the bushes beside the porch. Without a word (nothing intelligible, anyways), the mob surged forward and laid hands on LeFou, hauling him into the street for a sound pummeling.
But after only a few solid punches, the men froze as a stern voice commanded:
"Release that man at once! I've a good mind to report you to the Prince for uncalled-for public brutality! I'll have the lot of you hauled off to gaol! Comply or be arrested!"
LeFou was dropped with a thud to the pavement as the men stepped away from him, taking in the sight of the stranger, and his so-far silent companion. The blue-and-gold uniforms and official-looking badges were enough to instill the fear of gaol into the hearts of the villagers, and they backed off.
"Get on home, you louts," commanded the second man, who was younger-looking than the first. "I'm sure your wives can think of a million more productive things you could be doing with your time."
The mob dispersed quickly, though grudgingly, and the uniformed men approached LeFou, who was just now picking himself up off the ground.
The younger man reached down to help him. "On your feet, then," he said genially. "Sorry we didn't come 'round sooner; looks like they did a number on you."
"Oh that was nothing," replied LeFou, straightening his collar. He squinted up at the two men, whom he had already met. "Sight-seeing?" he queried casually, as if he weren't standing in the middle of the street battered and bruised, with the beginnings of a black eye beginning to show.
"In a way," answered the older man, whose name was Bernaud. "It's been many years since we've been to Molyneaux. But perhaps we should step inside somewhere before we carry on this conversation further; we seem to have an audience."
Indeed every shutter on the street was opened a crack to reveal slivers of curious faces.
"Right-o," agreed Bain, the younger man. "You should get something to put on that shiner there, and I could do with a drop of something. As I seem to recall from my last visit, there used to be a brewhouse roundabout here somewhere."
LeFou raised an eyebrow. "That's right, you don't know," he said. "It's a full-blown pub now. Er, it's sort of closed for business, but - " a knowing grin - "I think I can get us in. It's this way." After excusing himself to lock Gaston's door with one of the keys on a set he carried in his pocket, he started leading the archers towards the town square.
"Say chap," remarked Bain after but a moment. "What with…our last conversation and all…well, forgive me, but we never did get your name."
LeFou paused while fishing out his keys - they had already reached his front door (all the most extravagant homes in the village, including LeFou's and Gaston's, were situated in the vicinity of the town square) - to barely glance over his shoulder. "LeFou," he said, unlocking the door.
Bernaud brightened at once. "Of course - why didn't I see it before? You're Ol' Harbin's boy, aren't you? Outstanding man, your father." The archers followed LeFou inside, and the latter closed the door behind them. "Brewed the finest ales in the Principality."
LeFou was pleased with the praise. "That's what they used to say." He threw open a pair of shutters to illuminate the darkened room.
Bain gazed about the taproom. "Well!" he remarked in surprise. "This used to be a sitting room…a parlour…and a den. What did you do, knock down some walls?"
LeFou led the men to the one table in the room not covered over with a sheet, and pulled out two chairs. "You forgot the pantry and my mother's sewing room, and yes. It was Gaston's idea. He said it was throwing away money to cram a few people into a den and only accept donations for drinks when you could have a big tavern and just charge people for them." He headed for the bar.
Bain and Bernaud took in their surroundings. "I don't recall Ol' Harbin being such a sportsman," remarked Bernaud, peering at all the animal trophies.
LeFou had pulled two mugs from under a sheet, thrown back the sheet covering a keg, and filled the vessels one-handed with practised ease. "Those are Gaston's."
Bain blinked in surprise at the exposed keg, and realised that the other two sheet-covered lumps beside it were also kegs. "If this place is closed for business," he began as LeFou delivered the ales to the table, "then what on God's Green Earth are three full kegs doing in here? Shouldn't you at least stay open until they're empty?"
LeFou pulled a face as he went to fetch a drink for himself. "This place just won't work without Gaston," he stated matter-of-factly, returning to the table and taking a seat. "He was the whole reason people came."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Bernaud. "Why, people used to come from leagues away to sample Ol' Harbin's ales."
LeFou took a drink. "This is beer, shipped in from Aglionby," he said.
"But wh - " Bernaud silenced himself. "Oh," he said. "Your father's no longer here, is he?"
"No sir."
