I have done this Interview with Falcon the Pirate King back in 2013 and thought to do a repost.
I was fortunate enough to sit down with the villain of A
Pirate’s Wife. A man who instilled fear over the seven seas in the 1600s.
Cunning and sly, brutal to those around him and …
Falcon: “Now just stop there, Missy!”
Me: “Why?”
Falcon: “What do you mean, I was the villain?”
Me: “Well, you did all those horrible things to people and
you died at the end.”
Falcon: “I call it survival of the fittest Miss…”
Falcon: “Who are you, anyway?”
Me: “The Author of the book, Lynelle Clark.”
Falcon: “Women can not write. They are stupid.”
Me: “No we are not, we live in the 21 Century, women can do
all things now and I find your remark very condescending.”
Falcon: “Imbeciles, never! Women can do nothing. They are only
good for one thing.” Dark, brooding eyes glanced seductively over me. I shivered;
his thoughts were disgusting and frightening. He slammed his fist on the table and
looked at me menacingly. I must admit the man had me shaking in my boots.
Me: “We are not in your century anymore, Mr. Falcon.”
Falcon: “Bhaa, women are only good for one thing.”
Me: “Must I remind you, Mr. Falcon, that you were killed by a
woman.”
Silence fell among us as the beady eyes darted over the
restaurant. Not what he was used to as his eyes narrowed even further. Taking
in the sounds and sites of the buzzing place. He looked puzzled, even pale. The
restaurant is one of my favourite hang outs and I felt very chuff to get the
notorious pirate here. Even if he was dead.
Falcon: “It is because you wrote the story, you know nothing of
honour.”
Me: “It was not honourable what you did to the Almaida family
or Rosa-Lee.” I pointed out.
Falcon: “She sure was pretty,” and he cackled slyly.
Me: “Yes she was. Their deceiving action tilted your world
considerable. Her marriage to Roberto, was unexpected.”
Falcon: “I was furious!” His fist hit the table again, cursing the fellow who stared at us. The man quickly looked away.
Me: “Easy there, we do not tolerate such bad behaviour in
public anymore.”
Falcon: “Bhaa, I still cannot believe she killed me.”
Me: “You dared her while threatening her and her baby’s
life.”
Falcon: “If it was my baby, she would have felt differently about
me.”
Me: “But she didn’t. She carried Roberto’s baby.”
Falcon: “Do not mention that traitor’s name in front of me,” he
hissed as spit dripped down his face.
Me: “But he was your son.”
Falcon: “Imbeciles! Do not mention his name. I will kill you.”
Me: “So much violence. You died just as you lived.”
Falcon: “I had a noble profession.”
Me: “No, you were a villain, thief and murderer.” I pointed
out.
Falcon: “There is that word again, how dare you! I had mouths to
feed.”
Me: “There were other ways to feed them.”
Falcon: “Bhaa, typical woman, know nothing.”
Me: “If I know nothing, then inform me so that I can
understand why you became a pirate?”
Falcon: “It is a long story.”
Me: “I have time. Would you like some tea?”
Falcon: “What do I look like to you, a woman?”
Me: “No, but I thought tea would help you calm down.”
Falcon: “I do not care for tea. I need rum!”
Me: “Tea and coffee, milkshakes and cool drinks are the only
items on the menu. This is a family restaurant. They don’t serve liquor. What about a nice espresso?”
Falcon: “What is that?”
Me: “Strong coffee.” I smiled at him and ordered two
cups. Once it is put before us, I show him how to drink it and he followed. He
looked so out of place that people were staring at our table, but he hardly
notices it.
Falcon: “Nice and strong,” he sniffed the content and smacks his
lips, twirling the dark liquid in the small cup.
Falcon: “What did you call this drink?”
Me: “Espresso.”
Falcon: “Espresso,” he repeated and smack his lips again. A
sheepish grin appears on the leathery, pale face. His long hair hangs disorderly
over his shoulder.
Me: “Please tell me why you choose the pirate’s life?” He
looked at me with something akin to disgust and irritation but ask for another cuppa
which the server bring shortly after.
