The Prophet Festus Briland has never been wrong. He spends his retirement years in a small town where people just call him Bill. He chose the town because nothing cataclysmic or frightening had ever happened there. Festus Briland takes appointments for lunch where he will give a forecast to the person paying for said lunch. Up until last year, every forecast was mundane and relatively pleasant. Then Eve Fortuna moved to town.

It was a Tuesday when Bill – better known as The Prophet Festus Briland – met with a young lady called Lucy. She took Bill to the local bakery and treated him to a slice of a freshly baked apple. Bill had cream on his pie and a large pot of tea to go with it.

The prophecy for Lucy was all the usual nice things – stay away from hurtful people, be ready to show kindness to strangers for the kindness is its own reward, and you will meet your true love the day you witness a talking fish.

Bill had to double-check the bit about the talking fish but the prophecy was not finished. It was, Bill said, vitally important that on no account should Lucy approach a man holding a gun and handing out leaflets. Should she ignore this warning, the only one to set things right would be Eve Fortuna.

Eve again, Bill thought. Bother.