"A Guivre, Mister Marine Biologist. Accordin' tae lore, Guivres were wingless dragons, resemblin' giant sea serpents. The beasts once resided in a' the Great Glen's lochs, but in winters when food wis scarce, they'd cross countrysides, too, in search o' anythin' they could swallow. Back when I was a lad, yer grandfaither, Logan, taught me a' aboot them. Said they didnae breathe fire like other dragons, but their oily skin spewed noxious vapors, bad enough tae cause vegetation to shrivel an' rot. They're the De'il, they are, but—"

"Butts are for crapping, Angus, and your tale's a load if there ever was one, a pathetic alibi designed to use Nessie's popularity to take the spotlight away from your guilt."

"An' ye're a disgrace tae the tartan an' a' who bore the Wallace name. Since the time o' Saint Columba these De'il's have stalked oor Glen, feastin' off the flesh o' those that droop, yer ain grandfaither among them. You'd be deid, too, if no' for some miracle. Keep ignorin' the truth, but ye cannae run away frae yer fear forever."

"Whit're ye suggestin', Angus?" True asked.

"It's Zachary's callin'. He needs tae help us find this beast an' kill it."

"I'm a scientist, Angus, not a monster hunter."

"Then be a scientist an' find that creature! It's oot there, Zachary, I swear that on my faither's soul, an' ye're the only one that can find it an prove my innocence."

"You swear? Your word means nothing to me. The moment that asshole judge releases me, I'm on the next plane back to Miami."

True cringed as he looked down the corridor. "Uh, Zack—"

"What?"

"The asshole's back," Judge Hannam announced, as he led Sheriff Brian Holmstrom and six brutes dressed in police uniforms toward our cells. "You may release Dr. Wallace, Sheriff, provided he cooperates."

"Cooperates? How?"

Holmstrom, a no-nonsense fellow carrying a muscular build on his smallish frame, opened the cell door, but blocked my exit. "Dr. Wallace, I'm requestin' that ye accompany these men. You will not speak o' anythin' ye see or hear tae anyone other than my inspector, or I shall be forced tae incarcerate ye until ye're as auld an' stupid a man as yer faither."

"What's this all about?"

"You'll find out when you get there."

"Do I have a choice?"

The judge nodded. "You can stay in your cell another day if you'd like. Give you and your father here more time to reminisce about old times."

"I'd rather eat haggis." I laced up my shoes, stepped out of the cell, then, nodding at True, punched him as hard as I could in his stomach, nearly breaking my fist in the process.

True grimaced but never buckled. "Well done, lad. We're even then."

"We're not even. That was for eating my breakfast."

* * *