Image description: The YeastEnders village of Walnutford, with baked-goods characters gathered in Almond Square outside The Queen Victoria Sponge.
The footsteps grew louder.
Peggy Cherry Bakewell looked back towards Unit Three.
Bruno was behind them.
Whoever was coming from the mill was ahead.
Phil the Pudding whispered, “Any third options?”
Sticky Nick tried a door in the tunnel wall.
Locked.
“Apparently not.”
Parker Pastry pulled a small key from his battered leather case.
Nick stared at him.
“How many keys have you got in there?”
“Enough.”
The door opened onto another narrow passage.
Everyone piled through.
Peggy was last.
“Where does this go?”
Parker locked the door behind them.
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Excellent.”
They followed the passage until it ended at a tiny underground storeroom.
Rye-vita found another crate.
She opened it.
More sprinkles.
Peggy sighed.
“If I see another hundred and thousand today, I’m going to start counting them.”
Parker examined the crate.
“These aren’t being smuggled.”
Phil held up a packet.
“They’re in a secret tunnel.”
“They’re being moved through the network.”
“That’s usually what smuggling is.”
Parker shook his head.
“Look at the labels.”
Rye-vita checked several crates.
Different businesses.
Different destinations.
The Queen Victoria Sponge.
Ye Olde Crumb and Butter.
The old flour mill.
Two addresses in Crumbford.
One outside Walnutford.
Sticky Nick understood first.
“They’re testing the routes.”
Parker nodded.
“Cheap goods. Easy to replace. Nobody cares if a box of sprinkles goes missing.”
Peggy folded her arms.
“I care now.”
Rye-vita pulled out her notebook.
“So if the sprinkles are the test, what are they planning to move?”
Parker didn’t answer.
Then Dot Crumble spoke.
“The book.”
Everyone turned.
“What book?” asked Peggy.
Dot adjusted her sugar-dusted glasses.
“The old one.”
“That has cleared everything up beautifully.”
Dot ignored her.
“Years ago, there was a book kept underneath Almond Square.”
“A ledger?” said Parker.
“If that’s what you call a big brown book full of names nobody was supposed to read.”
“Where did you see it?”
“I didn’t.”
Peggy stared at her.
“Dot.”
“My husband did.”
Nobody spoke.
Dot continued.
“He came home one evening complaining that somebody had left a book where the beer barrels were supposed to go.”
Parker went quiet.
“The First Layer ledger.”
Sticky Nick frowned.
“You knew about this?”
“I knew there were records. I never knew where they ended up.”
Rye-vita closed her notebook.
“And what’s in it?”
“Everything.”
Parker explained.
The First Layer had kept one master record. Real owners behind false businesses. Payments. Storage agreements. Delivery routes. Names that never appeared on official paperwork.
Peggy pointed back towards the tunnels.
“And whoever is above Bruno wants it.”
“They can’t afford anyone else finding it.”
A heavy bang came from the locked door.
Bruno.
“Open it!”
Phil looked at Parker.
“Definitely him.”
Another bang shook the door.
Rye-vita searched the walls.
“If the ledger was beneath the pub, where exactly?”
Dot thought for a moment.
“Behind the barrels.”
Peggy groaned.
“Which barrels?”
“The old barrels.”
“Obviously.”
Sticky Nick found a narrow opening behind the shelving.
Cold air came through it.
Parker peered inside.
“This goes back towards the Queen Victoria Sponge.”
Peggy smiled.
“Finally. A tunnel going somewhere useful.”
They squeezed through one at a time.
Behind them, the storeroom door burst open.
Bruno shouted.
They ran.
Minutes later, Peggy pushed open a wooden hatch.
They emerged into the lowest cellar beneath the Queen Victoria Sponge.
Dot immediately walked towards the far wall.
“There.”
Behind an old rack was a shallow recess in the brickwork.
Empty.
Parker checked it.
“No.”
Rye-vita crouched beside him.
Scratches marked the dusty floor.
Something had recently been dragged away.
Sticky Nick found a scrap of brown leather caught against the brick.
Parker took it from him.
“The ledger.”
Peggy stared at the empty space.
“So after all that, we’re too late.”
“No,” said Rye-vita.
She pointed towards the floor.
Tiny coloured dots crossed the dust.
Red.
Blue.
Yellow.
Green.
Sprinkles.
They formed a trail from the empty recess to another doorway.
Peggy picked up her rolling pin.
“Right.”
Phil sighed.
“Where are we going now?”
Peggy opened the door.
“To follow the hundreds and thousands.”
And somewhere above them, the front door of the Queen Victoria Sponge quietly opened.
Blindman Makes 
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