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 Six – The Whispering Whirl
Biscuits found so far:
1. Custard Cream
2. Jammy Dodger
3. Bourbon Cream
4. Shortie
5. Pink Wafer
6. Chocolate Finger
7. Nice Biscuit
8. Party Ring
Still to find: 9. Viennese Whirl 10. Ginger Nut
It was a crisp, golden morning when the Biscuit Detectives found themselves in the cobbled charm of Norwich’s historic Elm Hill. The street shimmered with a quiet kind of magic—rows of crooked timber-framed buildings leaning like old friends whispering secrets. Lady Biscotti paused to take in the details: the lace-curtained windows, the scent of baking from a distant oven, and the soft crunch of leaves beneath her boots.
Sir Dunkalot adjusted the strap of his satchel and glanced up the winding hill. “You ever feel like some places know we’re coming?”
Biggie gave a sigh that was somewhere between tired and unimpressed. Indy, alert as ever, sniffed the breeze and wagged his tail, just once.
“We’re close,” Lady Biscotti said quietly. “I can feel it. There’s a biscuit nearby… and not just any biscuit.”
Their path led them past crooked shops and forgotten passageways, until they reached a building none of them remembered seeing before. Wedged between a leather merchant and a dusty print shop stood a tiny storefront with a faded sign that read: The Whirling Curiosity.
It shouldn’t have been there. But it was.
The window display held only a single item: a glass cloche, inside which sat a biscuit with the unmistakable swirl of a Viennese Whirl. The group exchanged glances.
Sir Dunkalot reached for the door handle. “Well… no use pretending we’re not going in.”
A soft chime rang as they entered. The air inside smelled of sugar, time, and something indefinably peculiar. The shop was cramped, the walls lined with biscuit tins from decades past. Little trinkets spun slowly on strings that hung from the ceiling. A cuckoo clock shaped like a custard cream ticked softly in the corner.
Behind the counter sat an old woman with a spark in her eyes and flour dust on her fingertips.
“Looking for something sweet,” she said, “or something… strange?”
Lady Biscotti stepped forward. “We’re on a very particular quest.”
The woman chuckled. “Aren’t we all, dear.”
She nodded toward the cloche.
“The Whirl listens,” she said. “Some say it hears the whispers of the Jamlines. Some say it’s just a biscuit with a good swirl. But I think you already know it’s more than that.”
Lady Biscotti hesitated only briefly before lifting the glass dome. The moment her fingers brushed the biscuit, a hush fell over the room. The clock stopped ticking. The air turned cool.
Voices, distant and echoing, filled the space like the memory of a storm.
“…the jam will run backwards… follow the trail… broken time… the final nut…”
Biggie stirred uncomfortably and shifted his weight. Indy tilted his head and gave a quiet whine.
Lady Biscotti gently placed the Viennese Whirl into Biggie’s biscuit pouch, securing it carefully alongside the others.
Sir Dunkalot glanced at the old woman. “What was that?”
“Echoes,” she said simply. “Of places you haven’t been yet.”
He turned to thank her—but the counter was empty. The woman was gone.
So was the shop.
They stepped back out into the cool Norwich morning, blinking in the daylight. Behind them, the storefront now displayed antique chairs. No sign of The Whirling Curiosity at all.
No one on Elm Hill seemed to have noticed a thing.
Lady Biscotti pulled her coat tight against the breeze. “One biscuit left,” she said. “And I’ve got a feeling it won’t be waiting on a shelf.”
Sir Dunkalot narrowed his eyes at the rooftops ahead. “Let’s hope the final nut isn’t as stubborn as the last one.”
Biggie gave a grunt.
Indy barked once.
They walked on.
But far above them, nestled in a twisted rooftop gutter, a small shape watched with gleaming eyes and a crumb-covered paw.
Something had been listening, too.
Blind Man Makes 