Stephanie Tammy climbed the steps of the licensing hall at first light. Her key no longer fit the lock. A new brass plate above the door read TAMMY, in fresh paint. Her aunt had taken every permit in Donnellila two days ago, and the town still called Stephanie the head lawyer, but no one would sign a warrant against blood. She stood on the porch and counted what she had. A grudge. A missing key. No proof the seizure broke any law. If she pried the door open now, the sheriff would side with the paperwork inside, not with her. A clerk let her in through the side entrance. He would not meet her eyes. The main counter was stacked with permit books in fresh leather. Above the counter hung the kinship ledger, moved from its old shelf to a place of honor. Stephanie asked to see the transfer order. The clerk slid a single page across the counter. Aunt Tammy had signed as acting registrar. The seal was correct. The date was correct. Stephanie read it twice and felt the case slip out from under her. Then she read the third line again. The transfer cited a bylaw requiring the registrar to be a resident of Donnellila for one full year. Aunt Tammy practiced law in the town one valley over. She had come in on a horse three days ago. Stephanie asked for the kinship ledger. The clerk hesitated, then lifted it down. She turned to the T pages. Tammy Edwards, her aunt, listed by marriage to a cousin who had died before the town was chartered. Residence: outside the county line. No entry updating the address. No naturalization filed. She copied the page in her own hand and had the clerk witness and date the copy. Then she walked to the courthouse and put the copy in Ed's hand. Ed read it at his desk. He was her boyfriend and the head judge, and he did not like either fact at that moment. "If I sign this, half the town says you used me." "If you don't sign it, she keeps every permit," Stephanie said. "Including yours to sit in that chair." He read the bylaw again. He read the ledger copy. He signed an order voiding the transfer for lack of standing and set a hearing for the following morning. By noon the clerk had posted the order on the licensing hall door. The brass plate stayed up. Aunt Tammy did not. Stephanie stood on the steps again with the key the clerk had cut for her. It fit. Inside, the permit books were still stacked in her aunt's order, not hers, and a rider was already saddled at the rail, headed north toward the valley where Aunt Tammy kept her other office. Stephanie had the hall back. She had one night before her aunt rode back with a lawyer of her own.

Stephanie had the licensing hall back and one night to hold it. By dawn, her aunt would ride in with a lawyer from the valley, and Stephanie had no one of equal weight to sit beside her at the hearing. She stood at the counter with the permit books open and made a list of every attorney within two days' ride. The list had three names. All three had done work for Aunt Tammy in the past year. She crossed them out and went to find Ed. He was at his desk in the courthouse, sorting the day's filings. She stopped in the doorway before he looked up. "I need a lawyer by morning," she said. "Every one I can name owes her money or a favor." Ed set down his pen. "I can't help you from the bench. If I coach you, she gets the ruling thrown out on appeal, and the permits go back to her." "I know." "Then argue it yourself." "She'll bring a man who has argued a hundred hearings. I have argued one will." Ed was quiet. Then he opened his drawer and pulled out a thin stack of pages. It was the will she had written for Justin, copied in Elizabeth's hand for the court record. He slid it across the desk. "You wrote a law where there wasn't one," he said. "You proved a false kinship claim off a ledger nobody else could read. Bring the ledger. Bring the bylaw. Bring the copy the clerk witnessed. Stand up alone and read it out." "That isn't counsel." "No," he said. "But it's what you have." She went back to the licensing hall and worked through the night at the main counter. She copied the residency bylaw onto its own sheet. She marked the kinship ledger with a ribbon at the T pages. She wrote out her argument in three parts and read each part aloud to the empty room until the sentences held. At sunrise Aunt Tammy came up the steps with a gray-haired man in a black coat. He carried a leather case and did not look at Stephanie. He set his case on the counter and began stacking briefs beside it, one, two, three, four. Stephanie set down her single folder next to his stack. Aunt Tammy smiled. Ed took the bench. He called the hearing. He asked who represented the petitioner. The gray-haired man rose and named himself. Ed asked who represented the respondent. Stephanie stood. "I do. For myself." The gray-haired man opened his first brief and began to read. He was good. He cited three bylaws Stephanie had not seen. He asked the court to strike Ed's void order for bias, because Ed was the respondent's boyfriend. Ed's face did not move. He wrote something on his pad and told Stephanie to answer. She had no answer for the bias claim. The hearing had turned in one sentence, and she was still standing alone.