Play@YSDC

The men exchanged puzzled looks and then shook their heads. ”Not us, Father,” replied the orderly. ”But we could move them for you, if you like?”

“Ah bless you my son, that’d be grand,” Joe beams. “Just don’t get yourself into trouble for doing so.”

The orderlies trooped back inside the hospital after Joe. One was collared by the one-armed Indian orderly that Joe had seen earlier, but the remaining orderlies followed him down to the chapel, crowding in with him. ”Are these them?” asked one of the orderlies, pointing to the urns filled with earth.

“Yes, that’s them,” Joe replies.

One of the orderlies picked up one of the urns and immediately pulled a face. Blinking violently, he put it down sharply, holding his sleeve against his face. ”Cor blimey! That stinks! What’s in there?”

“I assumed it was soil,” Joe replies. “I hope it’s not night soil though.”

The orderly moved the urn closer to his face to smell the contents again, before coughing and pushing it away. ”That’s grave dirt!” he exclaimed. ”If the body isn’t buried in a coffin and starts to rot, it smells like this when you dig it up again. Not intentional, you understand - it’s an occupational hazard digging graves out here!” His comrades nodded in agreement.

”Not sure what it’s doing in here, though. Have you fallen out with someone, Father?”

“I hope not!” Joe protests. “I only just got here yesterday!”

He sighs, deeply flustered and bemused.

“Who the hell would leave tubs of grave soil lying around a hospital, let alone in a house of God? Listen, would you fellas mind getting rid of these? Oh, and set ip a cot or bedroll? I think I’ll bunk down in here tonight.”

Can I roll to see if the act of leaving grave soil around rings any bells? INT or history or somesuch?

[45] = 45
Occult 05 d%: [ 45 ] = 45

No idea!

”Sure, no problem, Father,” replied the orderly, and he and his comrades picked up the urns to move them outside. Another headed up to Joe’s room in the roof and returned shortly with his cot, which they just about managed to squeeze into the chapel, although it left very little space for anything else.

”Will that be all, Father?” asked the orderly. ”Otherwise we’ll get on with burying those poor lads who died last night.”

“Aye, that’ll be all fellas; God bless you for your help,” Joe replies.

That done, he decides to continue his rounds, starting with the three Americans.

Leaving the Americans to recover, Father Joe continues to tour the rounds. No doubt he will bump into Pombal, and so keeps an eye out for him.

In addition, he stays on the alert for anyone carrying urns or muddy shovels…

Joe spent more an hour moving around the wards, talking to the wounded (and avoiding Mrs Ogilvy). Some of them were upbeat about their situation but others were morose, cursing their luck and their crippling wounds. It may be a ‘Blighty’ wound that would see them sent back to England away from the fighting, but they feared for their future prospects.

One of the orderlies brought him a couple of tea and he was able sit down on a chair in the corridor. He was still to find Pombal, however!

Puzzled, Joe heads out to Pombal's abode, where they shared a glass the night before.

The half-dozen ravens on the roofline eyed Joe beadily as he made his way across to Pombal’s tent. The fire outside was out and the flaps of the tent were all tied up.

Studiously ignoring the ravens, Joe stalks over to Pombal’s tent.

“Father Pombal? Are you there?” he calls.

If there’s no answer, he’ll attempt to untie the tent flaps.

There was no answer from Pombal’s tent so Joe was able to untie the flaps and look inside. There was a cot bed, a chest and a camp table and chair. The smell of body odour and cheap brandy was strong and the inside of the tent was a mess, with the priest’s possessions scattered everywhere. It was impossible to tell whether Pombal lived this way or if someone had been in there and rifled through his belongings.