His eyes held mine, ensuring the message was delivered, then he guided us closer to shore, throttling back as the hull scrapped against the shallows.

"Go wi' God, young Wallace. May Sir William's courage flourish in yer heart."

I jumped down to the beach, then watched him speed away without so much as a nod.

I was back in Lochend, the tranquillity of the Great Glen lost amidst the heavy traffic of the A82 at my back. To the south, Loch Ness's waters reached across the valley like the shadow of a giant serpent. Her black waves lapped at my feet, and her distant thunder rumbled above her mountains, threatening an evening shower.

At that moment, I felt like Dorothy, lost in the land of Oz. Calum Forrest was my Scarecrow, pointing me toward the yellow brick road, warning me to ignore the wicked witch and stay focused on the path that lay ahead. Yet what he wasn't saying seemed more important than what he was. Surrounded by clues, I was homing in on the truth, but still couldn't see the forest for the trees.

Calum Forrest. Blood of the MacDonald and Stewart clans, and no doubt a member of the Black Knights. He knows what Nessie is, but as a Black Knight, he can't say. Still, as water bailiff it's his sworn duty to protect the Loch, but that's causing a conflict with his blood oath to the Black Knights.

"So he's reaching out to me, hoping I'll resolve the problem for him."

As if in response, the heavens growled, unleashing a flash of white lightning that disappeared over Aldourie Castle.

"Okay, Dorothy, time to find the wizard."

Wait… what was it Calum said about salmon? The spawning grounds… he wanted me to take a look.

Tightening the straps of my backpack, I jogged south, hoping to make it to Brackla and the Clansman Hotel before being struck by lightning.

Clansman Hotel
Brackla
7:45 P.M.

Vietnam veteran Pete Lindner sat on the transom of his seventeen-meter cruise ship, Wiley, keeping an eye on the weather as he finished off the last of his prawns and white wine. Two years earlier, the former billing manager at Verizon had taken an early retirement when Jonathan Deval, an old war buddy in the Royal Navy, had offered him a partnership in his Great Glen touring business. Since then, Lindner had spent his winters in New York with the grandkids and his summers in the Highlands, ferrying passengers up and down the Caledonian Canal from Fort William to Inverness.

But recent events had forced a change in plans. The business was clearly in Loch Ness, and the profits were too high to be wasting time and fuel trekking back and forth all the way to Fort William. So Lindner told his partner he'd stay put in the Loch, riding the tourism wave as long as he could, even if it meant mooring off Cherry Island.