The Truth

II,” said the wizard, who was glad there was a counter between him and Mr. Tulip. “Er…cutting edge.”
    “That’s good,” said Mr. Tulip. “We —ing love cutting edges.”
    “How does it work?” said Mr. Pin.
    “It’s got contextual help,” said the wizard. “All you have to do is, er, open the lid.”
    To the wizard’s horror a very thin knife appeared magically in his customer’s hand and was used to release the catch.
    The lid sprang back. A small green imp sprang up.
    “Bingely-bingely-bee—”
    It froze. Even a creation of biothaumic particles will hesitate when a knife is pressed to its throat.
    “What the hell’s this?” said Mr. Pin. “I said I want something that listens !”
    “It does listen, it does listen!” said the wizard hurriedly. “But it can say things too!”
    “Like what? Bingely-bingely?”
    The imp gave a nervous cough.
    “Good for you!” it said. “You have wisely purchased the Dis-organizer Mk II, the latest in biothaumaturgic design, with a host of useful features and no resemblance whatsoever to the Mk I, which you may have inadvertently destroyed by stamping on it heavily!” it said, adding, “This device is provided without warranty of any kind as to reliability, accuracy, existence or otherwise or fitness for any particular purpose and Bioalchemic Products specifically does not warrant, guarantee, imply or make any representations as to its merchantability for any particular purpose and furthermore shall have no liability for or responsibility to you or any other person, entity or deity with respect of any loss or damage whatsoever caused by this device or object or by any attempts to destroy it by hammering it against a wall or dropping it into a deep well or any other means whatsoever and moreover asserts that you indicate your acceptance of this agreement or any other agreement that may be substituted at any time by coming within five miles of the product or observing it through large telescopes or by any other means because you are such an easily cowed moron who will happily accept arrogant and unilateral conditions on a piece of highly priced garbage that you would not dream of accepting on a bag of dog biscuits and is used solely at your own risk.”
    The imp took a deep breath. “May I introduce to you the rest of my wide range of interesting and amusing sounds, Insert Name Here?”
    Mr. Pin glanced at Mr. Tulip. “All right.”
    “For example, I can go ‘tra-la!’”
    “No.”
    “An amusing bugle call?”
    “No.”
    “‘Ding!’?”
    “No.”
    “Or I can be instructed to make droll and diverting comments when performing various actions.”
    “Why?”
    “Er…some people like us to say things like ‘I’ll be back when you open the box again,’ or something like that…”
    “Why do you do noises?” said Mr. Pin.
    “People like noises.”
    “We don’t,” said Mr. Pin.
    “We —ing hate noises,” said Mr. Tulip.
    “Good for you! I can do lots of silence,” the imp volunteered. But suicidal programming forced it to continue: “And would you like a different color scheme?”
    “What?”
    “What color would you like me to be?” As it spoke, one of the imp’s long ears slowly turned purple and its nose became a vaguely disquieting shade of blue.
    “We don’t want any colors,” said Mr. Pin. “We don’t want noises. We don’t want cheerfulness. We just want you to do what you’re told.”
    “Perhaps you would like to take a moment to fill in your registration card?” said the imp desperately, holding it up.
    A knife thrown at snake speed snapped the card out of its hand and nailed it to the desk.
    “Or perhaps you would like to leave it until later…”
    “Your man here—” Mr. Pin began. “Where did he go?”
    Mr. Tulip reached behind the counter and hauled up the wizard.
    “Your man here says you’re one of those imps that can repeat everything you hear,” said Pin.
    “Yes, Insert Name Here, sir,” said the imp.
    “And you don’t make stuff up?”
    “They can’t,” the wizard panted. “They have no imagination at all.”
    “So if someone heard it, they’d know it was real?”
    “Yes, indeed.”
    “Sounds just the thing we’re looking for,” said Mr. Pin.
    “And how will you be paying?” said the wizard.
    Mr. Pin snapped his fingers. Mr. Tulip drew himself up and out, squared his shoulders, and cracked knuckles that were like two bags of pink walnuts.
    “Before we —ing talk about