“How does it feel?” Harold reached out to smooth a crease in the play-dough of Golem-Dill's new arm.”
“mm ooroo oo oo.” The mouth moved but nothing intelligible came out.
Harold turned away, pulling Devious into a hunched huddle and lowering his voice. “I can't understand a word he's saying. Did he suddenly lose so much intelligence he'll have to work as a reporter?”
The imp stifled a snort of laughter. “As far as I know, there's no intelligence loss during soul transferral, Master. If there was, Hell would be a doddle and Heaven would be full.”
“mm mm moor roo, roo o.”
“Then how do we account for his inability to form coherent vocalisations? Is there a disconnection between the spirit and the golem housing?”
“I doubt it, Master.”
“Is the material too soft to allow the golem control of its component parts?”
“It worked all right at your mum's, you said. If it worked for a spider it should work for a Dill.”
“Yes, that's what I thought.” Harold chewed at his bottom lip as he turned back to look at the golem. It was a good job, though John's anatomy art classes must have been with some extremely well-endowed gentlemen. He'd have to find the lad some clothes before too much time elapsed. “Did I muff up the control sigils, do you suppose?”
“Possible, Master. You haven't the memory of a demon. Not yet, anyway.”
“So it's my fault?” Harold patted the golem's arm. “Terribly sorry, old chap.” Dill's new eyes were extraordinarily expressive, though they'd have to try the wig soon, the bald head made him look like a young Bruce Willis but with personality replacing the muscles.
“oro oor oom”
Harold stared at the golem's face as it tried to speak, the turned back to the imp. “You did put a tongue in, didn't you?”