The Gunman's Ride

By D. A. Daugherty

On a lonely road in the kingdom of Sarven, lone outlaw Jack Spade robs an unsuspecting merchant. This is no random crime, however. He was hired to steal a very specific thing: the mysterious Box of Andelaine, which has remained sealed for millennia despite the best efforts of all the world's most powerful sorcerers. It remained sealed, at least, until out of idle curiosity the gunman tried the lid, only for it to swing wide without protest.

Even the simple act of opening a box and removing the seemingly unassuming necklace inside has dire consequences for the solitary roughrider. Between the cult of deadly warriors in the service of angels and the demonic rider who won't stay dead for long, the hounds of heaven and hell are out for blood. The worst part for their increasingly desperate quarry is that no one will even tell him why.

Seemingly the only solution for the man is to trust the word of an enigmatic sorceress known only as Lucy and travel across a wide, trackless frontier to the foreign, unwelcoming land on the other side. Through it all, the lone gunman can never be quite sure whether or not he's on his last ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647017453

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Jack of Spades

The lone gunman sat in a tree overlooking the road. He had a six-shooter on one hip and an old, beat-up kukri on the other. A sawed-off over-and-under shotgun sat in a holster slung across his back. The jack of spades was belted onto the arm of his old, worn duster. A wide-brim hat long faded by the sun hid all of his face except a well-trimmed beard, where a harmonica played a mournful tune.

Before long, the sight of a wagon flanked by six guards on horseback pulled the waiting man from his music. He grinned widely and traded his harmonica for his revolver. That’s got to be my package right there, he said to himself. And maybe a few shinies on the side, he added in his head.

As the caravan approached, the man who called himself Jack Spade jumped down from his perch and approached them. He tipped his hat to them in a friendly gesture. Mornin’, gentlemen. Fine day, don’t you think?

The guards pointed their repeating rifles at him without a word. He put his hands up in a placating gesture, not bothering to put the gun away. Now, now, let’s not get hasty. We wouldn’t want my boys in the trees to get twitchy, now would we?

The armed escorts looked around for the nonexistent backup hidden in the foliage before their boss, a plump old merchant, shouted at them, You idiots! There’s no one there, now shoot him!

After a short pause, Jack said, There’s no need to gamble with your lives. All I want is one little thing, then you can go on your way and sell snake oil, or whatever it is you do. Agreed?

The merchant eyed the lone bandit warily. What ‘one thing’ are you looking for?

A silver box with a bunch of carvings on it, about the size of a cigar box.

The merchant’s eyes widened with indignation as he went through his description. The Box of Andelaine! What the hell makes you think I would give that up?

Jack chuckled. Why wouldn’t you? Nobody can open it. That makes it a curiosity at best, like a two-headed coin. Does that sound like something worth dying over?

After a short wait, the salesman responded, his anger forcing him to practically spit his words at the outlaw, Fine. Take it and be on your way.

The bandit smiled and tipped his hat again. Much obliged, sir. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. He then climbed in the back of the covered wagon and looked through the various crates, pocketing the odd piece of jewelry. He didn’t take any more than that because he didn’t relish the idea of loading up his horse with too many stolen goods.

As he was looking through the wagon’s contents, he heard movement outside and the sound of the merchant talking quietly. Not while he’s in the wagon. Circle around and get him on the way out.

Jack shook his head incredulously and said Idiots under his breath. Without any more thought to the ambush waiting for him, the gunman continued rifling through the crates until he found what he was looking for: a silver box beautifully decorated with images of angels and demons unleashing heavenly wrath and hellish fury. Thing of beauty, he said to himself before tucking the box safely into one of the pockets of his duster.

Then, without skipping a beat, he opened up one of the flaps at the front of the wagon where the driver’s seat was and delivered a swift, powerful strike to the sweet spot in the back of the salesman’s head. When he slumped over, the thief wasn’t sure whether he was dead or unconscious, and he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over that little detail.

So far so good, Jack thought as he crept around the wagon to see three of the guards pointing their guns at the exit they were expecting him to come out of. To him, that scene looked an awful lot like a shooting gallery.

The lone outlaw fired three rapid shots and swiftly dropped all three guards. Jack grinned from ear to ear with the satisfaction of a perfectly executed attack as they fell to the ground nearly simultaneously.

