Krafft's Notes on Anomalies

"Good news. Mr. Kraft's assistant will pass by the manor today. Maybe we can ask him to say a few good words."

"No need. It's just some daily work. Even farmers know not to boast about the land that has not been harvested yet." Dominic looked down at the basin, pushed the hair on his forehead to the top of his head, tied the collar of his monk's robe, and straightened the buckle of his cloak in the style of the church emblem.

"Our best strategy should be to completely disappear from the sight of the monastery for a few months. When Mr. Kraft has almost forgotten the carriage cursed by the devil, the manor should have some visible results."

"Where are you going now?"

"To see old John's house."

The figure in the water is well-dressed and has a shiny forehead, which fits the image of a monk who visits on business. "Let's go together?"

"No, do you really plan to continue to manage this matter?"

"Are you going?"

"Go."

Leaving the main road and walking half a circle along the periphery of the settlement, you can see old John's house near a sluggish and uncared-for wheat field. To be precise, it is now the home of old John's son, Little John.

Despite having had a lot of contact with local residents, the monks still knew very little about this family.

Women would talk about who was the most skillful at sewing, men would compare their drinking and strength, and children would talk about which family grew fruits that could be stolen.

As long as you delve into the trivialities, you will find that the seemingly complex village is actually very small, like a finely woven spider web. Due to the lack of entertainment activities, a little thing or anecdote will be quickly transmitted from one end to the other, and you will learn about the same thing repeatedly from different people's different perspectives.

However, there will always be some people who are always on the edge of this network, whether because of their own uninterestingness or the subconscious alienation of others.

Their residence is also like the person, in a place that is not so popular, old and ordinary, and it is difficult to find anything praiseworthy.

Although the owner of the house is not easy-going, fortunately he is not as eccentric as imagined. After explaining their identities, the two monks quickly got permission to enter.

Pushing open the half-open wooden door, Dominic saw "Little John", a man who looked older than the stonemason, sitting on a wooden bench by the window, holding a half-finished object between his legs.

It looked like a basket, woven with hazel sticks picked from the mountain, and it was not sealed yet, so he couldn't stand up to open the door, but he didn't mean to ignore the visitor.

The lighting effect of the house was limited, and the vision was dim as it turned from bright to dark, and only half of the figure and the twisted soft branches could be seen.

"May the Lord bless you, my friend."

"Thank you, what is this?"

"We are new monks stationed in the monastery. We are planning to organize a mass recently to reconnect the church with believers, so we hope to meet with every friend with the same faith and personally send an invitation."

Dominic observed the other party, especially when he mentioned "faith" and "Heavenly Father". He didn't know what he was waiting for, like a rock climber longing for an uneven bulge or depression above to go further and get closer to the invisible destination.

"Oh, of course." Little John replied as a matter of course, and his hands moved again, pulling the soft and tender hazel branches, overlapping and weaving them into the rudimentary utensils.

His technique was skillful, alternating left and right, and he could arrange the tendons into a dazzling appearance without deliberate control, expanding from the inside to the outside. It didn't seem like he was weaving for his own use occasionally, but he should be doing this as a profession.

"When is it? I will attend on time."

"We will hold a few small gatherings every weekend. If everyone responds well, after the autumn harvest, the Holy Day will be a good day for celebration." This was an activity that was already planned, and it was also suitable for leading to other content.

"In addition to praying together and sharing blessings, it is also a good opportunity to communicate with neighbors." After his eyes adapted to the indoor environment, his vision finally became more comfortable, and his peripheral vision began to wander around.

"Conflicts that are difficult to resolve at ordinary times can be resolved smoothly under the witness of the Heavenly Father."

There are a lot of woven products piled up in the room. The big ones are stacked together, similar to what Little John is holding, which should be storage baskets; small and flat ones are hung on the wall. These have been seen before. They are the wide-brimmed hats that Field received before, but the technique is more professional. The spiral vortex texture from the center to the outside is smooth, with a unique decorative effect.

As the weaving goes outward, the density decreases slightly, forming a loose but not scattered edge. The rough edges have not been trimmed, giving people a soft feeling of still expanding outward.

"Well, I will go." Little John replied lightly, and no emotion could be heard.

The topic is basically over. According to the process, it is time to leave the small gifts, but the monk has not planned to stop here, so he has to find a topic now.

"Good craftsmanship, are you a basket maker?"

Cities and towns need such people, who transform cheap materials into daily woven baskets, baskets, hats, and even beehives and backpacks. Some exquisite ones will also appear in ceremonies as sacred baskets.

I have used it before and have seen a lot of it, but I really don't remember this style. The technique is more complicated, and the finished product is thicker and has a sense of layering and three-dimensionality.

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"My ancestral craft, I can only weave these." As he spoke, Little John finished another circle.

The method of weaving a basket seems to have a lot in common with the hat, which is complicated but follows a roughly similar spiral direction.

He focused most of his attention on his work. The repeated circling and crossing showed his devotion to his craft, like a monk immersed in meditation, moving his rosary beads with silent chanting.

Dominic was too embarrassed to continue disturbing him. This kind of craftsman family who focuses on craftsmanship has relatively stable beliefs and economic conditions. Seeing the son is like seeing the father. The tomb robbery is likely to be a misunderstanding.

Invite the stonemason and basketmaker together next Sunday and explain it in person.

"Then we will take our leave first. May God bless you."

Dominic took out the hand-carved holy emblem amulet that he had prepared in advance and was about to give it to him, but realized that the other party did not take it empty-handed.

He looked around, trying to find an empty space to hang it temporarily.

The room was full of similar vortices, slowly rotating under the visual illusion caused by the weak light, layered, light, and complex.

This reminded him of what Field said about the origin of the shape of the straw hat. The vortex was like some strange cloud, which was driven by air currents or something else to rotate and curl up, confusing everything within the field of vision, and the feeling of nausea and dizziness filled his nasopharynx.

But leaving in a hurry would be too rude. Dominic looked up, trying to escape from that shape and nausea.

What came into view was the roof of the house covered with hay, with straw and wheat straw twisted together, spirally contracting inward, forming a sky.

[Vortex? ]