Ivar gestured with a gloved hand toward the rotting pig farm.
Sitting on a wooden barrel right next to the Greek spy was a third man.
He was wearing a rope around his neck, and a dark rune was burned directly into the center of his forehead.
Even in the freezing rain, the scarred man was flipping a steel throwing knife into the air and catching it by the blade.
"Kjartan might sll like cheap ale and bad decisions, but before he was a pirate, he was a scholar in Francia. If anyone can read Ragnar’s chemical formulas and tell us if my theories are bullshit or not, it is him." Ivar said.
Though Ubba still looked skeptical, he grunted in agreent and kicked his spurs into his horse’s sides, leading the way into the courtyard of the farm.
The Greek spy stepped out from the shadows of the rotting porch.
"Ivar the Boneless," the spy said smoothly, "I have what you asked for. The Iron King’s deepest secrets... But the job was significantly harder than we agreed upon. Ragnar almost shot himself. The price has doubled."
"Has it now?" Ivar asked.
Ivar leaned forward, dragging his useless legs through the muck until he stood just a few feet away from the spy.
"You agreed to fifty pounds of pure silver," Ivar stated, his locking onto the spy’s hooded face.
"And now I want a hundred," the spy smirked, patting a tube tied to his belt. "Or I can just take a ship down to Francia and sell these blueprints."
However, the spy had made a massive miscalculation.
Ivar just turned his head slightly toward the scarred man sitting on the broken barrel.
"Kjartan," Ivar said softly.
Before the Greek spy could even take a single breath, Kjartan flicked his wrist with blinding speed.
The steel throwing knife flew through the freezing rain and buried itself directly into the center of the spy’s throat.
The spy’s arrogant smirk instantly vanished. His hands flew up to his neck, his eyes wide with shock as hot blood poured down the front of his black cloak.
He made a horrible, wet gurgling sound before collapsing face-first into the freezing mud.
"Prices are highly negotiable in Dublin..." Ivar chuckled, leaning heavily on his crutches.
Ubba stepped forward with a booming laugh. He reached down into the mud, ignoring the dying spy, and ripped the tube straight off the man’s belt.
"You are a cheap bastard, Ivar," Ubba grinned, wiping a sar of blood off the leather container.
"Let us get out of this fucking rain," Ivar ordered, shivering slightly as the cold finally started to seep into his bones.
Ivar, Ubba, and the knife-throwing drunk, Kjartan stepped out of the storm and into the abandoned pig barn.
The guards quickly lit a small fire in the center of the dirt floors.
Ubba popped the cork off the leather tube and pulled out a thick stack of tightly rolled parchnt. He handed them to Kjartan.
"Read them," Ubba ordered, crossing his arms. "Tell us if the Greek died for nothing."
Even so, Kjartan didn’t imdiately rush. The scarred man pulled a second throwing knife from his fur belt, using the sharp tip to unroll the stolen blueprints by the light of the fire.
Ivar leaned forward on his crutches, his heart beating a little faster.
This was the mont of truth... If the blueprints were useless, his entire strategy to destroy Ragnar Ulfsson would crumble into the mud.
"Well?" Ivar asked, his voice tight. "Is it the explosive powder?"
After hearing such words, Kjartan slowly looked up from the parchnt.
The scarred man wiped a drop of rainwater from his burned forehead, a look of genuine awe crossing his rough face.
"Ivar..." Kjartan whispered, "The saltpeter... The Iron King uses an incredibly pure mixture."
Ubba’s eyes widened, "Can we make it? Do we have the ingredients?"
"We can find sulfur in the volcanic rocks," Kjartan nodded slowly, tapping the parchnt with his knife. "Charcoal is just burnt wood. And saltpeter... it can be harvested from the massive piles of bat guano in the coastal caves, or even from the rotting soil beneath our own stables. It will take a few weeks to boil and purify it properly... but yes. We can make the powder."
"Yes!!" Ubba roared, slamming his fist against the wall of the barn.
Ivar let out a long breath. He looked at the stolen blueprints, imagining the power now resting in his crippled hands.
Kjartan rolled the priceless blueprints back up, sliding them into his coat. He looked at the crippled warlord, casually his steel knife from one hand to the other. "Even with these explosive bombs, if we try to sail our ships into City Titan, Ragnar’s coastal cannons will blow us out of the water before we get anywhere near his concrete walls."
"I know," Ivar smiled, turning on his crutches and looking out the broken barn window toward the raging ocean. "Ragnar is paranoid... He will double his harbor guards."
****
One full month had passed since the coronation festival and the theft of the blueprints.
Now, deep inside the muddy streets of Dublin, a surprisingly nice man was taking a casual morning stroll.
"Beautiful morning for a walk in the mud, eh, Flann?"
"Keep the change, my friend... Buy your wife sothing pretty!"
"May the gods bless your pockets, inspector!" the rchant cheered, biting the silver coin to make sure it was real before waving happily.
The nice man finally reached the end of the rchant district, stopping right in front of a dark wooden building near the edge of the docks.
The wooden shutters were pulled tightly closed. The chimney was completely dark.
"Ahh! Here it is!" The man announced cheerfully, pointing a finger at the tavern.
The bribed Dublin guard captain stepped forward, looking nervously at the building. "But, inspector... the place is closed down."
"Nonsense!" The Inspector laughed, waving his hand. "I know that the place is closed, but maybe the owner is just sleeping in late... And those bastards didn’t pay their city taxes for months!"
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