I was at the site fifteen minutes early—I didn't have what it took to wait any longer—but bug-boy had beaten me to it. The Insect shaman was sitting on a wooden bench in the shadow of the statue, gazing out over the surf with his glassy eyes. I don't think he could have heard me coming, and I knew he couldn't have seen me unless he had a third glassy eye in the back of his skull. Yet he turned when I was still fifteen meters away, and watched as I slowly walked over.