He pulled Zvlkx’s Revealments from his pocket and opened it to the front page. There was a countersigned receipt for a farthing that we had thought was a bookbinder’s tax or something. The small arithmetical sum next to each revealment was actually the odds against that particular event’s coming true, each one countersigned by the same signature as on the front page. Joffy flicked through the slim volume.

“The Spanish Armada revealment had been given the odds of 600-1, Wellington’s victory at Waterloo 420-1.” He flicked to the final page. “The outcome of the croquet match was set at 124,000-1. The odds were generous because Zvlkx was betting on things centuries before they happened—indeed, centuries before croquet was even thought of. No wonder the person who had underwritten the bet felt confident to offer such odds.”

“Well,” I said, “don’t hold your breath. A hundred twenty-four thousand farthings only adds up to . . . up to . . .”

“One hundred and thirty quid,” put in Miles.

“Right. One hundred and thirty quid. Nelson’s victory would net Zvlkx only—what? Nine bob?”

I still didn’t quite get it.

“Thursday—it’s a totalizer. Each bet or event that comes true is multiplied by the winnings of the previous event—and any prophecy that didn’t come true would have negated the whole deal.”

“So . . . how much are the revealments worth?”

Joffy looked at Miles, who looked at Landen, who grinned and looked at Joffy.

“One hundred and twenty-eight billion pounds.”

“But Tudor Turf wouldn’t have that sort of cash!”

“Of course not,” replied Miles, “but the parent company that underwrites Tudor Turf would be legally bound to meet all bets drawn up. And Tudor Turf is owned by Wessex Cashcow, which is itself owned by Tails You Lose, the wholly owned gaming division of Consolidated Glee, which is owned by—”

“The Goliath Corporation,” I breathed.

“Right.”

There was a stunned silence. I wanted to jump out of bed and laugh and scream and run around, but that, I knew, would have to be postponed until I was in better health. For now I just smiled.

“So how much of Goliath does the Idolatry Friends of St. Zvlkx actually own?”

“Well,” continued Joffy, “it doesn’t actually own any of it. If you recall, we sold all his wisdom to the Toast Marketing Board. They now own fifty-eight percent of Goliath. We told them what we wanted, and they wholeheartedly agreed. Goliath has dropped its plans to become a religion and decided to support another political party other than the Whigs. There was something in the deal about a new cathedral to be built, too. We won, Thursday—we won!”