As
he finishes speaking, he realises the whole room has turned to look
at him. Their eyes are suspicious, accusing even, making him want to
flee as quickly as possible.
“What
manor of assistance?” the fat man with the gold chain demands.
“Mister
Mayor, I must protest,” a second dignitary at the top table, also
considerably overweight interrupts, banging the table before he's had
chance to respond. “We cannot be entertaining the notions of
opportunist vagrants at a time like this.”
“Opportunist
vagrant or not,” the mayor replies, “I would hear what he has to
say.”
“But....”
his colleague counters, only to be silenced by the mayor's gavel.
“But
nothing,” the mayor admonishes, “Unless you have a plan to rid us
of these vermin, I suggest we allow guest to speak.”
“Thankyou,
your honour,” he says as politely as he can, “I believe I may
know how to remove this burden from your town, before they can do
further damage.” He pauses, suddenly mindful of his own situation,
before adding tentatively “For a reasonable consideration, of
course.”
