(This is the first in a series of five stories, all available on Scribbles.)

The Three Fellows

1.
It was a damp, misty evening in the town of Trelby, and an exceedingly low temperature and lack of light due to the abundance of cloud matter added two more adequate reasons for any right thinking person to remain indoors.
The local pub, named “The Trelby Arms”, contained a particularly large quantity of human souls at this time.
The owner of the establishment, Mr Todd, had sealed any potential orifice the building may have against the cold without, and had brought to life two old electric heaters which were struggling to maintain a dubious warmth within the pub. Thankfully, the warming properties of his fare had had ample opportunity to take effect within the bodies of his patrons.
Mr Todd was standing at the taps of the bar, chatting with one of his regulars, when he noticed that three men had just entered the pub. As they approached the bar, a chilling puff of air wafted through the vicinity, and Mr Todd realised that they had left the door open after their entrance.
“Oi!” he shouted in their direction, “You! Shut that door!”
“What door?” one of the three asked, a simple looking lad who walked awkwardly and whose face and expression suggested a total and absolute innocence of anything remotely connected with intelligence.
“The door you just walked through, idiot!” Mr Todd exclaimed, who was becoming frustrated, not just at the three men, but at the exertions his growing anger was placing upon his fat and generally immobile body.
Some of his warmest customers in the background began to giggle ridiculously.  “Oh,” the lad said, quite meekly, and walked back to the door and shut it. He then re-joined his associates, who had stood watching, and they came up to the bar together.
It is doubtful that any of the persons present upon this scene would be capable of any serious analysis of these three gentlemen, but a person more apt for the task might roughly assess each of the three newcomers in the following fashion: The first man-first that is, in regard to his proximity to the bar and air of authority amongst the group-was a rough, angry looking fellow, with eyes that almost glowed with a barely suppressed intensity of emotion, and a face that was strained and ready for conflict.
The second man, who walked just behind the latter, seemed to contain an air of wisdom and thought; he seemed somewhat distant, yet ready to emerge into reality at a moment’s notice, doubtless with some profound, poetic remark.
The third man was a total idiot.
The way he walked, his expression, his manner of speech, all conveyed one disturbing impression-this man was without a mind.
The first man addressed Mr Todd, his tone sharp and decisive.
“Too late to order?”
“Why, no,” Todd replied, “you can have what you like.”
He was a little taken aback by the first man’s aggressive demeanour, and his initial frustration at these three men began to change into something approaching fear.
Mr Todd noticed, as well, that the general dress and grooming of this angry individual was not exactly calculated to please the eye.
His hair was quite long, reaching below his shoulders in a manner that was wild and free. A massive, unkempt beard spread out unchecked beneath his chin. A black raincoat endeavoured, but failed miserably, to cover his sizeable body-a size that seemed to be a result of both an excess of strength and of eating. Innumerable tears, rips and stains in the coat suggested that the man lived a rough, careless lifestyle, and even, perhaps, that he had engaged in violent dispute with persons who shared his lack of patient and reasonable conduct. Mr Todd had noticed as they entered that he wore loose, badly stained tracksuit bottoms, which seemed to be in a state of slow yet constant descent.
Weighing these factors in his mind, Mr Todd decided to treat these seedy newcomers with a degree of caution.
“What would you like,” he asked in a placating tone, “some drinks perhaps? Or even something to eat?”
“Steak pie with peas and chips, a poor man’s velvet and a large brandy,” said the first man, with a rapidity which suggested these expressions enjoyed common usage within his vocabulary.
“These chaps can make their own order,” he concluded, stepping to one side with a grunt.
Mr Todd was face to face for a moment with the thoughtful looking man, who seemed on the brink of speech, but did not utter a word, instead gazing at Mr Todd with a blank expression. A few awkward moments passed, and then the simple lad stepped forward.
“He’ll have a bowl of hot soup with crackers,” he said, jerking his thumb obscenely at the silent man, “and a small glass of port. I’ll have a pie too, please, with chips but no peas. And a pear cider, if you’ve any.”
“Erm, right,” said Mr Todd, “that should be fine. What’s up with him? Don’t he speak?”
“Oh, him?” The lad replied, jerking his head this time instead of his thumb, “he don’t speak. He’s a mute.”
“I see… From birth?” Todd asked cautiously.
“Well, no actually…” here the lad looked doubtful of how to proceed, “it was a sort of…accident. You know, these things happen…”
“Oh, I see.” Mr Todd gave a knowing nod which in fact knew nothing.
No further information on the subject was forthcoming, and the face of the angry looking fellow was beginning to add a look of impatience to its list of disagreeable properties, so Mr Todd stepped back swiftly from the bar and shouted the orders he had just received to his chef.
“It won’t be long,” he said, returning to the bar, “I hope you can find somewhere to sit.”
“Huh,” the first man said, and gave another grunt as he moved towards the seating area, a grunt which suggested a degree of pain.
