The minister's body

  had been embalmed.  Very stiff stood he facing a thin space inside the building.  But without a head.  Until a they let a they pick from a fresh batch of having been told to go. 

  "It's history now." 

  A real journalist made way with the tale of a king's head on backwards.  From the curly cue between the east and west.  Came.  And left.  Spaces where no souls were to be found. 

Fluffy beards and grizzled skins, the Bards received.  A village clattered awake.