Image Description (cover image): A warm, richly textured illustration shows a glowing Family Circle biscuit tin floating at the centre of a swirling vortex. Around it spin various baked goods — jam tarts, bread rolls, cinnamon buns, shortbread fingers — all being drawn into the jamline spiral. The colours are rich reds, oranges and golden yellows, with a nostalgic, storybook feel. At the top, the words “Something’s Wrong with Time” appear in cream lettering. At the bottom, the title reads: “A Crumble in Time.”
Chapter Eight: The Bakery of Tomorrow
The jamlines jolted.
One moment the biscuit tin hummed with calm purpose — the next, it roared like a kettle left too long on the hob. Jamlights blinked blue. The crumb-dials whirred backwards. Then forwards. Then sideways.
Sir Dunkalot gripped the rail. “That’s new.”
Lady Biscotti narrowed her eyes at the scroll. “This isn’t taking us to a past bakehouse…”
The tin lurched.
Then stopped.
Silence.
Biggie sniffed the air nervously. Indy growled at the lid.
Lady Biscotti gave a cautious nod and opened it.
They were no longer in Norfolk. Not any Norfolk they knew.
They stepped out into a dazzling, gleaming city made entirely of baking innovation. Neon-lit scone towers, conveyor belts made of pastry, ovens that hovered. The air was warm, rich with the smell of cinnamon steam and reactive custard foam.
A large holographic sign glowed above them:
“WELCOME TO NOURICHE 2099 — WHERE THE FUTURE IS BAKED.”
Sir Dunkalot blinked. “Nouriche?”
“Norwich,” Lady Biscotti corrected. “Just… not yet.”
A group of delivery drones zipped past, each carrying a glowing box labelled Quantum Crumble™.
A voice echoed from somewhere unseen:
“Please remember — all muffin uploads must be stabilised before serving.”
Biggie’s hackles raised. Indy barked at a robotic eclair that wheeled itself down the street.
Suddenly, a figure on a floating doughnut approached.
It was a humanoid baker with cyber-whisks for arms, a chef’s hat made of steam, and glowing jam lenses for eyes.
“You’re not authorised for the Yeast Sector,” it said flatly. “State your roll.”
Lady Biscotti gave her best diplomatic nod. “We’re the Biscuit Detectives. We’re… doing historical restoration.”
The baker-bot scanned them, beeped once, then handed over a circular object.
It was a digital digestive — a kind of edible hard drive.
Inside, a map of the timeline pulsed — with missing patches, like crumbs eaten away by time itself.
“The past has become corrupted,” the baker-bot said. “A rogue archive entry called ‘Project SoftBun’ has begun overwriting classic recipes. It’s baking itself into history.”
Sir Dunkalot frowned. “Are you saying the future’s being… baked incorrectly?”
Lady Biscotti studied the data. “If we don’t fix this, we’ll lose everything. No past. No tradition. Just spray-on snacks and dehydrated jam cubes.”
Biggie gave a mournful huff. Indy covered his eyes.
Suddenly, a warning blared across the sky:
“Temporal Bake-field Overload. Unstable Crumb Detected. All ovens brace for feedback.”
The tin shook.
“Time to go!” Lady Biscotti shouted. “We’ve seen the future — and it’s flaky.”
They scrambled back into the tin as a giant sourdough turbine exploded in a puff of powdered sugar.
The lid slammed shut just as the sky cracked open and the world was pulled into another jamline loop.
Inside the tin, it was calm again.
But the team looked pale.
“That,” Sir Dunkalot whispered, “was way too much yeast for one day.”
Blind Man Makes 