Chapter 362: Lord Aedan
One full month had passed in Dublin since the discovery of Ivar the Boneless and his underground factory.
For four entire weeks, Inspector Finn and Captain Torstein had been living entirely like frightened rats in the shadows of the muddy Irish kingdom.
They had traded their coats and silver badges for dirty wolf furs, disguising themselves as wandering beggars.
Finn had been too terrified to deliver Ivar’s threat to the High King of Ireland, knowing the King would likely execute him on the spot for cowardice.
Right now, the runaway tax inspector and his disgraced guard captain were crouching quietly on the damp roof of a massive stable.
They were looking down into the enclosed courtyard of a wealthy Irish warlord named Lord Aedan.
Though Finn was a man who used to enjoy shaking down poor merchants for taxes, the scene below still made his stomach completely turn.
Lord Aedan and his wealthy noble friends were sitting inside the Great Hall, drinking wine and laughing loudly. But out in the courtyard, dozens of local farmers were being treated entirely like slaves.
Starving men, women, and even teenagers were dragging massive carts of firewood and heavy stone blocks through the thick mud.
Fat, cruel overseers stood in the rain, cracking heavy leather whips over the farmers’ backs whenever they slowed down.
"I hate this place," Torstein whispered, his hand gripping the steel of his sword as he watched an overseer kick a fallen farmer. "We should just steal two horses from this stable and ride far away into the mountains. This isn’t our fight."
"Patience, Torstein." Finn muttered, "If we steal horses now, the guards will shoot us full of arrows. We just need to wait until nightfall."
However, as Finn scanned the courtyard, his eyes locked onto a man walking casually near the pillars that supported the Great Hall.
It was a tall scarred Norse guard. He was wearing the dark green colors of Lord Aedan’s personal guard, but Finn recognized his scarred face instantly.
It was Sven, one of the men who had been grinding yellow stones in Ivar’s bomb factory a month ago.
The man was laughing loudly, joking with the other Irish guards, and walking with a completely relaxed, carefree swagger.
In his large hands, the disguised guard was carrying a wax-sealed clay pot.
"Ah! Move out of the way, lads!" the guard laughed cheerfully, gently setting the clay pot down directly against the main wooden support beam of the hall. "The Lord wants his special Frankish wine kept cool out here in the wind!"
"Is that the good stuff, Sven?" an Irish guard asked, leaning lazily against his iron spear.
"Oh, it is the best stuff in the world, mate." Sven grinned, patting the top of the clay pot. "It will blow your fucking mind!"
Sven casually walked back to a wooden cart parked near the stables, picked up another heavy clay pot, and walked over to the opposite pillar.
He was whistling a happy little Norse tune as he placed the devices in structural weak points around the wealthy keep.
After all, who would say that a simple clay pot is a thing that can explode skulls and bones?
To the ignorant Irish guards and the enslaved farmers dragging wood through the mud, they were just ordinary containers of wine or oil.
But Finn knew what was packed tightly inside that fragile clay.
If those clay pots detonated right next to the massive wooden pillars, the entire stone roof of the Great Hall would instantly collapse.
It would completely crush the wealthy lords inside, but worse, the massive blast of stone shrapnel would rip right through the courtyard, slaughtering the innocent, starving farmers in a heartbeat.
"Damnit..." Finn gritted his teeth, his hands shaking as he gripped the edge of the thatched roof. "Ivar sent this rat to blow up Lord Aedan."
"Finn, there are five pots placed around the hall. If he lights them all, the entire keep will shatter. We have to run right now."
"No," Finn ordered, surprising even himself. "If we run, everyone in this courtyard dies... We have to take him down with our bare hands."
Down in the courtyard, Sven finished placing the final clay pot. He looked around the yard, making sure the Irish guards were distracted by the enslaved farmers.
Then, Sven slowly reached into his belt and pulled out a small piece of flint and steel.
Even so, Finn was entirely done hiding like a rat.
"Now!" Finn hissed.
The tax inspector and the guard captain slipped off the thatched roof, dropping into the mud behind the stables.
They moved as fast as their shivering bodies would allow, ignoring the rain beating against their faces.
Sven crouched down next to the main clay pot. He struck the flint.
A small orange spark flew into the air, landing on the rope fuse sticking out of the wax seal.
The fuse instantly hissed, spitting white sparks as the fire began to race down the rope toward the packed explosives.
Sven smiled, preparing to turn around and run for the main gates.
But a hand suddenly clamped directly over Sven’s mouth.
"Going somewhere, you fucking rat?" Finn whispered.
Before Sven could even struggle, Torstein tackled the man backward into the dark shadows of the stables.
At the exact same moment, Finn sprinted forward, dropping to his knees in the mud.
He didn’t have leather gloves, so he used his bare fingers to pinch the burning fuse, burning his skin as he snuffed out the flame just an inch before it reached the deadly black powder inside the pot.
Sven thrashed wildly in Torstein’s grip, trying to draw his sword. But Torstein, fueled by a month of pent-up fear and anger, easily twisted the guard’s arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees in the smelly hay of the horse stalls.
Finn quickly ran around the courtyard, his heart pounding right out of his chest, and yanked the unlit fuses out of the other four clay pots.
"Quiet, or I snap your neck right here," Torstein growled, keeping his weight heavily on Sven’s back as Finn ran back to join them.
Torstein slowly loosened his grip, letting the guard gasp for air.
Sven looked up, his eyes widening as the dim light of the stables fell across Finn’s face.
He had expected to get caught by a highly trained Irish guard, not the cowardly tax inspector who had cried on his knees a month ago.
"The... the Inspector..." Sven stammered, "How did you find me?!"
"I am a very good tax collector..." Finn grinned, though his knees were still shaking.
He pulled a dagger from his belt and pressed the edge directly against Sven’s throat. "Now, you are going to tell me where your crippled boss is hiding. Where is Ivar the Boneless?"
However, despite the blade at his throat, Sven let out a chuckle. The man was a hardened Viking raider, entirely loyal to his warlord.
He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto Finn’s boots.
"You are entirely too late, Inspector," Sven grinned, his teeth stained brown. "Ivar is already marching. You caught me, sure. You saved a few fat Irish lords and their pathetic slaves... But you are looking at the wrong castle."
Finn’s eyes narrowed. "Explain. Right now."
"Ivar just wanted to test the fuses in the rain." Sven laughed, uncaring about his own life.
"Damnit," Torstein cursed, gripping Finn’s shoulder. "...where is the main arsenal?"
"Ivar took the rest of the bombs to the capital," Sven whispered.
The High King’s fortress was a massive structure located right in the center of Dublin’s most populated district...
Thousands of innocent people lived in the houses surrounding those castle walls.
If Ivar detonated a hundred bombs inside that city, the resulting explosion would trigger a massive firestorm that would burn all of Dublin to the ground.
"Leave the pots. We don’t have time to secure them," Finn ordered, rushing out of the stables.
Torstein ran after him. They slipped past the distracted Irish guards and sprinted out the main gates of the keep, untying two fast horses that had been resting near a fence.
They kicked their spurs hard, riding through the pouring rain.
