Janco flopped onto his bedroll. They’d set up a small temporary camp that could be quickly abandoned without too many tears.

Ari settled next to him. He dug a piece of jerky from his pack and chewed on it. “Let’s face it. We can’t complete this mission. The risk of getting caught is too high, and even if we did manage to escape, we might tip our hand, ruining Valek’s plans.”

Janco disliked failing. Very much. He lay back and stared up at the darkness. However, he agreed with his partner. They lacked recourses. Nothing here but dirt, leaves, bushes, trees—

An idea popped into his heat. What an idiot!

He jumped to his feet. “Ari, do you still have that rope?”

“Yes. Why?”

“’Cause I have a plan.”

“The guards—”

“Won’t suspect a thing.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause I’m not gonna try to go through them. I’m gonna go over their heads.” He pointed up to the tree canopy.

“Nice.”

* * *

The plan was simple and easy, which should have clued Janco in that it wouldn’t be as simple or as easy as he’d thought. First, using a rope to climb a tree required a lot of upper body strength. The darkness complicated things as well. Hard to find handholds when you couldn’t see your hands.

Once he reached the upper limbs, he didn’t need as much muscle. He wound the rope around his waist. However, in order to keep the noise of his passage from tree to tree as quiet as possible, he inched along the branches, which meant he probably sounded like a fat, out-of-shape Valmur. At one point, he imagined the soldiers below having a great laugh as they took bets on how far he’d get before plummeting to his death.

Good thing he wasn’t afraid of heights. Or was he? A limb dipped with his weight. He clutched another while his heart swung from rib to rib. Easy there. When his pulse returned to—well, not normal, but not thumping as if his life depended on it—he transferred his feet to a thicker perch. Whew.

When he’d moved far enough away from the ring of protection, Janco unwound the rope and tied it to a sturdy trunk. Going down was easier on his arms but burned his palms. Once on solid ground, Janco paused, listening for sounds that he’d been discovered. All quiet.

Ghosting through the forest, Janco kept to the shadows as he aimed for the building they’d suspected housed the officers and other important people. Not many windows had been installed, probably for security purposes. A few people hustled between the structures even this late at night. Since he was dressed for the part, Janco strolled into the open as if he belonged there.

No one even glanced at him. Janco entered the building and paused. Lanterns lit the corridors, illuminating closed doors. Now what? He couldn’t knock on each one and inquire where he might find the Master Gardener...or could he? Maybe pretend there was an emergency?

No. Too risky. He’d just have to do it the old-fashioned way. Once he’d checked all three stories—same design as the ground floor—Janco retreated outside. A few hours remained until dawn. Ari knew not to expect Janco back until the next evening. Janco snooped around a bit but, finding nothing interesting, he returned to Oran’s building. Locating a hidden spot with a view of the entrance, he settled into a comfortable position to wait.

Good thing Oran was one of the first to leave, which confirmed he resided there. Now Janco just needed to occupy himself for the rest of the day. He followed a few people to a canteen. He stole a couple apples and a banana. Then he joined a team hauling vines from the hothouses to a factory. No one questioned him. Everyone looked stressed and harried, so he fit right in.

He kept an eye on Oran as the day turned into night. The man worked inside the hothouses almost nonstop. Late that night, he swung by the canteen, ate supper and headed to his quarters. When Oran reached the door, Janco was a few steps behind him. Oran climbed to the third floor without realizing he had a tail. Only when Janco followed him down the corridor did the man become suspicious.

“What are—”

Janco placed the tip of his knife on Oran’s throat. “Quiet. I don’t want you to wake your neighbors.”

Oran swallowed.

“Your room,” Janco ordered. When he didn’t move, Janco pressed a little harder. “Now.”

The man led him to the last door on the left. Fumbling for a key, Oran finally managed to unlock it. The light from the hallway illuminated a spartan room. Janco pushed him inside.

Oran stumbled a few steps, then spun to face him. “I recognize you.”

“Good, that’ll save time on the introductions, Oran Zaltana.”

Alarmed, the man straightened.

“It took us a while to discover that you’re the Cartel’s Master Gardener.”

“I’m not—”

Janco held up a hand. “Save it.” He pointed to the lantern on the night table. “Light that, and then sit down.”

Oran hesitated until Janco stepped closer. Then he hurried to strike a spark. Once yellow glowed from the element, Oran settled on the unmade bed. Janco closed the door. The man fisted the blanket in fear when Janco advanced.

“You’ll never—”

Janco didn’t wait for the rest of the warning. He jabbed Oran with a dart filled with goo-goo juice. Many people had tried telling him he’d never get away with it or that he’d never leave the place alive. And those same people were always wrong. Just once, Janco would love to hear a truly unique threat.