Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 49: Shadow Budget

The schools were full of grumbling Vikings learning the alphabet. The fields were being plowed by the new iron moldboards.

Ragnar sat in his office, staring at a report from Aethelwulf the Weasel. The report detailed a skirmish near the Mercian border where a shipment of "brittle swords" had been intercepted. Not by Mercians, but by a group of bandits who seemed to know exactly when the wagon was coming.

"We have spies." Ragnar muttered, tapping the paper.

He looked across the desk at Princess Gyda, the Prime Minister. She was currently auditing the monthly expenses for "Dragon Fire" (the Greek Fire mixture).

"We need an intelligence agency," Ragnar said. "A real one. Not just Bjorn asking people if they are suspicious."

Gyda didn’t look up. "Being a spy is dishonorable. Vikings prefer to look their enemy in the eye before they kill them."

"That is why Vikings keep getting ambushed in swamps," Ragnar countered. "We need eyes in the dark."

He stood up and walked to the window.

"I need someone who understands secrets," Ragnar mused. "Someone who can find a needle in a haystack. Someone who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty, but is smart enough to wash them afterward."

Gyda paused her writing. She looked thoughtful.

"There is one person," she said slowly. "A man who impressed me during the siege. He found the path through the woods when everyone else was lost. And he was the one who warned us about Einar’s army."

Ragnar turned. "Leif the Lesser?"

"The thief," Gyda nodded. "He survived the rugby match. He survived the woods. He has a talent for being invisible."

Ragnar considered it. Leif was small, quick, and had a moral compass that pointed directly to "survival." He was perfect.

"Bring him in," Ragnar ordered.

Leif the Lesser was currently working in the Ministry of Logistics, counting sacks of turnips. It was boring, honest work, and he hated it.

He missed the thrill of the steal. He missed the adrenaline. But he liked the salary and the fact that no one was trying to cut off his hands.

"Leif!"

A booming voice made him jump. General Bjorn stood in the doorway, blocking out the sun.

"Director wants you," Bjorn grunted. "Top floor."

Leif swallowed. Top floor meant the Director’s Office. Usually, people went up there to get promoted or executed.

He followed Bjorn up the stairs, wiping turnip dust from his hands.

When he entered the office, he saw Ragnar and Gyda sitting behind a desk piled high with papers. They looked like two predators deciding which sheep to eat.

"Leif," Ragnar said, gesturing to a chair. "Sit."

Leif sat on the edge of the chair, ready to bolt. "I didn’t steal the extra salt, Director.."

Ragnar smiled. "I don’t care about the salt. I care about your... extracurricular skills."

Ragnar leaned forward. "I need you to build an organization. A department that doesn’t exist on the official books. I need you to know everything. Every whisper in the market. Every rumor in the alehouse. Every secret letter sent by a Mercian priest."

Leif blinked. "You want me to be a spy?"

"I want you to be the Director.." Ragnar corrected. "Or, as we will call it for accounting purposes, the ’Quality Control Department’."

Leif’s mind raced. Director? That meant a pay raise. It meant power. But it also meant danger. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"Director," Leif said carefully. "Spying costs money. Bribing guards isn’t cheap.."

Ragnar waved his hand dismissively. "Budget is not an issue. You will have a discretionary fund from the ’Black Ledger’. Gyda will manage it."

Gyda opened a small, black-bound book. She pushed a heavy bag of silver across the table.

"Start-up capital," she said. "Don’t lose the receipt."

Leif looked at the bag. He looked at the steel ring on Ragnar’s finger. He realized he was being offered a chance to stop being a "Lesser" and start being a "Master."

"I accept," Leif said, grabbing the bag. "When do I start?"

"Yesterday," Ragnar said. "I need you to go to Mercia. Find out what King Burgred is planning. And find out why my wagons keep getting hit."

"Consider it done," Leif grinned. "I’ll be a ghost."

Leif wasted no time. He moved his "office" to the back of a tavern near the docks a place called The Rusty Anchor. It was noisy, smelly, and perfect for listening.

