The big boys started bullying Paul when Polly was 7. Before that, they had called him names, but Paul had not cared about that; he probably hadn't even known what the names meant. Now he was learning, as the big boys took care to explain to him in simple, easy words just how stupid they thought he was.
"Paul, you're so dumb, yeast is smarter than you."
"Paul, you're so thick, you can't walk and talk at the same time."
"Paul, you're so stupid, you think Zlobenia is a type of cheese."
"Paul..."

Polly complained to their father about this, but he just shugged. "It's just words, Polly. He's got to learn to talk back."

Polly talked back on Paul's behalf, with all of her seven years of experience:
"Yeast can't think, it doesn't have brains, and you're dumb if you think it does."
"I've seen Paul walk and talk at the same time, he can do that!"
"Paul knows where Zlobenia is, I showed him on a map!"
And words to that effect.

But had they been the most eloquent of arguments, they would have had no impression on the big boys. Polly was just a girl. Just a little girl.

One day, Polly was sweeping the front steps of the Duchess with a broomstick taller than she was, when she saw Paul come running down the street, a gang of six big boys chasing him.
"Wait for us, dumbarse! We just want to play with you!"
"We'll play the pain carousel and the famous last stand!"
"We'll sing you a song about a boy named Paul, who ran home crying for mommy!"

Polly could tell by the looks of the boys that they meant more than insults this time. There had been a bar fight the previous evening, and some of their dads had been thrown out by Mr Perks. They were seeking to get even, in their own twisted balance of justice. The deeds of the fathers...

"Polly, help!" Paul shouted, and ran past her, into the Duchess. Both of them knew their dad had gone to market and wasn't back yet, and their mum had gone to visit a friend in another part of Munz. There were the maids, but they were maids of the Duchess, barmaids, not nursemaids. They would not see it as part of their duties to get involved in fights between children.

Only, it wouldn't be a fight, would it, Polly thought. The big boys would hit, punch and kick Paul, using all the tricks they learned from their ruffian fathers. And Paul would not raise a finger against them. Paul didn't know how to fight. And had he known, he would still have chosen not to do it.

Polly shifted her grip on the broomstick. It became a spear in her hands, and she held it fiercely, defending the doorway of the Duchess. She spread her legs, to get better balance.

The big boys halted, unsure what to do. This wasn't going according to plan. They had wanted to beat up the idiot Paul Perks... but they were not prepared to beat up Paul's little sister Polly. She was half the size of the youngest of the big boys. She stood there, in a homespun frock, barefoot in a Borogravian summer. A little girl with a broomstick. This was starting to look embarrassing. Their big brothers would laugh if they heard they had beat up a little girl.

Then again, if they acted frightened of a little girl, that wouldn't look good, either.

"Let us in or we will twist your arm!" It was a lame threat at best, and Polly didn't look impressed. There was dust on her face, and drops of sweat were making trails across it on her forehead. But her eyes were dry and defiant.
"You will have to kill me. I will not let you in the Duchess." She stated calmly, and the thin line of her mouth told them she meant it.

One of the big boys, Wat, had more sense than the others.
"Come now, guys. This ain't fun anymore. We can't force our way into people's houses."
But Thomas, the leader, wasn't having that.
"Are we going to turn back because we were afraid of a little girl? It's the Inn, Wat! Everyone should be allowed in."
Polly chimed in with her high voice:
"Only if they behave themselves."

Paul reappeared behind Polly. He said nothing, just stood there folding his arms. The message was clear. He was done running. He was holding the barman's friend, the stout iron cludgel that Mr Perks held under the bar for emergencies such as last night. Polly didn't realize Paul was there. The big boys took some steps back.
"We don't want any trouble... it was all just a joke..." Wat turned to walk away, and collided with Mr Perks, who was pushing a wheelbarrow full of groceries towards the Inn.

Mr Perks picked Wat up by the back of his jacket. "What's this then, lads? You're making trouble in my Inn?" He roared. "I threw your fathers out yesterday – what makes you think you can come here and act as if you own the place?"

The rest of the big boys scampered off. Mr Perks put Wat down. "I'm waiting for an explanation." He said.
"I'm sorry, sir. Wasn't my fault. It was them. I told them, they should leave Paul alone."
"Oh yeah? I didn't see you standing over there protecting Paul! I saw something else entirely. Get out of my sight before I do worse than threaten you!"
Wat hurried away.

Mr Perks pushed his wheelbarrow to the doorway. Polly had resumed sweeping the doorstep. She was trying to act casual, and hoped her dad wouldn't punish her for what she had done. She had a definite feeling that it had been an Abomination of some kind.

Instead, Mr Perks patted Polly's head. "Well done. Gummy Abbens would be proud of you."

And Polly grinned, and made a childish attempt at imitating a soldier's salute.

Mr Perks would remember that sight many times, in years to come, and finally come to terms with the fact that his daughter had chosen her career herself, and the seeds of that choice had been sown back when the family was whole and bread plentiful.