"I'm sorry to hear that." The older man pulled his mug towards himself. "Harbin LeFou was one of the finest men I had ever known, and that's saying something." He took a large gulp of beer, and frowned at it. "No, not your father's," he confirmed sadly.
"I'm sorry to hear it too," said Bain.
LeFou hmphed a little into his beer. "Now I have to believe that you've been stuck as enchanted objects for the past ten years. Anyone else would have already heard the story about...what happened to my father."
"What did - " Bain started, but Bernaud silenced him with a look. "Another time, I'm sure," admonished the older man gravely.
Bain quickly changed the subject. "I am surprised that you've been importing beer rather than making it yourself," he said. "Your father was apprenticing you. In fact I recall one instance when I stumbled upon him in the street, bragging to anyone who would listen how his six-year-old had just brewed his first keg of hydromel."
LeFou chuckled. "Yeah, I kinda remember that. He went on about it for weeks. He drank it all by himself - because it was so awful no one else would touch it."
He looked so retrospective all of a sudden that Bernaud took it upon himself to change the subject this time. "It seems a shame," he said loudly, "to let three perfectly good kegs of beer go to waste." He looked pointedly at Bain, who caught on quickly.
"Oh yes," agreed Bain sagely. "A great pity. If only there was a large group of people willing to buy it all."
LeFou blinked confusedly between the archers.
"Say," grinned Bernaud, "I believe I can think of somebody."
LeFou finally gathered his wits. "Perhaps," he said, going to fetch a second round, "we should discuss this over a nice friendly drink."
"Hell's bells!" exclaimed Denis, gaping. "What the bloody blue heck is going on in there?"
"It's getting louder," remarked Bertram in awe.
"Well someone should put a stop to it," snapped Nicodeus irritably. "It sounds like they're…like they're…"
"Having fun," supplied Bertram helpfully.
"That isn't fair!" argued Nicodeus. "That's our tavern!"
Sometime after dark a number of shadowy cloaked horsemen had rode into town, headed straight for the tavern after leaving their horses at the village's public stables, and slipped inside. Soon after, the unmistakable noises of men clinking mugs and generally having a rollicking good time could be heard. The village men had gathered outside to stare at the pub, brightly-lit although tightly shuttered, so it was impossible to peer inside.
"Someone needs to put a stop to this," Denis grumbled. Bertram brightened. "Look!" he exclaimed, pointing. "Here comes the Prince's Royal Guard!"
Indeed, several men in blue-and-gold uniforms were striding towards the tavern.
"Finally," snorted Nicodeus. "Now we'll see some justice done."
The soldiers reached the tavern's front door and one of them knocked. They were quickly ushered in and greeted by a renewed burst of cheering before the door slammed shut again and the bolt drawn.
Denis fumed. "That's it!" He marched up to the door, the men following closely behind, and pounded on it with the side of his fist.
"Open up, LeFou!" the blacksmith shouted. "Let us in!"
After a moment the door did open, but it was not LeFou standing there. It was Bain.
"Do you have an appointment?" drawled the archer.
"Let us in there!" blurted Denis. "This is our pub!" The men could now see that the place was filled to capacity with men in blue-and-gold uniforms.
Bain stood on tiptoes to gaze casually out over the villagers, then looked over his shoulder into the tavern. "I'm sorry," he said, "but we seem to be full."
"Full?" spluttered Nicodeus. "What do you mean, 'full'?"
Bain reached up and pulled down a sign that had been hung over the inside of the door, and held it up. It read, MAX. OCCUPANCY: 61. "I'm sorry, fellows," said Bain. "But you don't want to create a fire hazard, do you?"
While the villagers blinked at one another in incredulity, three more Palace Guards showed up. Bain greeted them and let them squeeze past.
"Hey!" protested Bertram. "That's sixty-four!"
"Huh?" said Bain. "Oh! " He pulled a dagger from his belt and made two slashmarks on the sign, turning the one into a four. "Thanks, I would have missed that. Have a good evening, gentlemen." Flashing them all a cordial smile, he shut and bolted the door.
The cheering inside grew louder, and the villagers turned away from the tavern dejectedly. "Darnit," said Nicodeus at length. "We messed up, didn't we?"
"Yeah, well, you know what they say," sighed Bertram.
"What's that?"
"Whoever has the beer makes the rules."