Krafft's Notes on Anomalies

Seaman dragged him into the cabin, hid in the dark cabin, and waited for the sailors to pass by before disappearing on the steps to the deck.

"Is it possible that it is just drifting towards us?" The companion answered his own question with another unclear question. His eyes glanced around, searching for the landing point, and finally focused on Seaman.

You could tell he needed a little recognition, a nod, a word of affirmation, but Seaman couldn't give it to him.

I have never seen a large iceberg, but I can see a lot of large ice floes. Ice floes can often be used as a reference for movement. They have no sails, and their limited movement is nothing compared to the speed of the ship. After a while, they will be left behind, and the crew will know that they are closer to their destination.

He has never seen an iceberg, but he thinks icebergs should be no exception. From the perspective of simple logical reasoning, the answer must be negative. However, Seaman did not want to admit this, "Who knows? Maybe they are not the same building after all."

This statement effectively convinced his companions, as well as Seaman himself. The probability of encountering two large icebergs that are rarely seen in ten years on this sea is too small to be calculated, but it is much greater than the possibility of icebergs moving at ship speed.

The two of them returned to the cabin with the last bit of light and decided to take a nap. The manager of this batch of shifts is the captain himself, the trustworthy Binghai veteran helmsman Becker. Maybe the matter will be solved as soon as they wake up?

With this idea in mind, Seaman combed his dry hay bed, shared yesterday's leftover frozen meat with his companions in the dark, slept separately, and prayed that he would not see it again when he got up early tomorrow morning.

The tiring day's labor failed to make the night more peaceful, and the bumps and undulations of the ocean often interrupted the tossing and turning sleep. He heard scattered footsteps coming from the deck above him, probably adjusting the sail again.

The things I saw during the day emerged from my memory more than once. When I felt sleepy, I was reminded of them and overlapped with the terrified expressions of my companions. He recalled those images, the sails unfurling, the ship moving at full speed, leaving the ice floes behind.

That thing on the horizon has not been shaken off. It was too far away, too far to see any details, far enough for Seaman to cope with the fact that what he saw in the morning and evening were not the same ones.

In the corner of my heart that is hard to detect, there is an idea. I am glad I only saw it twice, otherwise I would not be able to find an excuse to avoid it. It's just that he couldn't realize this on his own. He was talking about two icebergs that happened to appear in similar directions, trying to clear away the complicated memories.

Awakened from his light sleep for the third time, Seaman heard the chatter of other sailors who had gone to bed earlier. They thought they had lowered their voices. In the gaps between waves, these sounds are like patches of moonlight shining through a small window. The environment determines that they will be noticed no matter how weak they are.

The content of the conversation was things that I dare not say when I can see the sea and the sails. The waves that occasionally hit the cabin partially covered it, and the first half of the whisper was swallowed up, while the second half flowed like cold water drops into the ears of people who were listening silently.

"...It seems to have gotten a little bigger in the afternoon?"

The unintentional words got into Seaman's mind. He couldn't wait to compare the memories of seeing the icebergs in the morning and evening, forgetting that he had comforted himself just now that they were two different icebergs. The dark shadow framed by the setting sun was indeed larger than what it had been in the morning.

The sleepiness that had accumulated for half a night was gone. Only then did he face his heart and admit that he could not deceive himself and treat what he saw in the morning and what he saw in the evening as two different things.

Seaman felt that the hay spread under him was damp, and the water stains soaked a large area of ​​his underwear. Touching behind him, he found that the surface of the leather jacket was as dry as ever, and there was cold sweat that had broken out from nowhere.

He turned over and reached out to wake his companion, but found that he was not asleep either. There was no snoring, replaced by irregular, thick breathing, indicating that he was not at peace inside.

Not only here, the cabin that used to be filled with snoring was so quiet that you could hear all the whispers. I don’t know how many sleepless people were listening to late-night conversations, recalling the foreign object that was inconvenient to talk about in a place where they could see the sails and the horizon. , without saying a word.

"Heavenly Father bless you." Seaman opened his collar, held the double-winged ring amulet hanging around his neck, put it on his forehead, plugged his ears and waited for dawn.

The same call to prayer came from beside him, and Seaman knew it was from other sailors. He hoped that the power of Heavenly Father could be extended to this wild land without a church, drive away evil, and bless him not to see it again when he stands on the deck tomorrow morning.

An atmosphere was contagious in the cabin, and whispered prayers were heard everywhere. Some of them were one or two simple verses, and usually more pious people could recite exorcism excerpts from the holy scriptures.

The sacred hymns provided some psychological comfort, as if this small space had returned to the civilized world, and the glory of the Heavenly Father protected His believers, although the witnesses to such pious prayers were only the dark and narrow cabin, not the icon on the church dome.

After getting some comfort, feeling tired, Seaman made a promise to donate to the church when he returned safely. Closing his eyes, he heard scattered footsteps on the deck and chants in unison as he pulled the cables and the sails were adjusted again.

