The man behind the municipal desk looked municipal. Stanley knew the look—bored, unimpressed, implacable.
“Leave this with me,” the man said. “I’ll put it before the Council.”
He meant he’d shove it in a drawer and have a cup of tea.
“Listen,” Stanley pleaded, “it’s important. My giant fan will blow the miasma away. The city will be safe.”
The official straightened his cravat and nodded.
“Or we can all choke to death, I suppose,” Stanley added. Bitterness filled his mouth.
The man shuffled his papers and looked over Stanley’s shoulder at the next in line.