Back to Chapter 5

Uncle Chuck’s diner was a sight to behold. Dozens of figures milled about the stand, each with plates loaded high with wonderful-smelling food, glasses topped with all manner of refreshing beverages. Sonic noticed the vast majority were wearing smart military attire in the same colours as King Acorn’s royal clothes. Extra tables had been set up to give them space to sit and converse. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the assorted Mobians were the soldiers Uncle Chuck had mentioned.

“So who are these guys?” Chirps piped up.

Uncle Chuck did his best to hold back a sigh, “The soldiers I told you about, Chirps. More specifically, they represent the royal guard of the Kingdom of Acorn. Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s no need to stand on graces, they’re a friendly army and they’re here to serve the king’s allies- that’s us. But if you boys are going to help out, I need you to be on your best, most polite behaviour. No mouthing off,” Chuck turned to give a pointed look, “That goes double for you, Flicky”

“Me?” Flicky protested with a look of pretend shock on his face, “Perish the thought, Uncle Chuck”

“I should think so,” Chuck responded, opening the counter-top flap to get behind the bar of the diner, “There’s a helping of chilli dogs in it for you all if you do a good job”

Suffice to say, that was enough to ensure Sonic’s friends kicked into action almost immediately. Each of the boys took it upon themselves to pitch in with various roles in the diner. Tux manned the counter, Joe operated the industrial dishwasher, Johnny took orders, Porker assisted Chuck with the cooking, Flicky kept the hungry customers entertained and Chirps didn’t expressly cause any trouble, which was its own form of assistance.

“What would you like me to do, Uncle Chuck?” Sonic asked.

“Ah, Sonic! How’d you like to serve as waiter? Taking the food to the table, clearing empty plates and so forth?”

“Sure, I can do that,” Sonic smiled with a shrug.

Sonic spotted a smart black tie and apron hung up behind the counter and thought it might be quite funny if he put the tie on to serve as waiter.

Tux, spotting this, raised an eyebrow, “And what, pray tell, are you supposed to be, Sonic?”

“I’m waiting,” Sonic replied with a sarcastic tone, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Uncle Chuck placed a plate on the counter next to Sonic. Sonic spotted the vegetables on the plate and turned his nose up.

“We don’t just serve fast food, Sonic,” Uncle Chuck said, catching his gaze.

“I might surprise you there, actually,” Sonic quipped.

“This is pot-au-feu, it’s the favoured dish of General D’Coolette. He’s the highest ranking member of the king’s Royal Guard so, please don’t drop it. General D’Coolette is the gentleman sat at the head of the table at the bottom-end of the counter.

Sonic followed Uncle Chuck’s eyeline and spotted a very smartly dressed coyote. Every single inch of his uniform was immaculately cleaned and pressed and a red cape completed his outfit, with nary so much as a crease to be seen anywhere on his clothes as he bent his arms to talk animatedly to his fellows. Sonic got the feeling the general was someone who prided himself on perfection. Seated with the General were two highly decorated soldiers- a white tiger and an English bulldog- and next to them, in turn, two ladies of the same respective species wearing smart but decidedly civilian clothing. Sonic assumed- correctly- that these ladies were the wives of the soldiers.

Sonic tentatively walked the steaming meat-and-veg dish over to the general’s table, trying his hardest not to let a single grain of salt roll out of place. As Sonic approached the table, he noticed the general was talking to a younger coyote soldier who was so stiffly upright he looked as if he’d secreted his ramrod down the back of his shirt. The general and the boy were conversing in a language Sonic didn’t recognise, though oddly the younger coyote seemed to be mispronouncing words or delivering them with an unusual affectation. The younger coyote headed over to his own table as Sonic placed the dish in front of the general.

“Ah, bon!” exclaimed the general with delight, “Merci beaucoup, mon ami”

“Armand,” the white tiger soldier glanced at the general, “you’re doing it again”

“Pardon, monsieur,” the general chuckled, “Being bilingual does sometimes mean you forget which language you are using, non?”

“Your pot-oh-fur, general,” Sonic smiled as he felt the tie around his neck choking him a little.

“Mais non,” the general raised a finger and shook his head, “A general does not eat before his men. Sir Charles would not know this, so there is no insult. But I am afraid I must insist my men be served before I am able to take a single bite”

“But what if your food goes cold?” Sonic asked.

