“Maintain firm discipline, instruct the apprentice in obedience and service and expect both at all times.”

Guidelines for mentoring the young apprentice

Chapter Two

Six weeks later Nemle stood at the tiller of Day Bringer. Part of her mind was on her steering, the other part, the major part, was attempting, not for the first time, to address the problem of her new apprentice. Marheh was at present sitting on the boat’s roof, half heartedly dabbing at the brass ventilator caps with a polishing cloth, a sulky expression spoiling her lovely face.

Things had begun quite well. Marheh had seemed eager, too eager perhaps. Even on their first day of boating she had wanted to talk and been surprisingly forthright in her opinions. Nemle had not expected that. Neither had she expected how wearing a constant presence could be. She had snapped at times, sending the child and her chatter away to her cabin.

Her cabin. Nemle caught the thought and forced herself to examine it. The cabin that was now Marheh’s had been her own for fifty years. No matter that she now had a new cabin, the old one had fitted her like a glove. She knew where everything was. There was a place for everything and never a wasted moment hunting for some ordinary necessity.

She mourned her workspace too, gone to make room for her new cabin. None of that was the child’s fault.

Then there was the problem of the clay, something her father had given her to practice with, though practice what she did not know.

The landscape slowly eased past as Day Bringer moved steadily onward. The countryside had a pleasant, homely feel about it. The silver ribbon of the water road uncoiled in easy curves between low hills. Nemle saw Marheh pause in her polishing, saw her face soften as she took in a farm cottage nestled amongst trees. A trickle of smoke drifted from one of its several chimneys and almost like a reflection, a drift of greyish white sheep fed in the field below.

She is beautiful. It must make a difference.

Nemle had no illusions about her own looks. She had always been short and stout even when she was the age of this girl. Now, at seventy, she was stocky and strong with a face that hid her thoughts behind the weathered look of old wood.

She pushed the tiller a little way from her so Day Bringer moved easily into the curve ahead.

“Bridge!”

She called a warning to Marheh and received a venomous look in return.

“I saw it.”

She stayed where she was a dangerously extended moment before swinging nimbly down to the gunnel.

Nemle bit back her instinctive anger, understanding that Marheh was being deliberately provoking. She supposed she must bear some responsibility for that too, remembering how she had lost her temper in the first week of their journey.

She had been woken while it was still dark by the movement of the boat. At first she had simply waited expecting the movement to cease when Marheh returned to bed, but then there had been stealthy sounds from the galley and she had got up to investigate.

She had found Marheh crouched on the floor feeding the fire with little pieces of coal. Keeping it alight was one of her jobs. The fire door was open but the damper was still partly closed so there was smoke in the saloon and the galley. She did not like to remember the scene that followed.

Marheh had looked up at her from the floor. She had not bothered to put on her dressing gown or slippers and her white nightdress was streaked with coal dust, not only her nightdress, but her hands and face also.

“The fire was going out. I thought I might be able to rescue it.”

At that point Nemle had still been in control of herself. She had put her candle on the bench next to Marheh’s and tightened the belt on her dressing gown. Marheh had returned to her fire, carefully positioned another couple of pieces of coal and shut the door.

“I think it’s caught now,” she said, beginning to stand up and stepping on the hem of her nightdress.

She put out a hand to save herself and caught the rack of dishes she had left to drain the night before. They crashed to the floor. A couple of plates, a mug and a bowl shattered on the hearth, cutlery skittered into corners and a saucepan tumbled into the sink then rocked itself gently into stillness.

Nemle remembered a moment of shocked silence before she exploded, hurling her anger at Marheh in a stream of ugly words that cut across her attempts at apologising. She had grabbed Marheh’s wrist and held her, berating her, then hauled her off to the bathroom.

There was barely enough room for them both in the tiny space, but she crammed them in and began to pump water into the basin with her free hand. Marheh tried to wrench her wrist free.

“What are you doing?”

“Scrubbing some sense into a stupid, spoilt child.”

She had dropped Marheh’s wrist and seized her plait at the nape of the neck instead. Then she had grabbed the nailbrush, stabbed at the soap with it and begun to scrub at the black smear across Marheh’s cheek.

“You’re hurting me!”

“I’m punishing you. Keep still.”

She had scrubbed until the black smear was gone and Marheh’s cheek was bright red then she had handed her the nailbrush and stood over her while she scrubbed away every last speck from her hands.

Marheh had been monosyllabic ever since.

Nemle watched her, still standing on the gunnel, looking ahead, one foot kicking restlessly at the paint work.

She had apologised of course, later when Marheh had dressed and cleaned up the mess. She knew her apology had been stiff and unpractised but she had not dared to reveal how appalled she was at her own outburst.

Marheh had shown clearly in the weeks that followed that her apology had not been accepted.

“I’ll be mooring in a few minutes Marheh. Take the front line please.”

A boating task such as this was the only time Marheh showed any enthusiasm for her new life and now she moved obediently into the well deck and picked up the coiled rope.

Time and patience, Nemle thought, hoping she had enough of the latter.

She eased back the throttle and guided Day Bringer carefully towards the bank. The bow touched lightly and Marheh stepped off with her rope, a mallet tucked into her belt and a mooring pin in her other hand.

She can learn when she wants to. Nemle pushed the tiller over and allowed the stern to ease in. A short burst of reverse halted the forward motion and a moment later she too had stepped off. She held Day Bringer steady with the centre line while Marheh worked with mallet and mooring pins at bow and stern. She did not in fact need Marheh’s help, having managed alone for the past thirty years, but since this was help Marheh actually wanted to give she was glad to take it.

“This is Fairdale Wood.” Nemle was coiling her line as she spoke. “We’ll stay here tomorrow.”

Marheh shrugged, returned her mallet neatly to its home and disappeared below.

—

Later as they ate their evening meal together, Nemle offered a cautious word of praise for her quick understanding of the process of mooring, but Marheh had not forgiven her yet and only tossed her head and scowled. Nemle held onto her temper and tried to continue calmly.

“I’m going plant hunting in the woods tomorrow. Would you like to come with me?”

“I’d rather go by myself.”

“I thought you might like to learn about some of the plants.”

“No.” Marheh stood up to take their bowls to the sink. They had not yet been able to replace the broken plates. “I’d rather go by myself.”

Nemle watched her fill the sink and begin on the washing up.

“If you wish. Perhaps you could collect some wood for the fire on your way home.”

Marheh said nothing only scrambled through the dishes and disappeared into her cabin. Nemle sighed and went to clean up the sink. Her one burst of temper had had catastrophic results and she was determined not to lose it again but sometimes she found it very hard.

She spent the evening making quiet preparation for her plant hunting and sorrowing over a relationship broken almost before it had begun.