By the time the goat catches up, a space yawns between First Circle and escape. The goat’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t slow down, glare fixed on her target. Hooves kick on plasteel, then air, as she sails over the water, a meteor, malevolent. Vesper points, delighted. ‘G—’ Her shadow falls across the Vagrant who turns, too slow to escape fate. ‘—oat!’ Man becomes crash mat and the boat rocks, water spraying up, dappling faces.
