Chapter IX

The Author wishes to apologize for the rude nature of the preceding chapter, in which persons and places of low character and class were described in necessary but unfortunate detail. Acts of shocking and graphic violence were depicted and words of the crudest kind employed liberally and without shame; however, as it is the present task to tell the tale of young Master Skywalker and his companions plainly and honestly for the betterment of all, such unpleasantness could not be avoided if the story was to be justly told. It is therefore sincerely hoped that, as the plot continues to unfold to its natural conclusion, the entirety of the history at hand will redeem the narrative in the eyes of readers offended at its brief lapse of propriety. The reader may be assured that no further scenes of such an uncouth nature will be described in this account, and that hereafter we shall limit our pen only the Noble and Edifying.

The well-bred gentle readers of this tale may find themselves quite shaken by the events previously described; in precisely such a manner, young Luke Skywalker was similarly distraught by his experience in the seedy den of iniquity in which they had procured a means of travel to their destination of Alderaan-upon-Avon. And yet he noted with no little admiration that Sir Benjamin had remained quite unperturbed throughout the entire adventure in the tavern, and that the rudest and most uncivilized environment had not affected his noble presence and demeanor in the slightest degree. In any place or in any company, he remained a knight and a gentleman of the most respectable quality, and this characteristic impressed itself upon the young man's mind and further engendered in him a deep sense of respect for the older knight and his prowess.

"Luke," Sir Benjamin said, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder, "I must ask a great boon of you. I have a portion of the sum I have promised our new friend the Captain, but not the total. I'm afraid we must sell the horses to make up the difference, including your beloved grey stallion."

Luke sighed and felt no small pang of regret in his heart. His thoughts were of the estate that was to have been his inheritance, now lost, of which the stallion was the only part remaining in his possession. It was his sole link to his past and to his guardians who had been like parents to him.

"Let it be done," Luke said heavily.

Kenobi smiled and nodded. "Sacrifice is the calling of a knight, young squire. We are required to give everything up in defense of the kingdom, even our very lives if necessary. Remember that, young Skywalker. Remember that."

To Luke's horror, however, they were only able to sell their mounts for a fraction of the price that they were truly worth. After haggling angrily with half a dozen interested buyers, Luke threw up his hands and relented to Sir Kenobi's suggestion to take the most recent offer. It was paltry for such fine animals, but it was enough to form the sum promised to Captain O'Solo.

Mr. Threepeo was quite visibly distraught at the prospect of returning to the seas, turning almost green at the thought of boarding a ship again. Mr. Deetoo's eyes were shining with excitement, however, and his jaw was set with determination to finish the task ahead. Luke could not quite make out how he felt; he was a jumble of excitement and fear, eagerness and doubt. He longed for the calm certainty of the old gentleman he served. He would need to acquire such a presence of his own if he were ever to become a knight like his father. As he brooded further on the subject, he decided there was no better time to begin developing this refined and gentile attitude than the present moment. He adjusted his walk to be tall and proud, and carefully composed his face to resemble the wise and noble visage of Sir Kenobi. He put one hand on his father's sword casually, and regarded the town with what he was certain was the impressive demeanor of a proper knight.

"Master Luke," said Threepeo with concern, "Are you quite alright? You look as though you are about to be sick, and you are moving so stiffly! Are you simply sore from the saddle, or are you suffering from a more serious malady?"

The young man blushed furiously and said nothing, but he made no further attempts to appear knightly that day.

His embarrassment was quite forgotten, however, when they reached the dock to which Captain O'Solo had referred them. At first Luke was certain there had been an error of some kind, for there was no ship in this part of the docks of Mos Eisley apart from an old, tiny vessel that looked all but abandoned. It was a wonder it stayed a float at all, Luke thought to himself with amusement, and he scanned the docks for sign of their ship without giving the small wreck a second thought.

Surely the Irish captain had simply given the wrong directions, or they had misheard him. On their route along the docks they had passed scores of gallant vessels, large and beautiful with fresh paint and clean sails. One of those must have been the Centennial Falcon, the ship of which O'Solo had spoken so highly. But then Luke caught sight of Choo-ee, the Captain's savage companion, waving to them from aboard the old half-wrecked vessel before them, and he knew the truth at last. He groaned in displeasure. The ship looked almost like something a child had made out of driftwood. It's proportions seemed wrong, its paint was faded and peeling, its mainmast ancient and slivered. Even from the shoreline, Luke could detect a distinctive odor emanating from the Falcon: an old, base, and well-traveled smell of wood that seen better days.

"Why, 'tis nothing more than an ancient heap of floating refuge!" exclaimed Luke in dismay, "We're more likely to reach Alderaan-upon-Avon in a raft than this old scow."

"Aye, lad, she's a sore to the eyes," came the arrogant and thickly accented voice of Captain O'Solo, approaching them from behind, "She's not worth a second look to most - a most welcome quality in me line of work. Trust me, boy, she's got a lot of a fight in her -- and as sure as sin, she can outrun any ship when the wind is with her."

Luke snorted disbelievingly, but a look at the stern face of Sir Kenobi soon silenced him.

"Here is the money promised you," the old gentleman said, "Are you prepared to depart at once, Captain, or must we wait for your crew to assemble?"