The guards on the other side were far less pleased at that turn of events, prompting one of them to shout, Shit! He got around us!

Two of the guards immediately rushed out to meet his gunfire, only to find themselves brought down in three shots. Jack wasn’t too happy about the miss, but he didn’t have time to think about that, as the remaining guard fired a few potshots from the front of the wagon.

The bullets struck the ground, kicking up dirt far from their intended target. The pressure was enough to get the bandit to take cover behind the wagon. He traded his empty revolver for his shotgun and shouted to his opponent, All your boys are dead! Now might be a good time to head on somewhere else!

The lone surviving escort, slowly advancing on Jack’s position, responded, They were my friends, you son of a bitch! You’re a dead man!

As he neared the back of the wagon, Jack rounded the corner and unloaded both shells on him, the force of the shots knocking him off his feet. After the deed was done, he said, Damn straight. Just not today.

The victorious gunman then leisurely reloaded his guns and said, Well, gentlemen, I’d say you won’t need all that stuff you’re carrying. With his reloading complete, he began rifling through the dead men’s possessions, taking money, the ammo he could use, and the odd valuable, including a very nice pocket watch—a family heirloom, he figured.

After stealing from the dead, Jack left the road and walked through the woods to the tree where his horse, a chestnut mare, was tied, waiting for him. He greeted her warmly and stroked her muzzle. Belle, old girl, I missed you already. Let’s quit this place.

The man wasted no time doing exactly that. He untied his horse, got on, and rode the rest of the day, trying to put as much country between him and the scene of the crime as he could. When the sun was low in the sky, the horse and rider were well and truly exhausted. The outlaw dismounted, and in a matter of minutes, he already had a makeshift lean-to made of the blankets he carried on his horse, and a roaring campfire. Before laying his head down for the night, he maintained his weapons and then found himself holding his prize in his hands.

The Box of Andelaine was one of the most enduring mysteries in all the world. No one knew who created it or where it came from. For over a thousand years, it changed hands over and over, and not a single owner was ever able to break the magical seals and open it.

As Jack Spade sat next to the fire inspecting the beautiful metalwork of the box, he knew there was no way in hell he was getting it open. He was no sorcerer, and according to his employer, even the most powerful sorcerers in history couldn’t even come close. Still, he couldn’t shake his curiosity: he was holding a great enigma in his hands, and he couldn’t just ignore that.

After some hesitation, he tried the lid, only for it to swing open without protest. Stupefied, Jack looked inside, completely missing the carvings of a strange language written on the inside of the lid. What he did see was a silver necklace with a bloodred stone in the shape of an upside-down teardrop. He removed it from the box that had always contained it as if it would bite him, and carefully held it in front of him. Whatever this thing is, he thought, it must be important if it was in the Box of Andelaine. Or valuable, it’s all the same to me. He then pocketed it, keeping it separate from all the other loot he stole on that job.

It was then time to turn in for the night, but his restless thoughts made that a difficult task. Somehow, he knew that opening that box did something, but he just didn’t know what.

In the morning, Jack packed up his camp and rode farther westward toward Dalson City to give a completely empty box to a dangerous sorceress. For some reason, that didn’t strike him as a bad idea.

* * *

Slade McWebb was a man so evil he became a demon when he died. That was no metaphor—no clever turn of phrase to speak ill of the dead. He was tried for the torture, murder, and cannibalism of countless men, women, and children. Then the church bells rang, and he was hanged by the neck until dead. A year and a day later, he rose from the dead, imbued with the power of hell.

Years later, the thing that was once a man rode into the peaceful town of Gateway on a dead black horse, wearing tattered black clothes that did little to hide his rotted flesh. He dismounted and strolled into town, his rusty spurs clicking on the ground. The smell of the grave wafted into town as he walked toward the saloon.

The demon drew his machete and walked through the door. One unfortunate soul was moving toward the exit as Slade entered. Before he even noticed that anything was off about the man walking toward him, his head was split apart in the dull flash of a rusty blade.

Now ain’t this a sorry bunch of assholes! the fiend shouted, just before a shot rang out, hitting him square in the chest. He only looked down at the bullet wound, then drew his own pistol and shot his attacker. If anyone else moves a muscle, you’re a dead man…or woman. He winked one of his milky dead eyes at one of the barmaids before continuing, Now if y’all stay calm and quiet, then most everyone’ll get out of here alive, all right? Yeah right, he thought, a guy’s got to have a little fun when the work’s done.