“Mon petit,” the general smiled, “once you have served my men, return here and I shall share with you why I so value the pot-au-feu”

Sonic didn’t have a clue what was going on but he fully understood there would be no talking the general down from this stance, nor did it make any sense to keep anyone else waiting so he returned to the bar where the next meal was waiting.

“Uncle Chuck, the general won’t eat until everyone else is served,” Sonic informed the elderly hedgehog.

“Blast it, I should have known, the general is a big believer in tradition,” Chuck’s brow furrowed, “Well, you can start with these plates for Mrs Sommersby and Mrs Stripe. They’re the ladies seated at the general’s table”

Sonic collected two plates of roast Apterix beef and headed back to the table to deliver the meal.

“Thank you, dear,” the female bulldog smiled gently at Sonic, “My, this looks nice, doesn’t it, George?”

“Quite so, Martha,” her husband responded, “Though I’ve come to expect no less from Sir Charles over the years. As fine a cook as he is a scientist, that one. How’s yours, Mrs. Stripe?”

Mrs. Stripe nodded enthusiastically through a mouthful of roast beef, far too engrossed in her meal to converse.

Sonic proceeded to serve meals to the spouses of the two ladies, Colonels Sommersby and Stripe. Sonic gathered through pieces of overheard conversation that the table hosted the three most senior and most respected officers of the King’s army. Sonic wasn’t to know it at the time but Colonel Sommersby practically commanded an esteem with his stern, disciplinarian methods but respectful demeanour that gave each of his troops the chance to bring out their best. Colonel Stripe, for his money, was a superior tactician and strategist. His most recent command had been of just a handful of men but Stripe’s planning had been instrumental in overthrowing the enemy.

“This one is for Director Who- he’s the smartly-dressed owl” Uncle Chuck told Sonic, handing him a plate of something Sonic couldn’t entirely identify and thought best not to ask, “And this one is for Cat. I’m going to surprise you now—”

“He’s the cat, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Chuck nodded, handing Sonic Cat’s meal.

Sonic headed towards his next two customers and was amused at how differently they approached the concept of attire. Director Who was pristinely preened in a suit matching the king’s royal colours, though with the red being given more prominence than the blue this time. Cat, meanwhile, didn’t wear so much as a tie, gloves or shoes. It wasn’t actually that unusual for Mobians to wear minimal attire and nobody ever criticised those that made such a choice. It was seen as a traditional, natural fashion statement that honoured the days of Mobius’ history. Sonic had never stopped to think about it but he supposed if he did he might end up feeling under-dressed- and he didn’t mind the simplicity of his clothing, so why worry about it? The white gloves worn by many Mobians, of course, are another tale for another time.

Sonic delivered the two men their meals and Cat beamed, “Ah, how’s about that, Director? Service with a smile!”

“Thank you, my dear boy,” Director Who accepted his plate, “It looks exquisite as always”

Curiosity got the better of Sonic, “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Cat, how come you’re the only guy here not wearing some kind of uniform?”

Cat chuckled to himself, “You see, Harvey? The lad’s got a keen eye”

Director Who danced around Sonic’s question, “Hypothetically, Cat here could be an expert in espionage and breaking into highly secure facilities. Officially speaking, he’s a citizen, thus has no need to wear a uniform. He’s here as my friend and none of these soldiers need know any different. After all, if I- as Director of Intelligence- employed someone to be a spy, it wouldn’t do for high-ranking officials to be aware of one of our own technically committing crimes for our own means, would it?”

Cat shovelled a forkful of food into his mouth, “Wouldn’t do at all, Harvey, wouldn’t do at all”

Sonic wasn’t so stupid he couldn’t read between the lines when they were laid out as wide as that and he gave a wry, knowing smile. Sonic glanced over his shoulder to see General D’Coolette talking to his friends and became conscious of the general’s meal.

As Sonic passed Porker, he gave him a quiet word, “Porker, the general’s food’s getting cold, step it up in that kitchen, yeah?”

