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 One – The Tin That Shouldn’t Be
Lady Biscotti sat at her desk, the biscuit tin still tightly sealed beside her. No lid had been lifted — not yet. But the tin glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat made of tea and time.
She leafed through her biscuit logbook, making careful notes.
“Four collected,” she murmured. “Custard cream, jammy dodger, bourbon cream, and shortie. Six more before the tin can be opened.”
Biggie snored gently at her feet, his large, pale labrador–retriever body curled around his biscuit pouch — which held the four precious biscuits they’d already gathered. Indy, the fox red labrador, lay nearby with his head resting on one paw, tail flicking each time Biggie snored a bit too loudly, normally it was Indy doing the snoring.
Sir Dunkalot stood near the window, sipping tea and looking out at the street. He wore his usual jeans and t-shirt, with his leather jacket draped over a chair behind him. He turned at the sound of paper fluttering.
Lady Biscotti had flipped to the next page in her notebook — and paused.
Two photographs slid out. Both of the Mushroom Men. Same wide smiles. Same glowing caps. But the backgrounds were different — one deep in woodland, the other beside a fallen log she swore they hadn’t passed twice.
She narrowed her eyes.
“I only remember meeting them once…”
Sir Dunkalot stepped closer. “Bit odd, that.”
Lady Biscotti scribbled a note into her field journal:
“Mushroom Men — duplicate sighting. Possible jamline disturbance. Timeline echo? Investigate further.”
Suddenly, the sealed tin gave a faint hum. Not an opening, not a signal — but something more like a warning. A flicker. A scent of raspberry and scorched paper on the air.
The jamlines were stirring again.
Lady Biscotti turned to her companions. “It’s time we prepared for the next part of the journey.”
“Do we have a plan?” Sir Dunkalot asked, brushing crumbs off the corner of the table.
“We find the remaining six biscuits. One at a time. Wherever they’re hiding.”
Biggie stood up and gave a long, slow stretch. Indy perked up, sensing action. The two dogs exchanged a look and padded to the door together, tails wagging in rhythm.
Lady Biscotti reached for her satchel. “Come on then. We’ve got crumbs to chase.”
To be continued.
Blind Man Makes 