fortune wags its tongue along the walkways of the bathhouse they say the monk returned from iceland unearthly boon in stow he who possesses the pin of quib is granted eternal beauty i am tired of men of kneading the knots from their bulbous backs and necks and rinsing their filmy water from this mew of tiles when i heard tell of the pin of quib straight away i knew i had to hold it at all costs a storm like a drum encompasses the priory as i go on mouse toes into the blind man s chamber and leaning over his bed i push the blade between his ribs but then in a flash he s got my wrists and he s pinned me to the floor i wake up gagged and bound to a windless ochre forest the monk s wan face inches from my own his breath smells like piss he asked me then would you like to see the pin retching on his filth i nod more than anything from inside his coat he fishes a brooch a plain pea of stone no bigger than a thumbnail and i can hardly believe how very ordinary it seems then it dawns on me it was all mere folly yes now you see the pin s a pebble only that which you so thirstily coveted over my dead body now it is yours to keep you are its custodian but first i must have your eyes then the circle will be whole i once could see but now i am blind and all sense of the world is lost lost lost i once could see but now i am blind and all sense of the world is lost lost lost