Porker wasn’t sure but gave a shrug as he redoubled his efforts, “Okay, Sonic, if you insist”

Sonic’s next delivery was to a table of seemingly completely mismatched individuals. Bull Bones, a short, squat English bulldog with a piercing, was wearing a pressed shirt bearing an “MP” on his upper arm. Seated with him was Spot Long, a giraffe who seemed to be constantly scouting the immediate area. Sir Peckers, a woodpecker knighted for his services to the Kingdom of Acorn, wore an aviator’s helmet and goggles which alluded to the countless times he’d flown over enemy lines as a courier to deliver important messages. Rounding out the group was a rather shifty looking cobra, Private Trey Scales. Sonic had no way of knowing it yet but Scales’ uniform was different to the other soldiers present for a reason. Scales came from the Southern Baronies and tensions and resentment for the Acorn family had brewed there over the decades. Scales may have had no love lost for the king but he respected the military tradition and fought well with his brothers at arms.

“At last, something to eat,” Scales remarked as Sonic placed the plates down, trying his hardest to balance them along the way.

“Don’t be uncouth, Scales,” Peckers admonished, “the lad’s doing his best”

“It’d have been quicker to go out and hand-rear the Apterix myself!” Scales grumbled as he ate.

“Don’t mind him,” Long leaned his neck down towards Sonic, “he’s always like this when he’s hungry”

“Some of us have a little more discipline, of course,” Bones raised an eyebrow at Scales and an argument almost arose.

Colonel Stripe peered at the table and gave a look. The argument fell silent before it could begin.

“Let me guess,” Sonic asked, “the colonel’s your boss”

“Our fearless leader,” Bones responded, “And there isn’t a battle we wouldn’t follow him into”

“He united us all, though we all come from different walks of life,” Peckers continued, “and turned us into the most well-oiled machine on West Side Island”

“It’s true,” Scales admitted, “We may only be a small group, but together we can overcome any tyranny”

“Well, look who’s mellowed now he’s eaten,” Bones glanced at Scales.

“An army marches on its stomach,” Scales gave his best approximation of a shrug, somewhat difficult due to his lack of shoulders.

“Well, you don’t,” Long observed, “you slither on yours”

“Hey! Is that some kind of snakist remark?!” Scales exploded and the argument began anew. Colonel Stripe caught Sonic’s eye before rolling his own eyes and shaking his head.

Though the general hadn’t raised a complaint, Sonic was now acutely aware of just how long he’d been waiting. Sonic decided that if the general insisted on waiting for everyone else to be served, he’d have to speed things up a little as their remained dozens of soldiers awaiting food.

Sonic ran back towards the counter and, as quickly as Porker could plate food up, it was already being whizzed over to a table. A streak hanging in the air charting Sonic’s path was all that gave any indication he’d been there at all. The soldiers of the Royal Guard were amazed as Sonic managed to serve them all in a matter of seconds.

Sonic placed the final plate gently in front of the younger coyote, whose mouth held open in astonishment before he managed to stutter out a response, “Uh… s…sank you”

“Don’t thweat it,” Sonic teased before walking over to the general, “Now are you ready to eat?”

“Bon!” the general laughed, “Tres bon!”

Sonic couldn’t help but notice the general’s meal was no longer steaming, “Ah, I knew it’d go cold. Please, general, why don’t you let me reheat it?”

“Mon ami, I told you I’d explain why I like the pot-au-feu so much, non? Allow me to explain,” the general began eating, giving little concern to how warm his food was, “Many years ago, a great and benevolent king from my old country decreed that none in his kingdom should be so poor that they could not enjoy this meal. It became a staple among our people, young and old, rich and poor, peasant and monarch alike. As a show of solidarity, the king himself made it his own favoured dish. A simple gesture for one of such wealth, but he united the people of Mercia through the display. When the poorest farmer can eat a meal enjoyed by the wealthiest king in the continent of Eurish, that farmer feels rich. And when people feel rich, they feel happy- and happiness is the true wealth. This is why I never complain if this dish is served to me cold- if it is good enough for the hard-working farmer then it is good enough for his humble servant, the general of the army sworn to protect him”

Sonic couldn’t help but think the general was a remarkable man.

“But if you serve him spaghetti cold, he’ll flip his lid,” Colonel Sommersby interjected.

“Ah, cold spaghetti, I can scarcely think of anything worse!” the general wrinkled his nose.

“Lieutenant D’Coolette seems to be doing well with his training,” Colonel Stripe remarked.

“Ah, mon fils,” the general smiled warmly, “Every day he surpasses our expectations. The time fast approaches that he attains the rank of commander, non?”