The demonic rider then found who he was looking for—a fat old merchant. The man held his breath in pure terror and disgust when Slade walked right up to him.

In a flash, the demon slammed the salesman’s hand down on the bar and chopped it off with his machete. As he squealed, the fiend grabbed him by the throat with his free hand and calmly said, I’m looking for a guy—a guy named Jack Spade.

Chapter 2

The Wages of Sin

Jack Spade rode for six days across seemingly endless forests toward Dalson City without incident. It didn’t seem like such a long time before the lone rider was on a hill overlooking the greatest city in all of Sarven. The massive expanse of plain wooden buildings known as New Town loomed before him, ending in the ancient wall that had stood for centuries.

As he rode through New Town at his slow plodding pace, he thought about how that was his favorite part of the city. As the common part of town, it didn’t have the stuck-up nobles of Old Town, and there was almost no chance of running into royalty. As an added bonus, he could keep his horse and weapons. Also, New Town didn’t have all the dirt and shit and drunken sailors of the docks.

Sadly though, his business wasn’t in New Town. He was forced to stop by one of the many stables outside the walls. When Jack walked into the office, he met a very bored-looking old fellow with a thick layer of what the gunman seriously hoped was dirt all over him. Hey there, he said, sounding no more interested than he was before his customer arrived. Need me to watch yer horse an’ iron ’fore ya go inta Old Town?

Yeah, that is what I’m here for, Jack answered. About how much will that set me back?

I’d say I could get ya covered fer ’bout twenty coins.

The outlaw nodded and unbuckled his gun belts. Seems like a fair price to me.

The man eyed the guns placed before him, especially the fine carvings on the handle of the revolver. He just couldn’t resist the chance to run his fingers across the finely carved spade in the middle. Do ya mind? he asked expectantly.

Yeah, like I’m letting that guy fondle my favorite gun, Jack thought to himself. Matter of fact, I do mind, so if you could just…

The stablemaster ignored his guest and drew the gun anyway, now admiring the fine engravings on the barrel. What’s this? he asked, indicating an inscription on the barrel.

It’s writing. It says ‘Know Thyself’, the gunman replied, obviously frustrated, before taking it out of the stablemaster’s dirty hands and returning it to its rightful place. It was a gift from a friend, so if you could just not touch that, that would be great.

He put his hands up defensively, only just now concerned about offending his heavily armed customer. All right, all right, ‘don’t touch th’ piece.’ I got it. Hey, do ya have any more shootin’ iron?

"Yeah, a repeating rifle with the horse. I want that just as well cared for as the rest of it. Trust me, you do not want to make me angry. Get it?"

The stablemaster just waved off his threat and handed over a small rusty iron token with three scratches on it. Here’s yer token. Just hand it over when you get back. Ya can go inta Old Town now. It’s right through the big gate.

"Yeah, big gate, big statue, right next to us. I think I can find it," Jack said, with a tone that had more than a little bit of a venomous bite to it. Then without another word, he turned on his heel and left the office, eager to leave the foul smell and dumb-as-a-rock stablemaster behind.

Fortunately for that dumb-as-a-rock stablemaster, the gunman was so eager to leave that he didn’t notice him pulling the gun out of its holster to admire it again. I wonder how much this thing’s worth…, he thought to himself.

Jack was certainly not exaggerating when he said that the stable was right next to the gate. In a matter of seconds, he was already there. The Watcher’s Gate was an impressively massive structure. The gates themselves seemed to stretch all the way to the sky, drawing the eye upward. The most spectacular part of the gates, though, was that they rested between the legs of a colossal statue—an armored knight, seemingly looking out over the countryside, watching for danger with his sword pointed down toward the ground.

The outlaw always tried to seem completely unflappable, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking up at the gate and statue with a sense of childlike wonder, even as the locals wandered by that marvel without a second look.

That sense of wonder was gone almost as soon as it appeared when the gunman remembered where he was. All those nobles and rich merchants in their suits, fancy waistcoats, and expensive dresses all turned their noses up at the new arrival with the worn duster and wide-brim hat, who looked like he came in straight from the eastern prairie. He only scoffed at them and went about his business, both glad and amused that everyone gave him a wide berth.

