Image description: A digital illustration in a whimsical storybook style shows Lady Biscotti, Sir Dunkalot, Biggie, and Indy in their cosy base of operations. The biscuit tin sits in the centre of a cluttered desk, glowing faintly with golden light. Lady Biscotti, glamorous with feathered platinum blonde hair, examines her field notebook with a serious gaze. Sir Dunkalot, in jeans and a t-shirt, stands near the window with his leather jacket resting on a chair behind him. Biggie, a large pale labrador–retriever, sleeps curled up on the rug. Indy, a fox red labrador, lies nearby, alert. The walls are lined with biscuit-related maps, mushroom photos, and glowing string lines connecting clues.
Chapter Two – The Whispering Heath
So far, four biscuits had been found: the custard cream, jammy dodger, bourbon cream, and shortie. That left six to go — and next on the list was the elusive pink wafer.
It was a chilly afternoon when the tin hummed again.
A strange warmth pulsed from beneath the kitchen dresser where the Family Circle tin sat locked shut. A soft pink glow, barely noticeable, shimmered from the base — and Lady Biscotti, who had just been reviewing her notes with Sir Dunkalot, looked up sharply.
“The jamlines are shifting again,” she said.
Sir Dunkalot raised an eyebrow. “where are we heading this time?”
Lady Biscotti nodded. “Mousehold Heath. That’s where the pull is strongest.”
Within the hour, the team — Lady Biscotti in a tailored trench coat with camera over her shoulder, Sir Dunkalot in his leather jacket and jeans, and the two Labradors, Biggie and Indy — were trudging through the edge of the sprawling woodland. The fading sun filtered through branches like ribbons of amber light, casting strange shadows on the winding paths.
They hadn’t gone far when Biggie halted abruptly. His ears pricked, and his nose twitched with interest. He turned his head sharply, then glanced back at Lady Biscotti. Without a word, she reached for her camera and crouched low. Fungi were growing here — velvet-capped, lichen-dusted clusters curling from an old log like forgotten secrets.
“Bracket fungus,” she murmured, brushing away a leaf to get a clearer view.
Sir Dunkalot kept watch nearby. “There’s something about this place… it’s like the air itself remembers things.”
Indy gave a soft bark, ears flicking toward a dense cluster of trees up ahead.
That’s when they heard it: faint footsteps — too light for a person, too deliberate for an animal.
Lady Biscotti straightened, her voice low. “We’re not alone.”
From the shadows emerged three familiar figures. Mushroom-shaped, cloak-draped, and carrying glowing lanterns made of hollowed-out acorns — it was the Mushroom Men. But not just Shiitake, Portobello, and Chanterelle. A fourth figure stood with them — smaller, their features obscured by a mossy hood.
Shiitake stepped forward and bowed slightly. “We meet again, Lady Biscotti.”
“You remember us,” Portobello added, his tone warm but cautious.
Lady Biscotti nodded, puzzled. “Of course. From the forest beyond Ketts Heights.”
Button stepped forward and pulled back their hood. They had a gentle smile and soft eyes. “You’ve met us twice already,” they said quietly. “But something in the jamlines is fractured. Perhaps that meeting happened twice for a reason.”
Sir Dunkalot glanced at Lady Biscotti. “Could be why things have felt… off.”
The Mushroom Men led them deeper into the trees where the ground dipped into a hollow filled with whispering ferns. At its centre sat an ancient tree stump, cracked open like a box — and inside, nestled among dry leaves, lay the unmistakable glint of a pink wafer.
“We found it here,” Chanterelle said. “But it isn’t safe to stay.”
“Why not?” Sir Dunkalot asked, stepping closer.
A gust of cold air rustled the leaves. In its wake came a sour scent — faint but growing. It was the unmistakable tang of overripe fruit.
Lady Biscotti looked toward the trees. “Something’s coming. We need to take the biscuit and go.”
Biggie gave a low groan, ears flapping in the wind as he turned to face the path behind them. Indy stood beside him, alert and ready.
The wafer was carefully lifted and placed into Biggie’s biscuit pouch — now five pieces of the key safely stored.
The Mushroom Men bowed once more. “Stay watchful. The jamlines are fraying.”
And just like that, they slipped back into the trees, vanishing as if swallowed by the forest.
Lady Biscotti adjusted her camera and whispered, “Something rotten stirs in the jamlines.”
They turned and hurried back through the woodland, the light fading, the mystery deepening, and the quest for the next biscuit just beginning…
Blind Man Makes 