He didn’t recruit Huscarls or warriors. They were too loud.

Instead, he recruited the invisible people.

Barmaids who heard drunken confessions.

Street urchins who could crawl into vents.

Beggars who sat by the city gates and counted every wagon that entered.

He called them The Whisperers.

Within weeks, the network began to hum. Information flowed into The Rusty Anchor like water. Leif organized it, filtered it, and sent the best bits to the Palace.

One evening, a young beggar boy ran into the tavern.

"Master Leif," the boy panted. "I saw a man. A monk. He was buying carrier pigeons. Lots of them."

Leif narrowed his eyes. "Monks usually send letters by runner. Pigeons are for urgent news."

"He had a tattoo," the boy added. "On his wrist. A serpent eating its tail."

Leif froze. The mark of the Mercian Special Operations.

"Good work," Leif said, tossing the boy a silver coin. "Keep watching him."

Leif wrote a report on a scrap of paper, sealed it with plain wax, and sent it to the Palace.

Back at the Praetorium, Ragnar was staring at a wall covered in strings and notes. He was trying to map the supply chain for the blast furnace.

Gyda entered, holding Leif’s report.

"The Quality Control Department has filed a memo," she said, handing it to him.

Ragnar read it. His eyes went cold.

"Carrier pigeons," he muttered. "They are communicating faster than we thought."

He looked at the map of Mercia. "King Burgred is building a network," Ragnar realized. "He is trying to copy our signal corps. But instead of flags, he uses birds."

"We can shoot them." Gyda noted pragmatically.

"No," Ragnar smiled. "If we shoot them, they know we know. We need to.. intercept them. And replace the messages."

He turned to Gyda.

"Budget authorization for Project Falcon?"

"Authorized," Gyda said. "Buy the hawks."

****

A week later, the skies over the borderlands became a battleground. Ragnar’s new "Falconry Unit" began patrolling the air. Every time a Mercian pigeon flew north, a Viking hawk was there to meet it. The intercepted messages were fascinating.

"The Vikings are building a stone road to the coast."

"The Blast Furnace runs day and night."

"The Director eats porridge for breakfast."

...

"They are obsessed with your breakfast," Gyda noted, reading a captured scroll.

"It shows attention to detail," Ragnar shrugged. "Now, write the fake reply."

Ragnar dictated a new message.

"The Vikings are starving. The furnace is broken. The Director has dysentery. Attack now."

They tied the fake message to the pigeon and released it. "Disinformation," Ragnar said, watching the bird fly south. "The most powerful weapon in the world."

Leif didn’t stop at Mercia. He sent agents to Scotland. He sent spies to Wales. He even sent a man to Frankia to see what the Emperor was doing.

The "Quality Control Department" grew. It wasn’t the CIA or MI6. It was a collection of gossips, thieves, and bribed servants. But it worked.

One day, Leif came to the Palace himself. He looked serious.

"Director," Leif said. "We have a problem in the West."

"Dublin?" Ragnar asked.

"No," Leif shook his head. "Wales. The Kingdom of Gwynedd. My agent says they are massing troops on the border. They think we are distracted by Mercia."

Ragnar looked at the map. Wales was rich in copper. He needed copper for bronze fittings. "Excellent," Ragnar said. "If they are massing, they are clustered. If they are clustered, they are a target."

He turned to Bjorn. "General, prepare. We are going on a business trip to Wales."

"And the Mercians?" Bjorn asked.

"The Mercians think I have dysentery," Ragnar grinned. "They will wait for me to die. That gives us two weeks to secure the copper mines."

Leif watched the Director plot the campaign.

"One more thing, Director," Leif added. "My agent in Wales... he says they have a new weapon. Long bows. Very long. Made of yew."

Ragnar paused. The Welsh Longbow. In history, it was the weapon that destroyed French chivalry.

"Get me one," Ragnar ordered. "Steal it. Buy it. I don’t care. I need to reverse-engineer it."

"Consider it acquired," Leif said, bowing.

Ragnar looked out the window. "Let’s go see about this Welsh copper."