After a long while walking through countless clouds of harsh perfume, and even more harsh glares, he finally made it to the home of the sorceress. Like all the other homes in the area, it was large, grand, and somewhat foreboding with a wall around it and bars on the windows. Unlike the others, it had the symbol of a flaming hand—the required mark of a sorcerer—on the archway of the outside gate. Without hesitation, he burst through the gate and then the front door as if he owned the place.

He didn’t make it very far into the marvelously furnished and richly decorated foyer before he was stopped by a well-dressed old man, the sorceress’s servant. Excuse me, s— His professional expression turned to immediate disgust, no doubt remembering when the uncivilized man called him a bootlicking bastard. "It’s you. M’lady is expecting you. She is having her midday meal."

Jack said, Thanks, friend, and he tried to maneuver his way around him.

The butler moved into his way. M’lady also doesn’t allow hats in the building.

The outlaw responded by rudely jamming his hat into the fellow’s chest. Yeah, whatever.

He tried to walk past him again, only to be blocked again. And your…coat, sir.

Jack sighed of frustration and held up his fist. You know, so far I’ve been able to go through life without punching an old man. I want to keep that up.

After a few tense moments, the servant said, seemingly unfazed by the threat of violence, Right this way.

The duo walked through a few doors, passing through a grand library with wall-to-wall bookshelves as well as a cozy fireplace and comfortable furniture for reading. The next room they passed through was very strange to Jack: it was filled with desks covered in runes, crystals, bubbling flasks, and various other unidentified powders and apparatuses. Papers were strewn all over, horribly disorganized in contrast to the perfectly ordered library just one door separated from the chaos of the lab.

Jack and his escort passed through one more door into a dining room dominated by a long, sturdy table flanked by over a dozen chairs. At its head, surrounded by more food than one person could possibly eat, sat the sorceress. Sarah Carpenter had a perfect face and perfect body. Her silken blond hair was tied back in a bun, and she wore a dress that somehow managed to be both prim and proper and sensual at the same time. The gunman again wondered if she always looked that good or if she changed her appearance with magic.

The butler took a short bow. M’lady…Mr. Jack Spade.

She smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth and causing Jack’s heart to skip a beat. Thank you, Walter. You can go, she said. After he bowed again and left, she motioned to one of the chairs next to her. Please, take a seat.

As he moved closer, the smell of the food filled his nose and made his mouth water. The fact that he ate only jerky and dried fruit for the past month made those fine meats and pastries smell all the better. More noticeable, though, was what he felt. His thoughts were already filled with fantasies of her, but as he moved closer, the urge to tear her clothes off and take her right there on the table grew almost too strong to resist. I thought so: the bitch magicked me. Trying to fuck with me, I bet. Still, he managed to shake off that feeling enough to sit down and fill up a plate with food without bothering to ask for permission or use good table manners.

His lack of hesitation or etiquette didn’t seem to bother her in the least. Do you have it? she asked flatly.

He didn’t bother to stop eating. He simply nodded.

Can I see it?

At that, he did stop stuffing his face. I didn’t go through all that trouble to get that damned box just to see a pretty lady smile, you know.

That comment did make her smile, and that made Jack almost completely unable to think. He wanted to just give her the box, have his way with her, and leave, money or no. Really? You didn’t? But I have such a lovely smile. Why don’t you just hand it over, and we can talk about payment…later.

She certainly did have a lovely smile, and her suggestive comment certainly got his attention, but no amount of magic or flirtation could make Jack Spade forget about his paycheck. That’s a nice try, but I want my money. Period.

That smile was wiped from her face, and she put a pouch on the table. The outlaw grabbed it and tested its weight. Where’s the rest?

She put her hand over his and tilted her head coyly. Are you sure it’s not enough? I’d say it’s everything.

It was just the simplest touch, but it was the most glorious feeling he’d ever experienced. If her hand felt that good, he wondered how amazing sex with her must be. After a moment, and with monumental effort, he pushed those thoughts out of his head. I’d say it’s not. I want the rest, and no amount of magic in the world will change that.

The sorceress laughed—a glorious musical sound—and asked innocently, Now what makes you think I’m using magic on you?

Think what you want about the dirty roughrider straight from the frontier, but I’m not stupid. Last time we spoke, my feelings weren’t nearly as strong as they are now.

She cocked an eyebrow. Feelings? What feelings are those?

