'Thank you. So tell me, what exactly are the Revealments?'
'Well,' he began, 'details are understandably vague, but St Zvlkx wrote a number of predictions in a small book before he vanished in a "cleansing fire" in 1292. An incomplete copy of the Revealments is in the Swindon City Library, but unlike those of most of the other seers who make vague and sweeping generalisations that are open to interpretation, St Zvlkx's predictions are refreshingly specific.'
'Perhaps you could give us an example?'
'Of course. Part of Zvlkx's Revealment the First tells us that: A lowly butcher's son from the town of Ipswich will rise to be Lord Chancellor. His name shall be Tommy Wolsey, and he will be inaugurated the day before Christmas, and shall get only one present, not two, as should be his right . . .'
'That's uncannily accurate!' breathed Lydia.
'Indeed — existing letters from Cardinal Wolsey indicate most strongly that he was "vexed and annoyed" at having to make do with only one present, something he often spoke about and which might have contributed, many years later, to his failure to persuade the Pope to grant Henry VIII an annulment of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon.'
'Remarkable,' said Lydia. 'What else?'
'Well,' continued Joffy, 'Zvlkx's Revealment the Second told us that: . . . It shall be known as the "Sail of the Century" — an armada of over a hundred ships smelling of paella shall cross the Channel. Fire and wind will conspire to destroy them, England will remain free . . .'
'Not quite so good,' said Lydia.
'I agree,' replied Joffy. 'Paella wasn't invented until after the Spanish Armada. There are the odd mistakes, but even so his accuracy is astonishing. Not only do his Revealments include names and dates but also, on one occasion, a reliable phone number for a good time in Leeds. By the end of the sixteenth century St Zvlkx had been afforded that rare hallmark of unbridled Elizabethan success — the commemorative plate. By the time of his next Revealment a century and a half later his supporters and followers had dwindled to only a handful. But when it arrived, this Revealment the Third catapulted Zvlkx back into the world's headlines: . . . In 1776, a George King numbered three will lose his mind, his largest colony, and his socks. The colony will grow to be the greatest power in the world but his mind and his socks will stay lost . . .'
'And the fourth?'
'. . . a man named after a form of waterproof shoe will trounce a short Frenchman in Belgium . . .'
'Clearly Waterloo — and the fifth?'
'. . . The evil yet nattily dressed aggressors known as Nasis, fear of whom has polarised the nation, will be ejected from these islands by — and I know this sounds really weird — the colony that was mentioned in prediction three. And Denis Compton will score 3,816 runs for Middlesex in a single season . . .'
'Uncanny,' murmured Lydia. 'How would a thirteenth-century monk know that Compton batted for Middlesex?'
'He was, and indeed might be again, the greatest of seers,' replied Joffy.
'We know that his Revealment the Sixth was a prediction of his own second coming, but it is the sports fans of Swindon who will really be bowled over by his Revealment the Seventh.'
'Exactly so,' replied Joffy. 'According to the incomplete Codex Zvlkxus, it will be: There will be a home win on the playing fields of Swindonne in nineteen hundred and eighty-eight, and in consequence of . . . There is more, but it's been lost. We can ask him about it when he reappears.'
'Fascinating stuff, Irrev. Next! Just one question. Where is he?'
I looked at my watch as Friday stood on my lap and stared that unnerving sort of two-year-old stare at the couple behind us. St Zvlkx was already three minutes late, and I saw Joffy bite his lip nervously. They had made much of the Great Man's predictions, and for him not to turn up would be just plain embarrassing — not to mention costly. Joffy had spent a great deal of Mum's savings learning Old English at the local adult education centre.
'Tell me, Irrev. Next,' continued Lydia, trying to pad out the interview, 'I understand the Toast Marketing Board has secured a sponsorship deal with St Zvlkx?'
'Indeed,' replied Joffy, 'we at the Idolatry Friends of St Zvlkx have secured on his behalf a very favourable deal with Toast, who wanted to have exclusive rights to his likeness and wisdom, if he has any.'
'Nevertheless, I understand the Goliath Corporation were said to be interested?'
'Not really. Goliath have been less than enthusiastic since their sportswear division paid over a quarter of a million for an exclusive sponsorship deal with St Bernadette of Lincoln. But since her return six months ago she has done nothing except brick herself up in a room and pray in silent retrospection, something that doesn't lend itself to selling running shoes. The Toast Marketing Board, on the other hand, made no such demands — they are happy just to see what Zvlkx himself would like to do for them.'
Lydia turned back to the camera.
'Astonishing. If you've just joined us this is a live telecast of the second coming of the thirteenth-century saint, Thomas Zvlkx.'
I looked at my watch again. Zvlkx was now five minutes late. Lydia carried on with her live broadcast, interviewing several other people to soak up time. The crowd grew slightly impatient and a low murmuring started to emerge from the expectant silence. Lydia had just asked a style guru about the sort of clothes they might be expecting Zvlkx to be wearing when she was interrupted by a shout. Something was happening just outside Tesco's between the child's coin-in-the-slot flying elephant ride and the letterbox. Joffy vaulted over the press enclosure and ran towards where a column of smoke was rising from a crack that had opened up in the mother-and-child parking area. The sky grew dark, birds stopped singing and shoppers coming out of the revolving doors stared in astonishment as a bolt of lightning struck the weathered stone arch and split it asunder. There was a collective cry of alarm as a wind sprang up from nowhere. Pennants advertising new Saver product lines which were hanging limply on the flagpoles came loose with a crack and a whirling mass of dust and waste paper spread across the car park, making several people cough.
Within a few moments it was all over. Sitting on the ground and dressed in a rough habit tied with a rope at the waist was a grubby man with a scraggy beard and exceptionally bad teeth. He blinked and looked curiously around at his new surroundings.
'Welcome,' said Joffy, the first on the scene, 'I represent the Idolatry Friends of St Zvlkx and offer you protection and guidance'
The thirteenth-century monk looked at him with his dark eyes, then at the crowd which had gathered closer to him, everyone talking and pointing and asking him whether they could have their pictures taken with him.
'Your accent is not bad,' replied St Zvlkx slowly. 'Is this 1988?'
'It is, sir. I've brokered a sponsorship deal for you with the Toast Marketing Board.'
'Cash?'
Joffy nodded.
'Thank ?*&?@ for that,' said Zvlkx. 'Has the ale improved Since I've been away?'