If somepony made their way around the right corners and down the wrong alleyways, moved a few crates or squeezed through a certain window, they’d find a passageway that led down, down, down below the streets where the sun never shone. If they carried a lantern or had the glow of a unicorn’s horn, they would plunge further and further into the shadows, through old tunnels, through catacombs pockmarked with alcoves filled with the bones of the ancient dead, or through reeking sewers.
At the end of that journey, that wandering pony would find a crude meeting room with tables and revolutionary literature and the barest supplies. No revolutionaries were there, but if that adventurous pony were an imperial guard or a legionnaire, they’d likely grin and say to themselves, “Ah ha, I’ve found the Shiners’ hideout!”
If they were a Shiner, of course, they’d know to keep going...
Of course, once in a rare while, one of these fake hideouts would be found by Imperials or just some overcurious foal, but the Shiners had secret signs and marks along the tunnels, and a path, once exposed, would never be taken again. For all their patience and stake-outs, the Imperials never managed to ambush a single Shiner.
Jackanapes strolled his way through just such a false hideout, made his way to the “latrine,” turned the lock back and forth exactly four times, pulled the chain for the flush, and waited as the false wall to the left swung open.
He stepped into the tunnel, shut the door behind him, and made his way down a carved stone staircase until he eventually reached a mural painted in luminous paint that glowed in the darkness. It depicted the sun encircled by ponies of all three races.
He placed his hoof against the mural.
“Whoever strives in ceaseless toil,” he recited, “him may we grant redemption.”
The mural shimmered and dissolved into thin air, leaving the way unbarred. He walked forward as the glamour reasserted itself and sealed the entrance behind him.
And with just a few more steps, he arrived at the Rabbit Hole.
He made his way to the main chamber, and it opened out into the main chamber of the cavern, with pathways and alcoves carved into the very rock itself. Electric lights lined each pathway, and lanterns hung from stalactites in the ceiling, each giving a glow that illuminated the ponies who went here and there, casting their long shadows on the stone walls.
“Jack?” a mare gasped when she saw him stroll through the entryway. “Jack! It’s you!”
“An’ who else would it be, pray tell?” he quipped as several more of his comrades swarmed him.
“We heard there was a raid!”
“They’re talking about an earther who flew with metal wings! I knew it was you!”
“Can’t believe it… when we heard about the guards—”
“Ahem.”
They all turned at the sharp sound of somepony clearing his throat. A tan pony with a closely trimmed mane walked up to Jackanapes.
“You’re back,” he said with a short nod. “Good.”
“Blimey, Eagle, no need to get all gushy on me,” he said, dramatically placing his hoof on his chest. “Why, what will all these ponies think, seein’ you make a fuss over ickle old me?”
The other ponies chuckled, but Eagle’s gaze remained unwavering.
“The Octopus wants to see you, Jackanapes,” he said flatly. “She’s in the lab.”
“When ain’t she?” Jack said with a sniff. “Well, I’ve run meself ragged gettin’ back here, so she’ll understand if I take a quick break an’—”
“Now, Jack,” he said. His voice was still even and his eyes were still calm, but the firmness of the order was unmistakable.
“Well, it seems I’ll be grabbin’ a pint and a nap later, then,” he groaned. “Fine, fine, tell ol’ Octy I’ll be right there.”
Eagle nodded and walked off to relay the message.
“Well, me fellow clods, seems I’ll have to share my tale another day,” he said to his gathered friends. “But fear not, I’ll regale you with an account of my daring escape at Rockhoof’s Well this very evening!”
Amid a few cries of protest and promises to meet up later, Jackanapes trotted off down the central path of the cavern, heading deeper inside and off toward the lab.