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 Nine – The Bread Rebellion of Blickling
The jamlines spun slower now — pulsing with exhaustion, like even time itself needed a tea break.
The tin thudded softly as it landed. Lady Biscotti opened the lid.
“Fresh air,” Sir Dunkalot muttered. “Smells… yeasty.”
They stepped out into the courtyard of Blickling Hall, though not as they’d ever seen it before. The grand estate was surrounded by wheat fields in full harvest, but the air was tense. Banners waved overhead — one read:
“Knead Us or Lose Us!”
Dozens of bakery folk had gathered — sourdough soldiers, rye rebels, wholemeal warriors, all brandishing baguettes like batons and oatcakes like shields.
A crusty old leader stood atop a wooden crate, his brioche beard fluttering in the breeze. “We demand to be toasted with dignity!”
Sir Dunkalot blinked. “Is that… a bread revolution?”
Lady Biscotti scanned the crowd. “Something’s changed. This isn’t how things were recorded.”
A wholemeal historian in a tweed crust coat approached. “You must be from the past,” he whispered. “We’re fighting for baking rights. The loaf laws are being rewritten — history is trying to erase bread from the baking records.”
Indy let out a concerned woof.
A large banner dropped down the side of the hall: “All Glory to the Crumb Collective — No Slices, No Masters!”
Biggie barked once — a warning.
Up on the balcony of Blickling Hall, a shadow moved.
A mysterious figure in a cloak — tall, flour-dusted, wearing a crusted glove. They raised a loaf into the air and shouted:
“Down with dry biscuits! Bread is the future!”
Sir Dunkalot looked stunned. “I think we’ve found the source of the timeline distortion.”
Lady Biscotti narrowed her eyes. “No. This isn’t the source. It’s a reaction. Something else came before this. Someone’s altered the records, turned bakers against each other.”
A rye soldier turned to them. “Will you help us? We don’t want to erase biscuits. We just want to be remembered too.”
Lady Biscotti smiled gently. “We’re not here to pick sides. We’re here to restore balance.”
The bread army parted, revealing an old recipe scroll smouldering in the fire pit.
Lady Biscotti rushed forward and pulled it from the flames.
Half-burnt, but legible, were the words: “Blickling Seed Loaf – Traditional, 1642”
Sir Dunkalot dusted it off. “This… this is the lost recipe. The one from the estate’s original kitchen archive.”
The crowd went quiet.
Then one oatcake warrior stepped forward. “Does this mean… we’re part of the story again?”
Lady Biscotti nodded. “You always were.”
With that, the jamlines shimmered, drawing them back toward the tin.
As the crowd waved farewell and the revolution softened into a reunion, the team returned to the tin — carrying the half-saved scroll and a deeper understanding of the story they were really in.
Not just biscuits.
Everything baked.
Blind Man Makes 