'Not much. But the choice is better.'
'Can't wait. Hubba-hubba! Who's the moppet in the tight blouse?'
'Mr Next,' interjected Lydia. who had managed to push her way to the front, 'perhaps you would be good enough to tell us what Mr Zvlkx is saying?'
'I — um — welcomed him to the twentieth century and said we had much to learn from him as regards beekeeping and the lost art of brewing mead. He — um — said just then that he is tired after his journey and wants only world peace, bridges between nations and a good home for orphans, kittens and puppies.'
The crowd suddenly parted to make way for the Mayor of Swindon. St Zvlkx knew power when he saw it and smiled a greeting to Lord Volescamper, who walked briskly up and shook the monk's grimy hand.
'Look here, welcome to the twentieth century, old salt,' said Volescamper, wiping his hand on his handkerchief. 'How are you finding it?"
'Welcome to our age,' translated Joffy, 'How are you enjoying your stay?'
'Cushty, me old cocker babe,' replied the saint simply.
'He says very well, thank you.'
'Tell the worthy saint that we have a welcome pack awaiting him in the presidential suite at the Finis Hotel. Knowing his aversion to comfort we took the liberty of removing all carpets, drapes, sheets and towels and replaced the bedclothes with hemp sacks stuffed with rocks.'
'What did the old fart say?'
'You don't want to know.'
'What about the incomplete seventh Revealment?' asked Lydia. 'Can St Zvlkx tell us anything about that?'
Joffy swiftly translated and St Zvlkx rummaged in the folds of his blanket and produced a small leather-bound book. The crowd fell silent as he licked a grubby finger, turned to the requisite page and read:
'There will be a home win on the playing fields of Swindonne in nineteen hundred and eighty-eight, and in consequence of this and only in consequence of this, a great tyrant and the company named Goliathe will fall.'
All eyes switched to Joffy, who translated. There was a sharp intake of breath and a clamour of questions.
'Mr Zvlkx,' said a reporter from The Mole, who up until that moment had been bored out of his skull, 'do you mean to say that Goliath will be lost if Swindon wins the Superhoop?'
'That is exactly what he says,' replied Joffy.
There was a further clamour of questions from the assembled journalists as I carefully tried to figure out the repercussions of this new piece of intelligence. Dad had said that a Superhoop win for Swindon would avert an armageddon and, if what Zvlkx was saying came true, a triumph on Saturday would do precisely this. The question was, how? There was no connection as far as I could see. I was still trying to think how a croquet final could unseat a near-dictator and destroy one of the most powerful multinationals on the planet when Lord Volescamper intervened and silenced the noisy crowd of newsmen with a wave of his hand.
'Mr Next, thank the gracious saint for his words. There is time enough to muse on his Revealment but right now I would like him to meet members of the Swindon Chamber of Commerce, which, I might add, is sponsored by St Biddulph's® Hundreds and Thousands, the cake decoration of choice. After that we might take some tea and carrot cake. Would he be agreeable to that?'
Joffy translated every word and Zvlkx smiled happily.
'Look here, St Zvlkx,' said Volescamper as they walked towards the marquee for tea and scones, 'what was the thirteenth century like?'
'The mayor wants to know what the thirteenth century was like — and no lip, sunshine.'
'Filthy, damp, disease-ridden and pestilential.'
'He said it was like London, Your Grace.'
St Zvlkx looked at the weathered arch, the only visible evidence of his once great cathedral, and asked:
'What happened to my cathedral?'
'Burned durring the dissolution of the monasteries.'
'Got damn,' he muttered, eyebrows raised, 'should have seen that coming.'
'Duis aute dolor in fugiat nulla pariatur,' murmured Friday, pointing at St Zvlkx's retreating form, rapidly vanishing in a crowd of well-wishers and newsmen.
'I have no idea, sweetheart — but I've a feeling things are just beginning to get interesting.'
'Well,' said Lydia to the camera, 'a Revealment that could spell potential disaster for the Goliath Corporation and—'
Her producer was gesticulating wildly for her not to connect 'tyrant' with 'Kaine' live on air.
'—an as yet unnamed tyrant. This is Lydia Startright, bringing you a miraculous event live for Toad News. And now, a word from our sponsors, Goliath Pharmaceuticals, the makers of Haerrmarelief.'
12
Spike and Cindy
'Operative Spike Stoker was with SO-17, the Vampire and Werewolf disposal operation, undeniably the most lonely of the SpecOps divisions. SO-17 operatives worked in the twilight world of the semi-dead, changelings, vampires, lycanthropes and those of a generally evil disposition. Spike had been decorated more times than I had read Three Men in a Boat, but then he was the only staker in the South-west and no one in their right mind would do what he did on a SpecOps wage, except me. And only then when I was desperate for the cash.'
I pushed Friday back towards my car, deep in thought. The stakes had just been raised and any chance that I might somehow influence the outcome of the Superhoop were suddenly made that much more impossible. With Goliath and Kaine both having a vested interest in making sure the Swindon Mallets lost, chances of our victory had dropped from 'highly unlikely' to 'nigh impossible'.
'It explains,' said a voice, 'why Goliath are changing to a faith-based corporate management system.'
I turned to find my stalker, Millon de Floss, walking close behind me. It must have been important for him to contravene the blanket restraining order. I stopped for a moment.
'Why do you think that?'
'Once they are a religion they won't be a company named Goliathe, as stated in Zvlkx's prophecy,' observed Millon, 'and they can avoid the Revealment coming true. Sister Bettina, their own corporate precog, must have foreseen something like this and alerted them.'
'Does that mean,' I asked slowly, 'that they're taking St Zvlkx seriously?'
'He's too accurate not to be, Miss Next, however unlikely it may seem. Now that they know the complete seventh Revealment, they'll try and do anything to stop Swindon winning — and continue with the religion thing as a back-up just in case.'
It made sense — sort of. Dad must have known this or something very like it. None of it boded very well, but my father had said the likelihood of this armageddon was only 22 per cent, so the answer must be somewhere.
'I'm going to visit Goliathopohs this afternoon,' I said thoughtfully. 'Have you found out anything about Kaine?'
Millon rummaged in his pocket for a notepad, found it and flicked through the pages, which seemed to be full of numbers.
'It's here somewhere,' he said apologetically. 'I like to collect vacumn-cleaner serial numbers and was investigating a rare Hoover XB-23E when I got the call. Here it is. This Kaine fellow is a conspiracist's delight. He arrived on the scene five years ago with no past, no parents, nothing. His national insurance number was only given to him in 1982, and it seems the only jobs he has ever held was with his publishing company and then as MP.'