The Rigby Narratives:
The Ultimate TG Experience
by
McKenzie Rigby

as told to
Andy Hollis
and
Jaye Michael

Chapter Nine -- The Princess Journals

"McKenzie Rigby?" The man at the door wore a dark gray suit that screamed money. A red rose resided in the lapel of his suit jacket.

"Yeah?" McKenzie asked scratching at his chest. "That's me. Who are you?"

"I am Count Kristoff von Dachnaney. I represent the government of the Kingdom of Slovarnia. May I come in?" the man asked showing McKenzie his ID and papers.

"Sure, I guess, but what do you want with me?" McKenzie stepped out of the doorway. The man headed directly to the kitchen table and picked up the metallic gray object.

"Do you know what this is?"

"No, and I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking. I found it at work."

"It's yours, your highness. This is the case for the Royal Seal of Slovarnia, The Lion and the Tiger. Open it please."

McKenzie took the case, fingered it a couple times and, as if on cue, the case popped open to show what appeared to be a solid gold medallion with the images of a lion and tiger standing on their hind legs with a large seal between them engraved into the metal.

"So?" McKenzie looked up from the seal.

"Mr. Rigby, you have that seal because you are destined to have it. You are aware that you were adopted at birth, are you not?"

"Sure, why? My mother told me that when I was a kid, but I never could find my birth parents."

"Your birth parents were the last King and Queen of Slovarnia, King Richard, and Queen Emma. You were their first born child and thus are the heir to the Royal Throne."

"McKenzie laughed. "That has got to be the worse joke I have ever heard. Look, Mister, who are you really?"

"I really am from the Royal Court and I am here today to escort you, your highness, back to your kingdom. You were born the Princess Maryanna Magdelaine Eustacia Tatiana von Korngold."

McKenzie shook his head. "Look, Count. I don't know what you are trying to pull, but I am a male, there is no getting around that simple fact. I pee standing up, I shave and I never took a hormone pill in my life. No amount of surgery or injections when I was an infant could have done this to a female baby."

"Oh, no, your highness. We don't have all of that new science and technology in Slovarnia, yet. An old Gypsy woman named Bombi performed the magic that made you a male, in every respect."

"Bombi?"

"Yes, that's the one. An old Gypsy woman. Do you remember her? No? Doesn't matter then. She was an old crone when you were born and is positively ancient now. That is why we have to rush. If she dies before she removes this curse from you there could be dire consequences. Dire for you and the kingdom."

"I don't like the sound of that," McKenzie said. "Sounds like something I'd write. What would happen if Bombi died before removing the spell from me?"

"I don't know for certain, your highness, but I think you would turn into a little dog-a cute little black dog, with a pug nose."

"Ah, but you don't know for certain. Who is ruling Slovarnia now?"

"That would be your uncle, Count Bedrich Smetanoff. He is taking care of the country, but everyone knows that he is just a straw man, waiting for your return."

"Ah, I see, but if my uncle usurped the throne so many years ago, why would he give it back to me now?"

"Good question, your highness, and I imagine he wouldn't give it back-that is if he was the one that usurped the throne. That was done by a rogue, a real wizard of a confidence man, who called himself Ozzie Mandious. He proved to be nothing more than all flash with no substance, and your family did take back the throne last year with great rejoicing. Now, to make the celebration complete we ask that you, your highness, return to your ancestral home as well."

"This Ozzie guy, are you saying he killed my parents?" McKenzie demanded.

"Oh, no, not at all. Your mother and father, the former King and Queen of Slovarnia, retired to Monaco with most of the family treasury. They are still there as a matter of fact."

"Then why, in the name of all that is holy, was I turned into a boy, given to poor peasants in this country to raise, when my family is living it up in Monaco?"

"It is traditional," Count Kristoff explained with a shrug. "Your father was given to peasants and your grandfather before that. You grew up in poverty to get a better understanding of your subjects. Look around you, your highness. This flat, that computer and your job must be one hundred times better than the wealthiest of the peasants in Slovarnia. In Slovarnia you would be lucky to have a dirt hut and chicken of your own.

"Now don't go worrying that soon to be pretty little head of yours about the peasants, your highness. They have lived this way for hundreds of years. They wouldn't know any other way, so there is no need for you to start thinking of reforms. It isn't traditional."

"I see. Since my parents have most of the family treasury, as Princess would I have anything, or would I be lucky to have that same hut and chicken?"

"But you have the Ruby City, your highness, and the Ruby Palace and the lifestyle that goes with it. You also have any number of rich, royal suitors. You will not want for anything."

"Royal suitors? Oh, but I have a girl friend. Well, she was my girlfriend, but…."

"Do not worry about Miss Barbie, your highness. She has been silenced."

"What?" McKenzie shouted horrified. "You killed Barbie?"

