The old stone hall had a vaulted ceiling, and whitewashed plaster walls hung with hundreds of horseshoes. Prior to the Warming the hall had been little more than a historical tourist attraction, used only occasionally for a magistrate's court. Then in the aftermath of the seas flooding the Lincolnshire fens, the vast influx of refugees had more than doubled Rutland's population. The hall's legal activities had expanded to become full-time. Modern partitioning had been used to break up the rear of the hall into small office cubicles. Jodie and Richard maneuverd along a narrow corridor between the transparent sound-proofed walls. The Land Registry & Claims cubicle was barely large enough to hold the two of them as well as the clerk.

Jodie had the petition already prepared, and handed over the two memox crystals detailing the case, including the original farmer's title to the land. Richard, as the claimee, had to sign a host of papers verifying the action.

“Any idea when the case will be heard?” he asked.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Townsend.” The clerk's hand fluttered over the pile of memox crystals and paper folders on his desk. “We have over eight hundred ownership cases filed in this court alone. The local PSP Land Rights allocation committee confiscated a lot of property.”

“Yes, I appreciate that, but this is land for a commercial venture which will benefit many people in the town. It'll create jobs, and bring wealth into the area. Surely that warrants some additional attention.”

“I would say yes,” the clerk murmured diplomatically. “But it's not up to me.”

“Nevertheless…I'd be grateful if you could point this out to the powers that be.”

“I'll do what I can.”

When they were back outside in the scorching sunlight Jodie frowned. “That was sailing close to the wind. You don't do backroom deals in a civic office.”