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 Seven — The Final Crumb
Biscuits found so far: Custard Cream, Jammy Dodger, Bourbon Cream, Shortie, Pink Wafer, Chocolate Finger, Nice Biscuit, Viennese Whirl, Party Ring Still to find: Ginger Nut
Morning mist curled around the rooftops of Norwich like steam from a warm teacup. But the kitchen of the Biscuit Detectives was anything but still. Lady Biscotti was packing her camera bag, Sir Dunkalot was tapping a pencil against his empty mug, and both Biggie and Indy were pacing by the door like they knew something big was coming.
“Only one biscuit to go,” Sir Dunkalot muttered. “One last crumb, and we unlock the tin.”
Lady Biscotti checked the list again. “It’s the Ginger Nut. And I think I know where it might be.”
Biggie gave a soft huff, as if to say: Finally.
“We’ve danced through gardens, ruins, even a chocolate-scented shopping centre,” she continued. “But I think this last clue… well, it’s been shouting at us the whole time.”
Sir Dunkalot raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mean—”
“I do,” said Lady Biscotti with a grin. “Carrow Road.”
Carrow Road was quiet when they arrived. The tour guide, an enthusiastic custard tart of a man named Terry, led them through a private early-access visit — a perk, it turned out, of Lady Biscotti’s honorary lifetime membership with the Delia Smith Biscuit & Baking Society.
They stepped through the players’ tunnel, their footsteps echoing along the concrete floor. Biggie’s claws clicked sharply with each step, while Indy walked like he owned the pitch.
“Smell that?” Sir Dunkalot said. “Freshly cut grass and half-time Bovril. Takes me back.”
They passed through the changing rooms — a mix of boot polish, pine disinfectant and deep sporting history — and finally emerged pitch-side under the East Stand.
Lady Biscotti looked up at the looming seats. “This is where she said it.”
“Let’s be ‘aving you?” Sir Dunkalot said, half smiling.
Lady Biscotti nodded. “Right here.”
She took a deep breath, cupped her hands, and shouted up into the empty stadium:
“LET’S BE ‘AVING YOU!”
The sound bounced off the empty stands like a challenge. There was a long pause.
Then — clink!
A faint metallic rattle echoed from one of the high rows. They all turned.
There, lodged between seats in the back row of the Barclay Stand, was a small glint of orange.
Lady Biscotti didn’t hesitate. She climbed the stairs two at a time, Sir Dunkalot behind her, and found the object tucked precisely under Seat B26.
A perfect football sized Ginger Nut, glowing faintly with biscuit energy.
She reached out. As soon as her fingers touched it, the biscuit pulsed once with golden light — then gently shrank to its proper size. The final piece.
Biggie opened his biscuit pouch like a seasoned professional. Indy gave a low approving woof.
Back home, the team stood in silence around the Family Circle tin. Lady Biscotti placed the Ginger Nut into the final slot. The lid hummed, clicked, then opened with a soft hiss.
The tin began to expand — creaking upward and outward until it stood tall enough to walk into. Inside, glowing dials, biscuit-run gears, and jam-lit panels blinked into life. On a central pedestal rested an aged, crinkled recipe scroll.
Sir Dunkalot stepped forward. “Where chocolate once was,” he read, “a crumb remains.”
Lady Biscotti’s eyes gleamed. “It’s taking us back. But not too far…”
Biggie barked softly. Indy wagged once.
Together, they stepped inside. As the lid closed behind them, the tin shimmered, shrank, and vanished.
The Biscuit Detectives were on their way.
To be continued…
Blind Man Makes 