Inside sits a rusted but functional winch, its gears pitted but solid, bolted hard into the surrounding wood. A thick steel cable winds tightly around the spool, the coils uniform and, too neat for something abandoned. The line runs taut to a low, flat sledmounted on narrow metal rails that disappear into the black throat of the tunnel below.
I crouch, the boards groaning under my weight, and test the cable with a tug. It bites back with the steady tension of something anchored at the other end. My fingers skim the sled’s surface—smooth in places, gritty in others. Too smooth. Not much dust. No way this has been untouched for years.
Eva leans in beside me, her hair brushing my shoulder. “What the hell is that?”
I tug the cable again. This time, a faint metallic hum travels up through my hands, disappearing into the black gap beneath.
“Some kind of haul system,” I say slowly. “Too small for a person to ride, but perfect for moving crates.”
Her eyes meet mine, sharp. “Crates of what?”
“Smuggled goods, probably.”
She gives me a wide-eyed stare.
“What?” I ask. “Smuggling was a thriving business in these mountains. Tobacco, liquor, silk, salt, anything taxed higher in France than in Switzerland, or vice versa. Rohinn, being a stone’s throw from both borders?—”
“Is a perfect contraband hub,” she finishes.
I test the line once more. It’s still solid. Still alive under my grip.
“Someone’s kept this in working order,” I say.
Her voice tightens. “Recently?”
I dislike what this could imply as much as she does, so I pause before replying. But the dustless rails, the absence of cobwebs, and the metallic tang in the air all point in one direction.
“Looks like it,” I say.
Her lips part. “You think Geoffroy…?”
“No idea.” I drop the cable. “But if this smuggling route was his, it’s been used more recently than the big tunnel.”
We peer into the darkness. The beam catches rough stone and tool marks here and there.
“Could it be a natural cave?” she asks.
I crouch and run a hand along the wall. “Yes, possibly. Someone likely found a natural cave created by water and then widened it for smuggling.”
“How far do you think it goes?” she asks.
“Far enough to make me want to find out.”
She hesitates, eyes flicking toward the black gap. “Now?”
“Why not?” I duck into the opening first. “Come on, I got you.”
She nods.
I grab her by the waist and help her down. Once she’s inside, I take the flashlight from her and aim it along the rail hugging the packed earth. We start forward. She moves cautiously, her gaze flicking between the floor and the narrowing walls. I hold out my hand. She takes it, and I close my fingers firmly around hers as we follow the rail into the dark.
The tunnel constricts fast, the rough stone closing until her shoulder grazes mine with every step. The air turns cooler, damp enough to cling to the back of my throat, carrying that sharp mineral tang you only get deep underground.
The beam cuts across fresh scuff marks in the rock—low, along the rails—like something heavy’s been dragged through here.
After twenty or so meters, the ceiling dips and the walls squeeze in until the only way forward would be on hands and knees. The sled track disappears into the choke point, swallowed by shadow.
Eva exhales, her voice low. “That’s as far as I’m going without gear.”