As the three men walked away, Mr Todd remained standing at the bar for a few moments, his face transfixed by a profound dream; indulging in a moment of nostalgia, he was recalling the time when, many, many years previously, some human of rare quality had had the goodness to utter a word of thanks after having been served.

2.
The church bell struck twelve in the town of Trelby.
The cold, unpleasant conditions had reached their peak; some of the streets had become icy and treacherous, and a chilling wind brought misery to the heart of any person unfortunate enough to be in its path.
The church bell, it could be said, was not the only entity in the town currently involved in the act of striking-a large number of persons in the “Trelby arms” could also be said to be engaged in such an act- though of a kind more violent, and, certainly, of no use or aid to the human mind.
At this time, the town usually enjoyed a state of unanimous peace and tranquillity, of a kind most conducive to slumber and repose.
On this occasion, however, a significant portion of the town in the vicinity of the Trelby arms was in a state of wakefulness seldom equalled even by some of the more severe cases of caffeine poisoning.
Out of the many things that can be said regarding a bar room brawl, there is one thing which is of some relevance here: They are seldom discrete.
There were shouts, screams, cries of agony. Various sounds describing acts of violence and destruction filled the air. Certain words and phrases, familiar to scenes of intense anger and emotion, defiled the minds of little boys who lay awake listening, undoing the work of about a month’s worth of Sunday school.
Behind the bar in the Trelby arms, Mr Todd lay flat on his face in a pool of cheap beer. Many persons who had been unfortunate enough to bring this particular liquid into contact with their face had endured symptoms of discomfort similar to that of Mr Todd. Mr Todd lay silent, trembling a little with fear-and nausea, as he had accidentally imbibed a small mouthful of the beer.
The fight had been raging now for a good fifteen or twenty minutes, during which time pretty much any item of value in the pub had been destroyed or unrecognizably altered by an act of deliberate or careless aggression.
The fight had begun about a quarter to midnight, when a particularly inebriated individual had begun to poke fun at the mute. The first man in the group of three immediately came to his defence, grabbing the offender tightly by the throat with one hand and using the other to conduct several hard, solid blows, a couple of which would prove to be highly lucrative to the latter’s dentist.
This action had resulted in a widespread case of animosity amongst the persons present in the “Trelby Arms”, and the issuing of an unwritten death warrant, drawn up and signed rapidly in the mind of each individual present, against the three fellows.
Of the ensuing conflict, little can be said with any precision or art-blood flowed, tables broke, glasses shattered, and casualties mounted. Of these latter, many lay writhing on the floor, groaning and shouting with pain; others lay quite still and silent, doubtless awaiting a sinister and prolonged assessment of their health by the local physician. One man cowered in a corner away from the main foray, sobbing loudly after having lost something of great sentimental value-one of his front teeth, which had been extracted in a manner reminiscent of earlier and less enlightened times in the history of dentistry.
The battle lines had swiftly been drawn: The first man was at the centre of the conflict, having stayed where he was after his first act of aggression. This was roughly in the centre of the building, in a small space free of tables and other articles of furniture which allowed a sort of pathway to the bar. All of his enemies (practically everyone in the bar) charged towards this position, some with various items of bar room warfare, such as broken bottles and small chairs. About three assailants were engaged with the first man at a time, the rest forming a sort of disorderly queue, a few of which, from time to time, broke off from the main battle to engage with the other two men, who had taken up positions on either side of the first man. In the way of weapons, the first fellow had two: A small chair, which he used often as a kind of shield, and a solid piece of wood, which his two accomplices had ripped out from a wooden railing which partitioned a particular group of tables from the rest of the room. This he used as a club with devastating effect, and would later result in an aspirin shortage unprecedented in any civilised town or village in the world.
A few minutes after midnight, Mr Todd decided, from his lowly position, that enough was enough. The time had come for desperate, decisive action.
Mr Todd began to feel heroic-never before had he felt so empowered, so motivated.  Gathering his courage, he began to raise himself very slowly, and, after a few moments, managed to get to his knees. He remained in such a posture for several moments; then, weary and once again overcome with fear, he sank back to his position on the floor- hoping, for the first time in his life, that prayer was a worthy endeavour.
It was not long after Mr Todd’s brief moment of religious experience that a swift end was brought to this scene of intense violence. The main door of “The Trelby Arms” was swung open forcefully, and, a few moments later, an immense quantity of human flesh crossed the threshold.
Its owner, one PC William’s, had been summoned to the premises by several telephone calls he had received from various distressed denizens of the town of Trelby. He had received these calls not less than five minutes after the beginning of the ruckus- despite being stationed just a few yards away from the establishment, PC Williams had been delayed by a good quarter of an hour, owing to the quantity of telephone calls- and himself. Indeed, as this sizeable specimen of the human race squeezed awkwardly through the doorway, it quickly became apparent that his vast bulk was of an immensity not generally taken into consideration by the common architect.
“Ere’, what’s going on here?” PC Williams bellowed into the room. (This member of the police force was also gifted with an immensely powerful voice.)
