Their rhino is still moving. Their rhino is, in fact, picking up pace — a wonder of both zoology and architecture, given the otherwise frail and collapsing state of the arena. Hector should try harder to squeeze his thighs around one animal and his arms around the second and not bask in the brilliance of their surroundings — but something about imminent death stokes that impulse to take the view in. Remember it. Breathe his last.

Inevitably, it doesn't come. We're going to stay out of their way. Either they're outrunning the second rhinoceros, or they're diving or steering at the last moment, and far from Hector to question the strategies of his betters, but an idea strikes with sudden, rare acuity.

"There. Charge there." He tries, to the best of ability, to wave his hand to Jacob's left without distracting him from controlling the reins or obstructing his vision. He points, haphazardly, towards a wooden balcony that was no doubt constructed to give noblemen a premium view of the proceedings — and that now wobbles on one shoddy, eroding wooden pillar. Beneath the balcony is the animal entrance of the arena. If they can get there...

"Take down the pillar. It'll bring the balcony on their heads, if they follow." Biding Hector and Jacob the time to dash inside and scatter, whether they do or don't.