…

Seaman thought he would be woken up at dawn by the urging of the changing sailors, but he was woken up by the chill on his exposed skin.

The light that shines through the small window is no longer moonlight, but it is not as bright as normal daytime. It is like passing through a layer of gauze, becoming soft and weak, only providing the minimum lighting.

Out of habit, he pushed himself against the bulkhead, and the slippery feeling almost caused him to fall back into the hay. Seaman took a deep breath, and the low-temperature water vapor, so thick that it made his breathing sluggish, floated, as if he was sneaking underwater.

"What's going on?" The humidity was heavier than before the storm. Seaman wiped his hands on his pants, and the clothes he wiped were stained with cold dampness. The cold dampness seeped into the untied collar. The sweat from last night hadn't dried completely, and my clothes were sticky against my back.

Lowering his head to avoid his sleeping partner, with hands and feet spread across the floor, Seaman held on to the bulkhead and walked toward the exit to the deck.

The unclear lighting conditions took him more time to watch the road carefully, and he spent several times the effort to find the stairs.

Looking up, Seaman did not see the faint morning light that he thought, but a chaotic white color. The light above passed through a long barrier, and by now it was at the end of its power and exhausted.

Rubbing his eyes in confusion, Seaman moved toward the deck, climbed up the slippery wooden steps soaked in water on his hands and knees, and climbed onto the unusually quiet deck.

He finally knew what the heavy cold water vapor between his breaths was.

The boundless mist surrounded them, and the rolling thick white color rushed towards the ship, with the sharp and sharp chill characteristic of the ice sea, covering all the surfaces that could condense, passing the coldness to the skin and everyone's mood at this time, which was at the bottom of the valley.

What is limited along with the field of vision is the speed of the ship. The wind speed is too weak to blow away the fog. There is no need for reference. It can be seen from the sluggish sails that their speed will not be able to get out of this boundless ice fog for a while. .

What exactly is going on? Seaman really wanted to ask the sailors who were nervously watching the sides of the ship on both sides loudly, but the people on the stern of the ship made him give up this idea.

Captain Becker leaned on the wheel, stared ahead, and performed his duty of controlling the ship's rudder. Hearing the footsteps, he glanced at Ximan and waved his hand with a straight face to signal him to take over.

Such captains are rare. Most of the time, Becker is an easy-going and talkative person. He likes to be lazy and let the first mate and bosun take over, go back to the captain's cabin to enjoy leisure time, and chat with the sailors on the deck. .

There are no undercurrents of rocks on the ice sea, and no matter how poor the vision is, he can go straight ahead. Hitting an ice floe with at least slight bumps is not worthy of his full attention.

"Go to your post, Seaman. This is not your first day on the ship." Seeing that Seaman was still hesitating, Becker reminded him. The eyes under the brim of his hat seemed to see through his thoughts, "Some mist, you can see too much."

Seaman walked up behind the nearest sailor and tapped him on the shoulder. The man turned his head, his hands still firmly grasping the edge of the boat, unwilling to leave. His red fingers that had stayed up all night in the cold fog unconsciously exerted force, as if they were trying to dig into the wood.

He glanced at Seaman and then at the captain. He would rather continue to freeze than leave.

"Shift change, don't stop!" Becker yelled at them. Anyone could tell that this good, undisciplined man was not very patient today. Something was consuming most of his energy and he had no time to answer the sailor's minor problems.

Forced by the captain's dignity, the man reluctantly let go of the edge of the ship, his nervous and fearful eyes never leaving the white fog, until he left the deck under the captain's order and disappeared through the hatch.

"If you see something on the sea, remind me to turn around in time." Becker ordered.

This sentence is a bit redundant. Seaman can definitely see what everyone is on guard about. He took advantage of the captain's gaze to move away and touched the sailor's hand holding the edge of the boat next to him, "What are you looking for?"

He didn't think that this visibility distance would allow the captain to detect small things like ice floes in time, and he wouldn't be able to avoid them dexterously if he found them.

His frozen lips murmured the answer he had already guessed:

"That thing yesterday."

"Heavenly Father bless you." The prayer came out habitually, and Seaman immediately discovered the bad humor in it. In a way, yesterday's prayer came true in a weird way.

As the saying goes, the sailors hoped that they would not see that thing on the horizon again today. Unexpectedly, the cold fog suddenly dropped overnight, and not only could they not see it, but now they could not see anything.

"last night……"

"Closer." He knew exactly what Seaman was going to ask, so he interrupted the question with a short answer, staring intently into the fog, as if he could penetrate the barrier and see its whereabouts.

An iceberg they had never seen before, or something that looked like an iceberg, was coming towards them in the cold fog of the vast sea of ​​ice that made them unable to see anything.

Seaman touched the water on the edge of the boat and raised it horizontally in the air, but did not feel the wind he wanted.