I spy Jon Brackenbrook. It looks like he's stopped blubbering about his dad, so I ask to see if he needs any help. The job he gives me is a big one:
Head bowed, Jon makes his request, "I would ask that you go out and bury the heroes that fell in last night's-"
"Hang on, hang on," I protest, "How am I supposed to bring a grown man back to town all by myself?"
He raises his head, looking slightly confused. "I don't understand. Why in blazes would you bring them back here?"
I glance over to our right, where many coffins have been filled and are awaiting transport to the graveyard:
Surprised, I stammer back, "I guess I thought you'd want to bring them back here for a funeral or something."
"Funeral?" he exclaims as if I'd just suggested he marry a giant spider. "I said these men were heroes, but let's not get carried away with talk of funerals and such."
"These guys aren't getting funerals? Don't you want to pay your respects or anything?"
"Understand that these men died bravely, but... poor. They were good fellows, but they didn't have two coppers to rub together. No need to get ourselves all worked up while there are people of quality waiting to be buried and have their wills read."
"So what do you suggest, then?"
Jon lets out a long, thoughtful sigh. "I dunno. I suppose the dirt in one place is as good as another."
"So you just want me to toss some dirt over them?"
Jon brightens up, "You know, that sounds very nice. I'm sure if they weren't dead they'd really appreciate it."
"Actually, I imagine they'd object strongly to it if they weren't dead, but I see what you mean. But is this really how you honor your friends who died in battle? I mean, I'm a complete stranger. What would you have done if I had died? Feed me to your pigs?"
"Oh no, of course not! God no!" he says with a bemused laugh.
"That's good, I suppose."
"Not my good pigs, anyway."