"Your Highness," Al-Hakam grinned, looking at Louis. "It's a money-printer. The weavers who threatened to strike are now begging for more machines. We have entire warehouses running day and night. It's genius. Pure, absolute genius."
He turned his burning gaze back to Ragnar. "So, I ask again. What else is hiding in that terrifying head of yours? Name your price. Gold, silver, salt... whatever you want, Granada will pay it."
Ragnar let the silence stretch, letting the Vizir's desperation stew.
"I have two," Ragnar said, "And they aren't for sale. Not for gold, anyway."
Al-Hakam blinked. "Not for gold? Then what?"
"Let me show you what they are first," Ragnar said. He reached out and unrolled the first scroll, pinning the corners down with a pair of silver goblets.
The parchment was covered in complex, isometric drawings.
"This," Ragnar pointed to the metallic blocks, "is a movable-type printing press. Combined with a new oil-based ink formula written on the back."