"No, of course not," the count said quickly. "But, by now she will be hanging by her thumbs in Castle Caerfydduffyn to keep her silent. We cannot have anyone that might give you away to the enemy before your coronation, your highness."

"But I thought the Usurper was gone. What enemy?"

"Ah, this will be a problem, but nothing that you can't handle, your highness. Your cousin, the Grand Duchess Ginger has decided to take the crown for herself. She is claiming that you are dead. We must get you to Bombi before she can usurp the throne from you."

"But if she did, couldn't I then retire to Monaco with my parents?" McKenzie asked.

"No, Grand Duchess Ginger has never been one for traditions. She would have you killed in a heartbeat if she knew where you were."

"I've written about men transforming to women," MacKenzie mused aloud. "Okay, I've written about a lot of men transforming to women. I like the idea of being royalty, but I'm not sure if I want to become a female in real life to do it. I'd wind up as a little dog if I don't?"

Count von Dachnaney nodded solemnly.

"Then shouldn't we go?" McKenzie asked, making up his mind.

"Yes, your highness."

"I have nothing to keep me here, then. To Slovarnia. How long a trip is it?"

"By the Concorde, not long at all. We do have one desert to fly over, and that is rather awful, but then you will experience the delights that Slovarnia has to offer it's true Princess."

Two cars waited outside for the Count, both nondescript Japanese makes. Five men waited in the second of the cars.

McKenzie glanced at the man and he nodded questioningly.

"You're honor guard," the Count explained. "Those men have sworn loyalty to your family and to you, your highness. They would give their lives for you."

"Really?" McKenzie asked, glancing back at the men in awe. He scratched his chest.

"Yes, and pray that you don't have to test that loyalty," Count von Dachnaney said quietly.

The flight across the continents took forever, but the amenities on the plane made up for it. For the first time in his life, McKenzie flew first class and had stewardesses actually treat him with a show of respect. And the deference from each of the guards could grow addictive, he thought as he sipped another gin and tonic.

"If my friends on the list could see me," he said wistfully.

"They will eventually, your highness. After all, when you are restored to the throne, it will make international news. Be prepared for the fame that follows."

"But I don't know how to act like a princess. I grew up poor, remember?"

"Of course, it is tradition. Because you are the Princess, no one at court will dare laugh at your social blunders or your less than eloquent way of expressing yourself. They will, of course, titter behind your back all the time just loud enough that you will hear them, but not loud enough that you can call them on it. That, too, is tradition. In time, you will learn what you need to know about surviving court functions, but you will have a couple of good years for that, at least until the next usurper comes along."

"The next usurper?"

"Yes, they have one maybe two years to usurp the throne while the next Crown Prince or Princess is an infant, and after that the chance is lost. There are no registered usurpers at the moment, but that could change."

"One or two years?" McKenzie asked feeling lost.

"The Royal Heir must be an infant in order for the change of gender to be effective. Two is pushing it, although it has been done. Expect some turbulence when we approach the air space over the desert. They don't call this flight the twister for nothing."

"I feel that I should be riding a house and have a little dog at my side?" McKenzie admitted. "Usurpers, courtiers and Princes, oh my!"

-=-=-=-=-

McKenzie watched the luggage from first class circle around the luggage rack. He froze at the sound of a stern woman's voice from behind him.

"Now which one of you-a-hem-handsome gentleman would be McKenzie?"

All of the men turned to stare at a tall woman, dressed in military style, from her olive tunic down to her patent leather pumps. She wore rather large diamond earrings and makeup that set off her green hair and eyes.

"Well, Grand Duchess," Count von Dachnaney said quietly. "What brings you here?"

"To see the fool that will be playing 'MaryAnn.' What else, my good Count? Anyone of you have the guts to admit it?"

"I'm McKenzie," one of the guards said bowing his head.

Shamed by this show of self-sacrifice, McKenzie answered as well. "No, I'm the one you want, Ginger, my dear. But where is the Skipper and Gilligan?"

"Don't listen to him. That's Gilligan, my dear. I'm McKenzie," added another guard.

"Don't look at me," said the third guard. "I'm just a guard."

Ginger looked behind her to her men, also dressed in quasi-military uniforms. "Take that one out and shoot him. There is never 'just a guard,' in situations like this."

"Wait!" cried an old voice from down the hallway. "Wait." A young man arrived in a sweat, pushing a wheel chair with an ancient lady half sitting, half slumped in the chair. "I am the Gypsy, Bombi," she said. "I can tell who the real Princess is."

"Get the old crone before she spoils everything," Ginger demanded.

"Princess?" several of the guards asked. "You said that the real Princess was dead, your Grace."

"She will be in a minute, once you've killed her. What difference does a day or two make? Get that crone or you will all pay dearly."

