Krafft's Anomaly Notes

Chapter 420 Things in the Water
"Captain, there's no response. Shall we try again?"

"Forget it, it's probably drifted too far, we won't hear it no matter how many times we blow the horn." William stopped the second mate, who wanted to continue blowing the horn, and leisurely gave up the helm.

"You steer for a bit, I'll go down and find something to eat to fill my stomach. I feel unwell after having a couple of sips of wine."

"The wind and waves came suddenly and are a bit strange. Luckily, our ship is big and can hold steady... Hey, don't just hold on and not move. Every now and then, steer to the right a little. The waves are changing. If you're clumsy, you won't be able to tell."
"Luckily Oliver is on the Iceberg; I wouldn't be able to rely on anyone else. But he's probably having a tough time right now, probably cursing me for not leaving more experienced crew members."

"That's not necessarily the case. With his skill level, he'll only panic for a while. If nothing unexpected happens, there shouldn't be any problems." The second mate stiffly turned the rudder three fingers to the right, then realized he had overshot it and quickly turned back.

William shook his head repeatedly at the operation. This was a job previously done by the former first mate, Oliver. His successor was clearly not that smart and was learning rather slowly.

He silently dismissed the idea of ​​taking a short rest after finishing his meal. Although the Snowsong was large, a novice could make many mistakes, so it was best not to leave for too long.

Before stepping down from the stern, he casually asked, "How's it down below deck? Are the lads behaving themselves?"

“That’s great. Some of them are sleeping soundly. I don’t even have their heart.”

“Alright, then I won’t go down to check.” William nodded. The most unstable thing on a ship is people; he had been worried about panic and chaos, but it seems he had worried unnecessarily.

Hunger urged him to quicken his pace, return to the captain's cabin, take out dry bread and cured meat from the cupboard, cut off several large slices, hastily roll them a few times over the fire, and stuff them whole into his stomach.

The churning acid reflux and heartburn in my chest and abdomen finally subsided a bit and I felt less uncomfortable.

Along with the feeling of fullness came thirst, so I instinctively picked up the nearest bottle and took a few sips to moisten my throat.

By the time I realized what I had done, half a bottle of fruit wine had already been consumed.

"Oh? Never mind, a couple of drinks to perk me up won't hurt."

"It's all Adrian's fault. His skills are getting better and better. After drinking his wine, other wines don't taste like alcohol at all, and we can't even react to them."

After eating and drinking his fill, a sense of drowsiness gradually crept in. He leaned on the edge of the table, using his hands to support his head as he tried to press it against the surface. Perhaps it was the alternating effects of alcohol and sleepiness, but a slight dizziness and haziness blurred his sense of time.

Amidst the ups and downs, it seemed as if only a few waves had passed, yet it also felt as if a considerable amount of time had slipped away from my daze.

The sound of the waves outside came and went, a sign that he was about to fall asleep. His rationality made him pinch his cheek hard, but he found that the pain did not improve his condition.

Everything around me felt like it was covered by a very thin membrane. When it fits perfectly, you don't feel it at all, but this membrane is starting to wrinkle.

A very slight wrinkle, even slighter than ripples on still water in a gentle breeze, is like touching a finger that has been soaking in fresh water for a long time. You can't tell whether the wrinkle is on the surface of the object or from your own senses. If you don't notice it carefully, you can almost mistake it for a slight buzz from drinking.

If he didn't know that his alcohol tolerance was much higher than this, he would have thought he was drunk.

I tentatively stood up, my legs, used to the bumpy ride, firmly planted on the floor without wobbling or becoming unsteady, which made the wrinkles I perceived even more noticeable.

He felt he had had a similar experience, but couldn't recall it at the moment.

Those must be extremely disordered memories, perhaps from a drunken night or a sudden awakening in the middle of the night.

His conscious mind wanted to recall, but a deeper instinct prevented him, just as humans are born with a fear of fire and deep water. Overcoming this instinct requires considerable willpower, and he clearly did not have enough motivation or desire at the moment.

Struggling between resting and returning to work, I chose to waste time standing still.

The awkward situation didn't last long; a suspicious tremor came from beneath his feet, completely waking him up.

"Second mate? Second mate! What are you doing?!"

William rushed out of the captain's cabin and confronted the helmsman on the stern. "I...I don't know!" The second mate frantically looked around at the sea, his expression clearly indicating he had found nothing.

"I'm sorry, I followed your instructions, but nothing happened..."

“We’ll talk about it later,” William interrupted him. “Hold the helm, I’m going down to take a look.”

At critical moments, addressing the problem is far more important than assigning blame.

"What are you looking at? Go back to work. There's not even an island here. How could we possibly run aground? At most, it's just a piece of floating ice."

After scolding the crew members who were looking over to return to their posts, William opened the hatch, walked into the cabin, and deliberately controlled his pace, making it heavy enough for everyone to notice without appearing too hurried.

The cabin was noisy, and several sailors who wanted to climb onto the deck to check the situation were turned away.

"Thomas, Roger, come down with me." He took down his lantern, walked around the dirty bunk, stepped over the still-sleeping man, and glanced at him with surprise.

His face was flushed red and covered in scratches, looking like he had some kind of skin disease, but it was different from the ones I had seen before.

The skin diseases that sailors usually contract are mostly spots, and in severe cases, they are accompanied by ulceration. It is rare to see such large, symmetrical patches "applied" to the face.

The exposed hands were also bright red, with visible scratches and peeling, as if they had just been pulled out of boiling water. The fingertips, however, were unnaturally pale. Just looking at them was very unsettling, and it was hard to imagine how one could sleep peacefully under such conditions.

He secretly regretted it; this was a hardworking young man who had worked very diligently while moving goods. He had even considered training him to be the next second mate and help Oliver, but now it seemed he wouldn't last many more years.

Thinking this, he stepped over several sailors who were still asleep and headed down to the lower level.

The Snowsong had an extra cargo hold below deck compared to the Iceberg.

William, accompanied by two henchmen, walked through piles of barrels and shelves, checking for any shifts or improper securing, without showing any sign of panic.

The bulkheads of the Snowsong were far more robust than those of ordinary ships. Small ice floes could not harm it, but the heavy cargo could cause accidents if it loosened and tipped over.

However, things did not go as expected, and a second vibration came unexpectedly, sliding down my feet.

In the cargo hold, closer to the bottom of the ship, the sensation was much clearer than on the upper deck; it was definitely not ice floes, but something much larger.

The broad hull of the Snowsong ship further accentuated its size—the vibrations from the bow had not yet subsided when the stern began to rise slightly, being lifted up by something outside the waves.

The footsteps following behind stopped.

William turned around and saw two pairs of eyes gleaming in the light, neither daring to meet his gaze, yet desperately wanting to see the same intention to retreat.

They didn't want to go down, didn't want to go to the hold, that space beneath the sea. Who knew what was out there? There, it was separated from people by only a single bulkhead; any noise you made would be as close as if it were right next to your ear.

The hatch was right in front of me, as if as long as it wasn't opened, it would still be part of the ship, rather than an entrance to the sea.

"Two cowards, you're scared by this?" William laughed and scolded. "Fine, go back now, I'll go down myself."

Upon hearing this, the two hesitated, taking a few more steps forward. Seeing the captain open the hatch, they hesitated whether to follow him.

From an angle unseen by them, William's smile gradually faded.

The sheer size of the object, the strange atmosphere, and the overwhelming sense of déjà vu are immediately apparent.