He then made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Those soft blue eyes were hypnotic, promising that whatever he wanted from her he would have all that and more. He was barely able to break away from her gaze and say, I just want the rest of my money.

Sarah pulled her hand away from Jack’s, and for a brief moment, he needed to feel that touch again. Her tone also changed. Gone was the seductive flirtation; it was replaced by cold professionalism. Fine. Show me the box and you can have your money.

Without a word, he brought the now-empty box down hard on the table. The sorceress picked it up with a look of wonder on her face and ran her delicate fingers over the carvings. The Box of Andelaine…it’s more beautiful than I imagined. After a moment or two of intense study, she continued, Strange…I don’t see any wards on it, but it still won’t open.

The gunman was reluctant to interrupt her thoughts, but there was business he had to get through. So, are you going to give me my money, now?

She threw another bag of money on the table without even looking up from the box. There’s your money, Mr. Spade. You can leave now.

"But I can stay, right?"

If you like.

The sorceress then closed her eyes in intense concentration. In a few moments, the lights dimmed, even the sunlight coming in through the window, and her hands lit up with a bright blue light, coloring the entire room. For the first time, Jack worried that she might be able to open the box and discover his theft of its contents. Those tense moments passed on by, the light returned to normal, and she tried the lid. The criminal’s fears disappeared immediately when the lid didn’t even budge. She swore under her breath and hit the box against the table.

Jack watched the scene unfold and thought to himself, I shouldn’t make fun of such a powerful sorceress, but… You know, I think that’s been tried already.

Sarah only glared harshly at him.

As a man comfortable in his own form and not wanting it to change, the gunman put up his hands in a placating gesture. Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.

She ignored his apology and set the box on the table next to her. I can study this later. You know, I’m impressed with you. Anyone I use this spell on is usually all over me in seconds.

That comment made him more than a little excited. This meeting might be looking up after all, he thought before asking, How impressed are you, exactly?

Not that impressed. In fact, since we both have what was agreed upon, I think it’s time for you to leave.

A brief thought crossed Jack’s mind that maybe he should show the sorceress what he found in the magic box, but he really didn’t want to explain where he got it. He simply stood up and said, All right, you have a good day, ma’am. He reached up to try and tip his hat to her, only to forget that he wasn’t wearing it, so he walked away, trying not to seem too awkward. Every step he took away from her, his mind and body screamed for him to stop and go back to ravish her.

Upon leaving the room, those desires immediately disappeared. About time, he thought. The last thing I needed was that sorcerous bitch in my head. Still, although the magical effect of her presence was gone, the memory wouldn’t leave that easily.

He retraced his steps through the lab and library until he found his way back to the foyer, where Walter the butler still waited. I trust your business with m’lady is concluded? he asked, with barely veiled relief and eagerness.

Yeah, I’m leaving. Don’t get your balls in a twist.

The butler’s mouth tightened until it was just a thin line of barely managed indignation. Jack wondered briefly how much it would take to cause him to actually explode, but he didn’t really want to stick around and find out. He didn’t like sorcerers when they didn’t magic his brain, so he naturally didn’t want to stick around any longer than he had to.

Almost in one motion, he took his hat from the rack, put it on his head, and walked out the door to the clean, crowded streets of Old Town. On his way to New Town, he moved with the vigor and purpose of a man on a mission, and that mission was to get the hell away from the snobbery surrounding him. After he was on the other side of the Watcher’s Gate, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with sweet, perfume-free air.

When Jack was done taking his moment, he returned to the office of the stable where his weapons and horse waited for him. As he walked through the door, he was immensely relieved to see that the man waiting for him was not the same as the one who took his guns in the first place. Saying the new guy was a man was a bit much considering that he wasn’t much more than a boy. Can I help you, sir? he asked.

You can cut the formalities, kid. I’m not a sir, the gunman said before slamming his token on the desk.

Okay then…here you are. He then unceremoniously dumped the gun belts on the desk, causing Jack to flinch. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it would be people manhandling his guns.

After a quick inspection of his gear, he drew the revolver. The beat-up handle and rust around the cylinder made it inescapably clear that it was not his weapon. Saying that Jack Spade was unhappy at that moment would be inadequate: he was furious beyond all reasonable thought. That shit-covered son of a bitch stole my gun, and he didn’t even replace it with a good one. The six-gun he held in his hand was the weapon of a common bandit, unworthy of the mildly uncommon one that Jack considered himself to be. Still, he figured that it would do the job if it had to, so he checked to see if it was loaded and aimed it right at the boy’s head when he saw that it was. So…where’s my gun?