"I will pay a lot better than she does," McKenzie added.

Bombi pointed to the men, then stared at McKenzie. "You were just a babe in arms the last time these old eyes saw you, your highness. The real Princess has a strawberry shaped birthmark about an inch above her left breast."

McKenzie scratched his chest, and frowned. He opened his shirt and looked down at the red blotch that had been itching recently. "It does look like a strawberry, doesn't it?"

"Your Highness," Bombi said quietly. "You are the true heir to the throne of Slovarnia."

A thick white mist surrounded McKenzie from the floor up. He felt his entire body tingle, then shake as years of overeating melted away from his frame. His pale, pasty skin turned rosy fresh and his body developed some rather interesting curves. He felt his chest swelling against his T-shirt and, at last, his hair turned into golden tresses that curled over his shoulders.

"Your highness!" all the guards exclaimed including Ginger's.

McKenzie stopped studying his new body. He would have time later to shower and get used to his new shape, but for the moment he had to be the person in charge. "Ginger, you lose. You know the penalty for spreading rumors about my death and trying to usurp before I even take the throne."

The woman bowed, and McKenzie realized his gamble had paid off. "Bombi?"

"You are right, your highness." She pointed at Ginger. In seconds the erstwhile Grand Duchess changed into an exact copy of McKenzie's old self. Ginger stared down at herself, then screamed. She coughed, surprised by her new, lower voice and then screamed again.

"Do I still have it, or what?" the old lady asked.

"You bitch," the new McKenzie choked out. "You horrid bitch. This is worse than death."

"Don't worry, my dear," Princess Maryanna said. "I'll have Count Kristoff here take you back to the states, show you around your new home and teach you about your life there. If you ever try to return to Slovarnia…."

"I understand, I know the rules of exile. Very well, you've won this time, your highness, but there will always be usurpers to follow me."

-=-=-=-=-

The weeklong pre-coronation party was finally over, Maryanna thought as she strode gracefully, in her newest gown, across the marble floor to the dining area. For someone who had spent the better part of her adult life writing and dreaming about being female, Maryanna was in hog heaven. She had been fitted and measured for days and now had a wardrobe that would do any Royal proud. She had learned, and quickly, to walk in heels, apply makeup and carry off all the other essentials of a feminine lifestyle. For everything else, she had people to do for her.

The table fell silent as Maryanna took her place at the head. She sat down, tapped a spoon on her crystal wine goblet and cleared her throat. She glanced down at the long row of courtiers, sycophants, hangers on and other riffraff that had taken up residence in the Palace.

"Ladies and gentleman, by now you all know me and know that I was raised as a typical American male. This is not a matter for your amusement, it is a statement of fact, and as such I wish to make myself perfectly clear. I am the Princess of this Palace. I have spoken with my parents now, several times on the telephone and I have their blessing in this as well.

"I intend to trample all over the traditions of this country like people walking on grapes. I think Slovarnia needs new traditions and rulers to implement them. I intend to do just that. Anyone who objects will be asked to leave the palace, permanently.

"My actions may seem boorish to some of you, but if I ever catch anyone laughing or tittering about it, according to tradition, they will be tossed out the door. Is that understood? You know my guards, and you know that they can do it and will."

"Well, of course you would expect that kind of behavior from one of her background," a young woman tittered to her neighbor.

"Oh, my dear," Maryanna said quickly. "I am so sorry, but I was speaking to you. Eric, be a love and throw that lady out on her rear. She can send for her things."

"But, I never. It's tradition…. I never meant any thing by it, your highness…." The lady in question was promptly escorted away from the table.

"Any questions? I hope not." She looked out at the gathered guests, and gave a little nod to Prince Rupert, her only official suitor, at the moment. He was a hunk; she had to admit, even if he refused to get rid of his overbite. She tapped the glass again. "Okay, let's eat."

-=-=-=-=-

Maryanna walked through her suite of rooms cradling her son, the Crown Prince Philip. "There, there, sweetheart, don't cry," she cooed, although the infant's face was still red from the effort. "It's…. Who the hell are you?" she demanded of a short, middle-aged man dressed in black garb.

The man, a noble by the look of him, stepped completely into the room and bowed. "Good morning, your majesty. I am Duke Edward, and an officially registered usurper for the Throne of Slovarnia. I do admit that the people love you, Maryanna, but it's my turn now."

"There, there," she cooed at the baby. "Did that horrid man scare you? It's okay, my little snuggle-bunny." Maryanna turned to the usurper, and shook her head. "Sorry, it's not a good time for me, colic you know. Can you come back in a couple of years?"

"No, I can't. You know the rules."

Maryanna sighed, and walked over to place her baby in a large crib. The instant she did so, a brilliant golden light surrounded the crib making the infant coo and giggle as he watched it sparkle.

