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 Seven – Beneath The Flour Vault
The jamline was growing jittery.
As the biscuit tin twisted through time, the jam-powered dials flickered strangely. The jamlights pulsed purple instead of red. Sir Dunkalot tapped the glass nervously.
“Is it supposed to sound like that?” he asked, above the echoing clunks.
Lady Biscotti didn’t answer. She was focused on the scroll from King’s Lynn — the one with the corrupted shortbread recipe and the message from Pruitt.
Biggie gave a low whine as the tin lurched sideways.
Then — clunk — it landed.
Not with a bang. Not with a bounce.
But a muffled thud, like being dropped onto a bag of flour.
Lady Biscotti opened the lid cautiously. A cool, musty smell drifted in — and something else… a scent like old yeast, secrets, and powdered sugar.
“Where are we?” Sir Dunkalot muttered.
They emerged slowly into a subterranean chamber, lit by the warm flicker of gas lamps and lined with shelves of… bread.
Flatbreads, bloomers, rye rolls, and plaited loaves — all neatly arranged in glass cabinets like museum pieces.
Lady Biscotti turned slowly. “I think we’re in some kind of underground bakery archive.”
Biggie sniffed the air. Indy trotted ahead and let out a short bark.
A faded sign by the wall read:
“The Norfolk Flour Vault – Est. 1889” A secret archive for the preservation of rare recipes and forgotten bakery artefacts.
Sir Dunkalot looked impressed. “This is where the baking world really keeps its history.”
Lady Biscotti brushed flour dust from a display case. Inside was an ancient bun, sealed in glass, labelled: “The First Cinnamon Swirl (disputed).”
Another display showed the faded blueprint for something called a “Clockwork Crumpet Flipper.”
Suddenly, a soft rustling echoed from deeper in the vault.
Lady Biscotti raised her camera.
Out of the shadows shuffled a short figure in a white apron and flour-smudged spectacles.
They looked up.
“Oh!” the figure said. “Visitors?”
Sir Dunkalot blinked. “Are… are you the archivist?”
The figure gave a bashful smile. “Call me Crustina. Keeper of crumbs.”
Lady Biscotti stepped forward. “We’re following a tampered shortbread recipe. From Pruitt’s Pantry in 1923. It had strange additions… berries.”
Crustina nodded gravely. “Yes. We’ve seen the corruption spreading. Recipes rewritten. Rolls that never rose. Even a custard tart that turned savoury.”
Sir Dunkalot shuddered. “The horror.”
Crustina opened a locked cabinet and produced a scroll. “This may help. It’s the original shortbread formula. Passed down crumb to crumb.”
Lady Biscotti unrolled it beside the corrupted version. As the two papers touched, a faint golden glow pulsed between them.
The false ingredients evaporated. The recipe reset.
Biggie wagged his tail. Indy sneezed.
“History restored,” Crustina said with quiet satisfaction. “But the vault’s been unstable since the jamlines started fraying. You need to keep going.”
Lady Biscotti nodded. “One last thing. Do you know what this symbol means?”
She pointed to the stone carving from King’s Lynn — the circle of shortbread wedges with one missing.
Crustina’s eyes widened.
“That’s not just a symbol. That’s a map.”
“A map to what?” Sir Dunkalot asked.
Crustina lowered her voice.
“To the original biscuit. The first one ever baked.”
There was silence.
Lady Biscotti closed the scrolls and tucked them away.
“Then that’s where we’re going next,” she said.
And with a nod of thanks to Crustina, the Biscuit Detectives stepped back into the tin — the lid clicking shut as the vault shimmered away into flour-dusted memory.
Blind Man Makes 