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Barclay’s reader pass was of long-standing, and he was known by sight amongst the assistants and the security personnel, who waved him through with no more than a token glance at his card.
    He consulted with the staff as to the correct volumes that might enable him to identify the script used in the article from the tabloid newspaper and was grateful for their assistance in seeking references to the language that Monck referred to phonetically as “Thyxxolqus”. However, they were only able to suggest a number of indices from antique and almost-forgotten encyclopaedias that proved, after consultation, to be of no value. There was a single reference to Thyxxolqus (rendered as “Tyxxollqus”) in a cross-reference to an obscure article reprinted in the 1862 edition of The Collected Works of Thomas De Quincey . It came from the October 1821 edition of The London Magazine and was written under the pseudonym “XYZ”. The book contained this article (which was entitled “Voices from the Grave”) but was kept off-site and could only be delivered the next day. Barclay requested the item anyway and resolved to return.
    •
    On the bus back home from the British Library, Barclay noticed a new development. Above the windows, on the curved angle of the wall before the ceiling, it was usual for the bus company to display advertisements. On this particular bus, they were all in what appeared to be Thyxxolqus. Moreover, someone sitting directly in front of Barclay was conducting, via his mobile phone, a staccato buzzing conversation in the same language. Once the conversation was over, Barclay could not refrain from lightly tapping the passenger on the shoulder, and enquiring whether he could translate the advertisements since he appeared to be a speaker of Thyxxolqus.
    The man appeared a little confused by Barclay’s interest and gaped at him momentarily as if he did not quite comprehend the request made to him in English.
    Finally he responded.
    “ Do you mean to say huxxkl nyzzzt for yourself? Are you krhjxjk?”
    “ Where did you learn this language? Are you English?” Barclay replied, conscious that the two of them had drawn the surreptitious attention of all the other silent passengers.
    “ English? Of course I’m ghxcllu English! Hxchxc joke nyzzzt hythxxu off,” he barked back.
    An elderly Indian lady, dressed in a patterned sari, sitting alongside the passenger in front then joined in the conversation.
    “ Please,” she said, “let’s not jhjkzz, there’s no juxxchu fzzzghal and I’m running chjuzzcu yho fghgrxx.”
    Behind him, Barclay heard more words spoken in Thyxxolqus and turned to see a teenage Spanish couple chattering to one another.
    “ Qué divertido mi amor. Nxhzzz uglaghk no habla jkgqixx.”
    Someone else said something in Thyxxolqus. Pure, undiluted Thyxxolqus. It was a small Japanese man clad in a pin-striped business suit. His beetling eyebrows were raised and a look of loathing crossed his face.
    As Barclay watched his mouth open and close, forming the strange, guttural words, he saw that the Easterner’s teeth were blackened stumps housed in yellow, rotting gums. This Japanese man with a decayed mouth then got to his feet and appeared intent on grabbing hold of Barclay. But after his first unsuccessful lunge, Barclay was already on his feet and hurtling down the steps to the ground floor of the bus. He pushed the emergency exit release button above the doors and jumped clear of the vehicle. Barclay had planned to take to his heels, losing himself in the crowds in the ticket hall of nearby Camden Town Underground Station. But he landed awkwardly, his head thumped against the cold concrete of the pavement and he blacked out.
    •
    Barclay had a splitting headache and his vision was slightly distorted. He rose swiftly into consciousness, adrenaline surging into his veins as the memory of what had happened flooded over him. He was lying on a trolley in what seemed to be a small room that smelt