"What on earth is that?" the man demanded.

Maryanna held a finger to her lips and walked away from the crib. "As you know, tradition is a very real and powerful force in Slovarnia. It is stronger than even the gypsy magic that created that glow."

Someone screamed. They turned back to the crib to see a girl, standing beside the crib with two blackened stumps on her arms instead of hands. Tears ran down the girl's cheeks as glanced at the Princess.

"There, there, dear. You had to expect that, didn't you?" Maryanna asked. The girl nodded. "Those will heal just fine in a day or so, but now you stay there and guard that crib against the next girl that tries."

"Yes, your majesty," the girl said quietly.

"You see, she was, according to tradition, trying to whisk the crown prince away to some old gypsy woman who would then, according to tradition, turn him into a girl and send him off to be raised by peasants. I was. My father was before me and his father before that. I say 'to Hell' with that. If I retire to Monaco, my child is going with me, which is why that precaution. I had the devil of a time tracking him down the last time some fool of a lady's maid made off with him."

"The last time?"

"The last time some idiot tried to usurp my throne. Don't I know you from somewhere, Duke Edward?"

"Although we haven't met in this country, your majesty, we have met. I was flamed often enough by you on the TG-TF list, and at the last bash we both attended, McKenzie. I write as Wally the Weasel."

"The critic?"

"Yes, the critic, which makes this so much more pleasurable. You and your clique flamed me for daring to share my opinions on the list about those miserable excuses of stories of yours. You had the entire list against me quite a few times, but now, now at last I will get the last word in."

"So, Wally the Weasel. I wouldn't have flamed you at all, if all you did was critique my stories, but no. You went out of your way to demolish them. There are writers on the list that can't even spell their own names, let alone write legible stories, but did you go after them? Oh, no. Let me get one comma out of place, and you said it ruined the whole piece. Oh, and by the way, Wally…." She started.

"By the way, what?" he asked after a moment.

"'In' is a preposition. It's bad grammar to end a sentence with a preposition." Maryanna's fist crunched into the Weasel's nose hard enough to send the man sliding on his backside across the polished marble floor until he crashed his head into a solid marble desk. "Ow, that had to hurt," she said as two of her guards rushed into the room.

"Are you all right, your majesty?" the taller of the guards asked.

"Of course, Eric dear," she said and ran a finger down the man's cheek. "That awful man wants to send me away to Monaco where I'd never see you again…."

"I'll take care of him," Eric said quickly with his face burning crimson.

Both guards picked Wally up and held him, feet dangling in the air, between them.

"There. That's much better. I feel so much better now. Eric, be a love and tell Duke Edward what the traditional punishment is for failed usurpers."

"Certainly my dear," he said in his booming baritone voice. Turning to Wally, Edward announced, "The traditional punishment for a failed usurper is to be flogged to death in the public square."

"Goodie, I can't wait. I want to see Wally the Weasel flogged to death."

"Guards, attend me. I am the registered Usurper," Wally choked out. "It's tradition!"

Maryanna smiled. "So sorry, chump, but I announced at the beginning that there were would be a lot of changes made. These guards aren't from Slovarnia and they don't follow all of the old traditions. I do agree with you that it is important for the people to love me, but more importantly, so do the guards, and boy. They love me too," she said with a sigh and a slight smile on her lips. "Where is Prince Rupert?"

"His Highness is either in the gardens or packing for Monaco, your majesty. He wasn't sure what to do."

"I'll find him and let him know," she said and retrieved the baby from his cradle. "See you later, Weasel boy. I think I will put a streaming video of the flogging online so the entire list can see you meet your fate. That will teach those critics something."

-=-=-=-=-

Interlude Nine

"Yeah! Death to all critics!" McKenzie thought as he sent his latest chapter off into cyberspace. He sat back in his chair with a slight smile on his face. Now that would be the life. Pity, he thought, glancing at the gray box on his kitchen table. Why couldn't that be the royal seal after all? Even if it were just for a moment, it would be great to have all the Wallys on the list tremble a bit.

Igor was sitting with his back to Mac. It was evident the dog was pouting.

"I know. I'll try to write in a bigger part for you next time, boy. I promise. Besides, it felt really good to kill off that lousy critic."

Igor stared at me pityingly.

"Don't give me that. All writers do it. Agatha Christe once brought in a new character just twenty-five pages from the end of a book, just to tie up some loose ends."

The dog kept staring.

"I can't stay and argue this with you Igor. I've got to get to work."

Exaggeratedly ignoring the dog, McKenzie stood, but then dropped back into his chair.

"Whoa! Stop spinning world." After resting a moment, he got up more slowly. This time he made it upright without the dizziness.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER TEN
Fangs For the Memories