Immediately, a profound and complete silence engulfed the room. For a few seconds nothing, nothing was said or done. Everyone was staring, many through bleary, bloodshot eyes. Eternity seemed to manifest itself in a matter of moments.
Then, the young lad with the stupid looking face opened his mouth in reply.
He said: “Nothing.”
This remark, though doubtless uttered with the very best of intentions, was not one that PC Williams could readily accept.
“Nothin?” he snorted, in a manner which would make even the most lenient of grammarians cringe.
“I’ll remember you, my lad,” he continued, casting a severe glance in his direction.
The policeman stepped forward, taking care not to stumble over a groaning invalid who was stretched out on the floor in front of him.
“Who’s in charge of this ‘ere establishment?”
After a moment, Mr Todd summoned the strength to lift himself from the floor, and he walked around the corner of the bar and addressed the officer.
“I’m the owner,” he said, uncomfortably aware that this statement was practically a confession. 
“Ah, I see. Well, I think you’d best explain what’s been going on ‘ere. But first, I think you’d best phone for an ambulance. Some of these men look a little… out of sorts.”
“Right, I’ll do that,” Mr Todd said, beginning to amble towards his telephone. He stopped for a moment, and added: “If you’d like a chair at any point, I think there’s a spare one behind the bar. I’ll get it if you if you like.”
“Thank you kindly.”
PC Williams had begun to warm to Mr Todd somewhat, as men who share in common an excessive waistline are often apt to do. If their acquaintanceship were to continue in time, one could well imagine them sitting together over a pint of ale, eagerly exchanging stories regarding the challenges of diabetes, or of finding clothing of adequate size.
Whilst Mr Todd was telephoning for an ambulance, the policeman got out his notebook and began to take the names of the various persons present at this scene of violent discord. He noted that quite a few were in no condition to be questioned, and gave a grunt of dissatisfaction as he realised that he would have to pay a visit to the hospital later on to get their statement.
PC Williams made various notes and obtained a number of names and addresses-he was later to wonder at the curious amount of parents who had obviously displayed a good deal of fondness for the name “John Smith.”
As Mr Todd returned from the telephone, PC Williams stood in the middle of the room and addressed the crowd.
“Now look ‘ere, there a certain statements I ‘ave received from certain persons which I am not inclined to believe. If I find out they’ve been lying, they’ll be getting a visit-from me.”
He paused for a moment, in imitation of many great orators who pause after a statement of profound significance has been made.
“There is one matter, ‘owever, which most of those ‘ere seem to agree upon-namely, that you (here he pointed severely at the man with the wild beard and tattered clothing) were the one who started this ‘ere brawl. Have you anything to say for yourself?”
The accused did not reply, instead giving PC Williams a look which, if looks could kill, would doubtless have caused a noteworthy decline in the latter’s health.
“Right then, you’re coming with me.”
Williams got out a pair of handcuffs which had been dangling by his side, walked over to his prisoner, and said, gruffly: “Hold out your hands!”
For a moment, PC Williams feared that he was about to join some of the wounded on the floor, but, after letting a great sigh of disgust, the man put out his hands and submitted to his arrest.
“I take it these two gentlemen are your friends,” PC Williams asked, nodding at the mute and the young lad who were standing near to the prisoner.
The latter gave a vicious nod of assent-if PC Williams had been standing any closer, it would have made a splendid head-butt.
“Right then, you two come alon’ with me. I’ll have to handcuff you down at the station. Don’t try any funny business, or you’re for it.”
PC Williams withdrew a huge truncheon from his coat, with a dramatic air of intent which suggested that, though he was obviously a policeman of little merit, he would perhaps possess a modicum of talent as an actor.
Outside, the ambulance had just arrived.
As the paramedics entered the room, one of the prisoners emitted a particularly loud scream of pain, causing them to head immediately in their direction.
“I think this gentleman ‘ere is in particular need of your attention,” PC Williams said to the paramedics.
“No he isn’t,” the young lad said with a laugh, “fatso here just stepped on his hand!”
The policeman began to redden perceptibly in the face, and bellowed: “You keep quiet, m’lad, or I’ll make things hard for you.”
The young lad continued to laugh in a highly irritating fashion, causing PC Williams’ blood pressure to reach a level which, in many cases, has in fact proved fatal.
“Let’s go,” he said, attempting to usher the three men out of the pub.
As his two friends began to yield to the policeman, the young lad suddenly stepped away from PC Williams and walked up to Mr Todd.
“What do you want?” Todd demanded, “You’d better get going”.
“I know, I know. I just wanted to ask you something.”
“Well, make it quick,” Mr Todd said sternly.
“You see, me and my chums here are new to this district. We’ve had to come a fair way from home because…of certain things, and…”
“Yes, yes, get to the point,” Mr Todd demanded, his patience rapidly running out.
“Well, I know my friends have plans of their own but… I wonder… Is there any chance you’d consider giving me a job in this place?”

(Copyright Daniel Macintyre protectmywork.com)
(Completed 25/04/2021)