The kid’s mood quickly turned from friendly to terrified. W-what? You mean th-that’s not yours?

Nope, but the rest of the gear is. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

The stable boy shook his head.

Shit. I know what happened. That motherfucker just thought he could ride off with my gun. You wouldn’t happen to know where he went, would you?

He shook his head frantically. N-no, I-I don’t know. I’m sorry he stole—

Jack interrupted him by cocking the hammer. You’d better give me something. I’d hate to have to kill a kid. Their blood is much harder to clean out of my boots.

He closed his eyes and let out some indistinct stammers before sharply opening them again. The frontier! He always said he wanted to live on the frontier. He just needed a bit of money to get started.

The frontier’s a big place. I’ll need a bit more than that to go on.

All right, he’ll go to Riverton. It’s the best place to sell the gun and hide from you.

The gunman nodded. The kid’s reasoning made sense, and it would be a good place to start nonetheless. Do you know how he’d get there? Train? Riverboat?

Oh no, he took one of the horses.

Better not be mine or he will not die quick. Jack had what he needed, but he still didn’t want to waste an opportunity. How much money have you got?

The boy opened a drawer. None. The stablemaster cleaned us out.

Bastard beat me to it. He put the gun away. All right. No hard feelings? You’re a good kid. He then started walking toward the door, but he turned back before he reached it. I don’t even know why you were so scared of that gun. I don’t even know if the damned thing’ll fire.

Before the terrified stable boy could respond, Jack went out the door and into the stable. Fortunately for him, he saw his own horse, Belle, saddled up and ready to go. He checked his own saddlebags to see if everything was there, then satisfied, he checked other people’s saddlebags, looking for money and valuables. Though he might’ve wanted to take everything, he didn’t know if the law was coming, and he really wanted to chase down the thieving stablemaster before he got too far. To that end, he stashed the new loot quickly, mounted up, and rode through the streets at a fast trot, causing pedestrians to duck out of the way and throw curses, food, knives, and other things as he passed. Eventually, he finally made his way out of the city and sped his pace to a full gallop.

As he sped down the highway, the dead eyes of Slade McWebb watched him. Looks like it’s a real hunt now, he thought, practically giddy with excitement. He then spurred his dead steed into a slow gallop. He might not be able to catch him at that pace, but his prey needed to eat, sleep, and rest while he did not.

* * *

That night Michael stood on the balcony of the Cathedral of Angels and looked out over Dalson City, its streets now bathed in gaslight. For such sinful beings, these humans create such beauty, he thought to himself. He spent several moments enjoying the view and the cool breeze that blew the golden hair from his flawless face and caused the coattails of his white jacket to billow in the wind.

After a while, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice coming from behind him, You called, Holiness?

Michael turned to see Grand Vindicator Bell wearing the hooded burgundy coat traditional for his station. That huge man always had an air of formality about him, even in those private moments. The heavenly being always liked that about his mortal counterpart: he knew his place in the world. Too few humans knew or accepted their place, in his angelic mind. They created disorder, which marred the perfect creation of God. Come, he said, look out over this vista and tell me what you see.

The Grand Vindicator did as he was told and stood next to his master. He replied, steady but secretly confused, I see Old Town.

Michael nodded in approval. A good answer—simple, practical. Do you know what I see when I look out over those lights?

His companion shook his head, his confusion growing. No, Holiness. What do you see?

I see stars stretching across the ground, built by man to mirror the heavens. It is a beautiful sight, but also sad when I remember that there are a great many who will never see heaven.

So why did you call me here, Holiness? the Grand Vindicator asked, only allowing a little bit of his impatience into his tone. Not for the view, surely.

Would that be so bad, my friend? Michael’s tone then turned grim. Although there is a reason. It has happened: the Box of Andelaine has been opened.

The man’s eyes grew wide. Are you sure? You’ve warned of this day for centuries!

Longer actually, and I am quite certain. Ready your Vindicators. The one responsible must be found. Though he is hidden from my sight, I do have a name: Jack Spade.

The Grand Vindicator gave a small bow. As you command. He then turned on his heels and began walking away