Chapter Sixty-One: Casimodo Vic

In the study, Old York stood on tiptoe and placed a pile of bottles on the table.

“Have you truly decided to go, Potter?” Old York asked.

“Rather than hide in a cave, waiting for our supplies to run out, I’d rather take up my weapon and fight the Icelanders,” came the reply.

“What’s more, even Lord Vid, who hails from the Netherlands, has the courage to set out. As a Tania, how could I stand aside and do nothing?” Lucas said. “This is our only hope, isn’t it?”

“York truly envies your courage,” the old man replied. “If only York could be as brave as you and that lord.”

“Tell me about that necromancer, York. Every adventurer should be well prepared before setting out—maintain your weapons, replenish your potions, gather intelligence,” Lucas said. “I’ve been an adventurer for seventeen years; I can’t afford to make a rookie’s mistake.”

“Then let me tell you once more about Casimodo Vick. I’ve already recounted his story to the honorable lord before, but I’ll tell it again for you,” Old York said, settling into his chair. “Honestly, I don’t like to recall Casimodo Vick; he was a terrifying man, adept at disguises.”

“But since you’re about to become his enemy, I must tell you of his past.”

“I’ll remember every word you say,” Lucas promised, placing his hands on the table.

York looked at the potions before him and fell silent for a moment.

“Let’s start from the first time I met Casimodo. That was fifteen winters ago, before I had converted this cave,” he began.

“You hadn’t begun studying necromancy then?” Lucas asked.

“No,” York replied. “I never had a talent for wizardry. Fifteen years ago, I was engrossed in other studies. Besides adventurers buying potions from my shop, sometimes poor patients would beg me to heal their wounds.”

“I ran an alchemy workshop, but I was also a sort of doctor—not like the priests of the Church who heal with divine magic, but with herbs and other tools. Sometimes I used a small knife, charging only a token fee for my services.”

“Occasionally, I’d quietly excise diseased flesh from patients, or amputate rotting limbs. I knew such acts were considered desecration of the body. If anyone reported me, I’d be burned at the stake. So I always worked in secret, donning my robe in a hidden room, treating those who’d drunk sleeping draughts.”

“Very few people knew of my activities, and those who did never realized it was I who treated them,” he added.

Lucas asked, “So was it your meeting with Casimodo that led you into truly forbidden territory?”

Old York sighed. “When I first met Casimodo Vick, I hadn’t yet sensed how dangerous and dreadful he was.”

“That day, as usual, I swept the snow from my workshop’s door, opened up, and arranged my potions and tools on the shelves.”

“Casimodo was my first customer that morning. I simply noted that such jet-black hair was rare in Alvado—black hair, black eyes, a silver-white cloak made from winter wolf pelts. His hair was neatly combed, his clothes immaculate, and he carried a walnut staff. He smiled politely, looking every bit the young noble.”

“What did he do in your workshop?”

“He bought some potions and materials used by spellcasters,” York replied. “He behaved no differently from any mage-apprentice of noble birth—sociable and charming. We spoke for quite some time, even though it was our first meeting.”

“He told me he was only passing through Alvado. Because of the heavy snow, he and his mentor would stay until spring, conducting some research in the area. I recommended the Oak Inn, which he appreciated. He paid readily, even giving me an extra silver coin as a tip.”

“And then? Did he coerce you? Did he discover your secret and threaten to report you to the Church unless you helped him?”

“None of that,” York said, his expression falling. “Potter, do you remember Sprout?”

“Sprout…” Lucas thought for a moment. “You mean that gray, striped cat of yours? I recall you were very fond of it, even built a cozy wool-lined house for him, and always asked around if anyone had seen Sprout.”

“Sprout was a stray I took in,” York said quietly. “When night fell, only Sprout would keep me company. He’d leap onto my lap—even if he sometimes tore my clothes, I cared for him for seven years.”

“But what does Sprout have to do with Casimodo?”

“Do you remember, Potter, the year you left Alvado, Sprout was no longer seen in my workshop?”

“I recall you said he’d run off with a female cat and no one knew where he’d gone.”

“That wasn’t the truth. Sprout died. I couldn’t find him for two days. He sometimes stayed outdoors for days, but winters were cold, and he usually came home at night.”

“Casimodo—the gentle, cultured apprentice mage—heard about this and promised to use his magic to help me find Sprout. That night, in a secluded corner, Casimodo and I found Sprout’s lifeless body.”

“I was heartbroken—Sprout’s body was frozen stiff, cold and lifeless. He’d never leap up to claw my clothes again. I wept as I gathered him up, but Casimodo simply waved his staff.”

“Then Sprout moved again. He brushed against my legs just as he used to, though his meows sounded strange and unnatural.”

“Casimodo smiled at me, a warm and sincere smile. His black eyes seemed enchanting. I promised him that what happened that night would remain our secret.”

“I brought Sprout home, locked him in a cage in the attic. But on the third day, he began to rot and stink.”

“Casimodo visited again, using some means to restore Sprout to his former appearance.”

“After that, he visited more and more often. With him around, Sprout seemed as lively as ever. I started sharing secrets with him—about my work as a doctor. He offered to help treat patients. Then… one day, I took Casimodo, that man, to my operating table.”

“He wanted the bodies?” Lucas frowned.

“Yes,” York bowed his head. “But at first, he showed nothing unusual. He helped me treat five or six people, always acting the part of a warm-hearted, innocent benefactor.”

“He shared his knowledge of necromancy, telling me it was not so terrifying as the Church claimed. He said it’s not the magic but its wielder that is dangerous. In his hands, he said, necromancy could benefit countless people—ending suffering and pain for many.”