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 Four – The Time Drift at Plantation Gardens
Biscuits found so far:
1. Custard Cream
2. Jammy Dodger
3. Bourbon Cream
4. Shortie
5. Pink Wafer
6. Chocolate Finger
Still to find: 7. Nice Biscuit 8. Viennese Whirl 9. Ginger Nut 10. Party Ring
It was early morning when Lady Biscotti, Sir Dunkalot, Biggie, and Indy made their way toward the secret garden tucked behind a crumbling church wall. Plantation Gardens lay in the heart of Norwich, a quiet Victorian treasure just off Earlham Road — a place where time itself seemed to grow confused among the twisting paths and moss-covered stonework.
They weren’t sure what had drawn them there. The Family Circle tin had started to hum gently on the kitchen table, its lid shifting slightly. Sir Dunkalot had tilted his head and muttered, “It’s calling us.” Lady Biscotti, camera in hand and trench coat fastened with purpose, had simply nodded. They packed up and followed the trail.
Biggie loped along faithfully, his pale coat blending into the soft early light. His ears — which Lady Biscotti always said reminded her of gently flapping teatowels on a summer washing line — lifted at every new sound. Indy trotted close to Sir Dunkalot, sniffing the air with his usual calm, foxy alertness.
As they stepped through the wrought-iron gate, the moment they crossed the threshold, something shifted.
The morning sun dimmed slightly, as though filtered through a different kind of sky. The birdsong slowed. A rustling breeze passed through, but it didn’t seem to come from any direction.
Sir Dunkalot looked around. “Anyone else feel like the world’s just taken a step sideways?”
“It’s a time drift,” Lady Biscotti said quietly. “We’re not just walking through a garden anymore.”
Biggie gave a low whuff and trotted ahead, nose to the ground. Within moments, he paused beneath a flower-covered archway and looked back expectantly. There, nestled among the ivy at the base of the arch, was a single rectangular biscuit — plain, golden, and lightly sugared.
“The Nice Biscuit,” said Sir Dunkalot. “Number seven.”
Lady Biscotti approached slowly, carefully capturing the moment with her camera composing the shot with care, reverence even. The biscuit seemed untouched by time.
Just as she picked it up, a low chittering came from above. A squirrel — or something very much like one — perched on a ledge, staring down at the group with bright, knowing eyes. Before anyone could move, it darted down, snatched the biscuit in its tiny paws, and bounded off toward the fern-strewn rockery.
“Oi!” shouted Sir Dunkalot. “That’s ours!”
Biggie did not chase. He simply looked at Lady Biscotti, who nodded.
“I’ve got this,” she whispered.
Following carefully, she led the group through a maze of hedges and hidden staircases. The strange time-drift made every step feel like a memory and a dream rolled together. When they caught up with the creature, it was perched atop an ornate sundial, the biscuit resting beside it.
Lady Biscotti slowly approached and crouched down.
“You’re not just a squirrel, are you?”
The creature blinked once, dropped the Nice Biscuit respectfully at her feet, then disappeared behind the sundial — as if into thin air.
She picked up the biscuit, brushed it off, and placed it in the cloth pouch Biggie carried.
Seven down.
The air shimmered again. The sun returned to its usual brightness. The clock of the world ticked forward once more.
As they left the garden, Sir Dunkalot looked back. “That wasn’t just a biscuit chase, was it?”
Lady Biscotti smiled. “Nothing ever is.”
Blind Man Makes 