O'Solo took the bills eagerly and began to count them. "No need, good sir, the crew's only me and Choo-ee so we've assembled already, as you can see."

Threepeo sputtered. "The two of you man the ship alone?"

"She's but a small and simple craft, me good man. More men aboard means more mouths to feed and more mouths to talk. Silence is golden, ye understand. Put yer fears aside, mates, and trust the word o' Captain O'Solo - ye're as good as arrived at Alderaan-upon-Avon already." Choo-ee lowered a plank for them to board, and the captain guided them onto the deck. "Yes sir," he said soothingly, "Now that yer in me hands, it's clear sailing from here on out, so help me God."

At that very instant a commotion further down on the docks drew their attention. A group of armed French soldiers were pushing their way through the crowds towards the berth where the Falcon sat at dock. O'Solo gave a sudden curse, his gracious and calm tone dropped at once. He shouted out commands to his co-pilot and pulled his pistol, checking to make sure it was primed and loaded.

"They're coming for us!" Luke gasped, "We must depart at once!"

O'Solo rounded on him with a laugh. "Real bright ye are, lad. Whatever would we do without ya? Choo-ee, hoist anchor! It's time we're off!"

"There isn't time," Sir Benjamin said quite calmly, "They'll reach us before we can be fully away."

"Aye, but they'll not find the Falcon an easy bird to keep in the nest," O'Solo promised.

The soldiers had caught sight of the ship by then, and could see that it was drifting away from the dock. There was a shout and the Frenchmen began to run. A few dropped to their knees and leveled their muskets, while others kept their pace and drew dangerously near the slowly drifting ship.

"Halt at once!" came the distant shout of their captain, "This ship is commandeered on the order of Monsieur l'Empereur Napoleon! Give yourself up or face the gravest consequences!"

"I've got yer gravest consequences right here!" O'Solo bragged in a most ungentlemanly manner, firing his pistol the soldiers' direction.

After that, it was all chaos and confusion. The French were firing their muskets as quickly as they could reload them, forcing Luke to cower against the deck of the ship in fear. Mr. Threepeo was curled into a ball nearby, muttering prayers in a high pitched squeal and covering his face with his hands, whilest his counterpart Mr. Deetoo charged about with Choo-ee to prepare the ship's sails. Captain O'Solo shouted commands and cursed their slow progress, loading and firing his own weapon all the while.

A few of the French reached the end of the dock and flung themselves quite courageously across the growing span between ship and port to latch onto the vessel's side. Luke could hear Sir Kenobi's blade leap from its sheathe as the old man rushed to the defense of the ship, and knew he should do likewise. He took a deep breath and forced himself to his feet and attempted to draw his weapon with the same style and panache that the old knight had done. Instead, he lost his balance and nearly dropped the blade entirely. By the time he reached his mentor, the old man had driven all the invading French back into the sea.

"Bless me heart!" Captain O'Solo cried out, "The wind is with us; that be somethin' worth praying about and no lie. Hoist the mainsail, Choo-ee!"

"They're bringing about a ship to try to block the harbor," said Sir Benjamin, pointing, "It's sure to have cannons ready for us."

"We're doomed!" Threepeo cried. "We should turn ourselves in and beg for mercy!"

O'Solo spat over the side of the ship into the waters. "Never fear, me lads! Once the sail is hoisted, there's no ship nor cannon can stop the Falcon taking flight, on my honor. I'm not at all concerned." He flashed them his best grin, then turned to his companion. "Choo-ee, the sails! Now, or we're all dead, mind you!"

"The French frigate is coming about," Sir Kenobi said. Luke marveled at the lack of fear in his voice. He spoke matter-of-factly and with urgency, but with such perfect poise and grace. "They're leveling cannons at us."

"Too late!" the captain cried triumphantly, as the Falcon's mainsail hoisted to the top of the mast, pulled swiftly by the powerful arms of the captain's savage. The strong wind caught the fabric at once, billowing it out into an impressive arc. Luke nearly lost his balance again as the ship lurched forward with surprising speed.

A loud booming sound reported that the frigate's cannons had opened fire, but the splashes of the cannonballs into the sea fell well short of the ship. For the first time, Luke realized they were going to escape after all. The Captain's ship was as fast as he had boasted. Threepeo, Mr. Deetoo, and Choo-ee let out a ragged cry of victory as the harbor, the French, and Mos Eisley disappeared in their wake.

"Nothin' to it," said O'Solo drolly, "I've had closer scrapes than that a hundred times."

"Yes," replied Sir Benjamin, "I can see we are in excellent hands." But when the Captain turned to see to the helm, the old knight smiled at Luke and raised his eyebrows quite expressively.

"Are we really safe?" asked Luke, steadying himself against the rail of the ship and watching the mainland disappear.

Sir Benjamin Kenobi sighed and placed a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "In the life of a knight, you are never truly safe," he said, "And especially not in a war such as this."

"I want to learn to fight," Luke said suddenly, "I want to be able to help you, and to help rescue Her Highness. Do you really think I could ever be a knight like you, Sir Benjamin?"

The old gentleman smiled. "You've the blood of knights in you, lad," he replied, "and you've a good heart. You're a knight already, though you hardly know it. One day soon you will. You will."