Falcon: “I ran away from home when I was only a lad of twelve. My
father used to beat us without reason; he was always drunk and in a bad mood. My
mother, a pretty little thing, was a broken woman whose life was snuffed out of
years before. She acted indifferent to it all. Her dark eyes were lifeless, but she
held on for our sake.” I swear I could see a tear forming in the corner of his eye,
but he brushed it away quickly and I decide not to say anything.
“She could not defend herself against the onslaught and
finally he beat her to death. The day I had put her in the ground, I disappeared;
never to return home. I found work in an inn, a shaggy place, and the owner was
even worse than my father. That was not what I envisioned work should be. All
that cleaning and scrubbing just did not sit well with me. I wanted to explore
the world. I listened to all the stories from the sailors who passed through
and watched as they told of their ventures. I was hooked.” He takes another sip before he continues.
Falcon: “I met Brutus,” he chuckled, and looked at me, and continued:
“Now there was a villain, the devil personified, that one. He let me work on
the ships he owned. Everything I knew, I learned from him. He was merciless. He
accepted no disobedience from anyone. I had gotten a swat against the head often,
but I didn’t mind. I was where I wanted to be; on a ship and having my own
ventures.”
Me: “How long did you work for him?”
Falcon: “I was a grown man by the time he died. Brutally, I might
add. His second-in-command finally got to him and whacked him with an axe. Now
that was a bloody mess.”
Me: “If you do not mind, spare me the gory details,” and I
shivered.
Falcon: “Bha, women!”
Me: “Please go on. What happened next?”
Falcon: “To my surprise, the men chose me to be their new captain.
The task was overwhelming, but I had learned to be tough. Trained by Brutus; I
ruled with an iron fist. Tolerated no nonsense from my men. We sailed the seven
seas, conquered everything that came in our sight. Including women. Now those
were the days.” He almost sound blissful and I smile.
Me: “Today they will hunt you down.”
Falcon: “Who?”
Me: “The authorities.”
Falcon: “I am not scared.”
Me: “I know because you are dead.”
Falcon: “Will you stop rubbing it in, imbecile!”
Me: “I will not tolerate that tone with me, Must I remind you that you have been dead for centuries?”
Falcon: “Bhaa,” he sneered. His yellow teeth were rotten, and I
shivered.
Me: “Tell me your thoughts about Rosa-Lee.”
Falcon: “She was a pretty little thing.”
Me: “You said that before, what else?”
Falcon: “Brave, very brave. I would have loved to have her for
myself, but at the end the best man won.”
Me: “So you do not mind that Roberto…”
Falcon: “You are a dim wit, of course I mind.”
Me: “Sir, if you do not mind.”
Falcon: “What! Will your authorities capture me?” he sneered once
again.
Me: “It is impolite to talk like that.”
Falcon: “Impolite! Bhaa. That Rosa-lee was the same. Annoying b…”
Me: “Falcon, Sir!” My patience was dangerously low with this
man’s consisted disrespect.
Falcon: “She was brave and a good fighter with the sword.”
Me: “Yes I know.”
Falcon: “How will you know?”
Me: “I wrote the book.” I said it matter-of-factly, quite
bored with the man. My illusion of how the meeting will go shattered.
Falcon: “Bhaa.”
Me: “Why did you not like women? I would have thought after
the way your father treated your mother that you would be better?”
Falcon: “Women cannot think for themselves and need a firm hand
from a man.”
Me: “I can assure you women can think for themselves. In this
century they have honourable professions, trained to do any work just like any man.
There is no limit anymore.”
Falcon: “Bhaa, I do not believe you. A woman needs to know who is
in charge, who is the better man.”
Me: “That does not make you a better man,” I was truly
annoyed with this old geezer.
Falcon: “I do not have to listen to this anymore.” Like a
dissatisfied customer, he puffs his chest and turns away from me.
Me: “Fine, I do not talk to ghosts,” I added in disgust.
Falcon: “Bhaa,” and he was gone.
Just like that.
Me: “Well, there you have it. Even in death he is impossible
to talk too.”
Falcon: “Imbeciles!” I heard from the back and my hair raise on
my arms. I look back, searching for this man that is a significant part of my book.
Nowhere to find, I call for the waiter, who reluctantly approaches my table with
the receipt in his hand.
“Sorry about that.” I try to defend him, but the server
gives me a disgruntled look and walked away. Clearly not happy.
I cannot blame him.
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