Debatable Space

Lena

“How was it?” Flanagan asks me, once we are back in the pirate ship.

“You’re ingratiating yourself, please, it’s unseemly.”

“I was in fact trying to be nice,” he says, frostily.

“You are seduced, awestruck, pitiful,” I tell him, with relish. “I humour you but, in truth, I despise you.”

“Look, just because you’re my prisoner and under threat of death, humiliation and torture, there’s no need for you to be uncivil.”

“Cuntsucker.”

“Ooh. I’d almost forgotten – you’re a poet.”

“I am, yes, a poet.”

“ Reminiscences of Exquisite Moments. A slim little volume, it sold in its several.”

“It’s an acclaimed piece.”

“It was excoriated.”

“Those reviews were later rescinded, once I published under my… family name.”

“Ah, so you do get good reviews, on pain of death? That’s a start.”

“You are a philistine and an imbecile.”

“I’ve had eleven symphonies and fourteen rock operas performed, I am considered to be one of the most accomplished popular composers of my era.”

“And a braggart also.”

“Wizened old shrew.”

“I am, if you observe, far from wizened.”

“I see your soul. Your soul is wizened.”

“There is no such thing as a… wizened soul.”

“Bleak. Barren. A desert. That’s your soul. I can feel it from here.”

“Souls cannot be felt.”

He smiles at that. It’s a charming smile. I hate him so. And yet… It’s true what he said about his music. He…

“Shut up.”

Chagrined, I realise I have spoken my inner thoughts aloud.

“I wasn’t speaking!” Flanagan says, indignantly.

I give him a forbidding look. I allow my charisma to wrap itself around him, like silken chains. Then I say, artfully: “It’s not too late, Captain, for you to achieve redemption and forgiveness. Hand me back, forget the ransom, commit ritual suicide, and you will die without a stain on your name.”

“Or – not.”

I glare. Flanagan sighs, ostentatiously. “Will you join me for dinner tonight?”

“I will face that hardship with equanimity and fortitude, yes.”

“We dine at eight. Will you need access to your wardrobe?”

“My body armour will suffice.”

“It looks a little… military.”

I smile. I can drive him wild with desire. I may be his prisoner, but it is I who have power over him. I tap my armoured breast with a finger, and hear the hollow thud.

“I like it that way,” I tell him.