“You know it’s down to you, don’t you?” Sommersby asked.

“To my training, you mean?” the general probed.

“No, you personally. Having you for a father is the reason the lad pushes himself so hard. Armand, the admiration he has for you is immeasurable- but surely you’ve seen the way he tenses up whenever you’re on duty?”

“As general of the king’s army, it would be wrong for me to give mon fils an easier time of things, non? There can be no nepotism in the service of the king. Only the best may rise through the ranks. If mon fils receives the rank of commander, you may be assured he has earned it”

Sonic smiled and headed over to the young coyote for a chat.

“Your dad’s pretty cool,” Sonic told the soldier, noticing Colonel Sommersby had been on the money- the lad certainly was jittery.

“Oh? Oh! Yes, mais oui, ha ha, he is a noble rule model,” the youngster replied.

“That’s ‘role model’, buddy,” Sonic held back a smirk.

“Ah, pardon, I have difficulty sometimes. You see, my father is from ze old country in Eurish and my mother is from Knothole on West Side Island. Zey decided to raise me to learn both languages- but for what reasons I cannot comprehend, my father taught me ze language of West Side Island and my mother taught me to speak ze old country language…”

“…meaning you have difficulty with both,” Sonic understood.

“Oui. But! It is not mattering! My duty is as lieutenant of ze Royal Guard- and one day I hope to reach ze commanding rank! Zere is no greater honour zan to defend ze king and his country!”

“I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. You seem like a pretty cool guy too,” Sonic outstretched his hand, “Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog”

The coyote smiled and gripped Sonic’s hand firmly, “Antoine D’Coolette, at your service. Pleased to be meeting you, Soneek ze ‘Edgehog”

Sonic smiled back. It didn’t seem worth the correction- he’d get it in time.

***

A couple of hours later, Sonic and his friends sat exhausted in the cleared-out diner. Serving food and keeping guests entertained was a lot harder than most people gave credit. And that was to say nothing of the dessert course. Sonic never wanted to see another strawberry gateau in his life.

Sonic, reclining on a table, looked up at the sky and pondered how strange the day had been. He’d met what seemed to be the entire royal family of a neighbouring nation, the royal court and the king’s army. That had to count as an unusual occurrence. Sonic thought of Antoine and how lucky he was to have such a great dad, eager to bring out the best in people while standing not as their superior but their equal. Then he thought of General Armand and how lucky he was to have such a great son, so willing to impress his father and do his duty to king and country. Sonic wondered what it might be like to live that sort of life, but quickly dismissed the thought- he had no particular desire for military service. Being told what to do wasn’t really his thing. Then again, he had just spent the last few hours as a waiter and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was almost as stressful as being a soldier.

“Alright, boys,” Uncle Chuck’s voice cut through the silence, “it really is a pleasure to say you’ve been a wonderful help today. You’ve earned those chilli dogs I promised and more beside”

The boys breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now, who’s going to help me cook them?”

A huge groan rose up from the young Mobians.

Uncle Chuck cackled, “I’m only joking! Take five, boys, I’ve got this one!”

Sonic relaxed. If he could have loosened himself up any more, he’d have probably turned to mush. It felt good to help out and he was happy to have done it- but it was hard work all the same.

Sonic became aware of a smiling canine face leaning over him as its owner sat down at the table Sonic was laid out on, “One chilli dog please”

“Can’t talk, Mutt,” Sonic groaned, “Dying”

Mutt smiled, “Yeah, well, I reckon you’re doing better than Rotor is”

Sonic sat up, “Who’s Rotor?”

“Oh, he’s a friend of ours. He’s an inventor too. Engineer, really, I suppose. We used to call him Boomer because half the stuff he made would blow up. Never stopped him from trying though! Moved here with his family. Seems his dad isn’t too happy about that”

Sonic raised an eyebrow, “His dad isn’t happy his son moved here with him?”

Ben shook his head, “His dad isn’t happy his wife left him and re-married before moving here with her new husband”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, they’re having it out now. Real cheery sort is Tundra, Rotor’s dad… if your idea of cheery is putting your hand inside moving gears”

Uncle Chuck brought over a huge platter piled high with chilli dogs, “Here you go, boys, dig in!”

Sonic sat up, “I’ll take mine to go, Uncle Chuck. Where did you say Rotor lived, Ben?”

On to Chapter 7