Something was wrong. Abel hadn’t mentioned anything about Micha boarding a dark green ship. The dark green ship belonged to the fairy tale, not to the harbor of Wieck. For several seconds, Anna feared the mysterious craft would cast off and sail down the broad part of the river, right before her eyes—out to the slowly freezing sea, into a wall of snow—and that she would never see Micha again.

The ship didn’t go anywhere, though. Anna stopped next to it. There was nobody to be seen on deck now, but she heard voices from inside the cabin. Micha’s voice and the voice of an adult. The cold carried the voices to Anna, the words clearly distinguishable now, as clear as if they’d been written on paper.

“It doesn’t have a yellow rudder?” Micha asked.

“No,” said the adult voice—a man’s voice. “Should it have a yellow rudder?”

“I think so. Abel said it would. Is the ship yours? All yours?”

“Yes, it is,” the man answered. “But if you want, it can also be yours. We could take a sailing trip on it together. This summer … if you like ships, that is.”

“Oh, I absolutely like ships,” Micha replied. “I just don’t know if Abel will let me. In my fairy tale, I have a ship, you know, and it nearly looks like this one. But only nearly. You don’t have a … a sea lion here?”

“A sea lion? No. None that I know of …”

“Abel said, on the green ship, there is a sea lion. Or swimming next to it. He fetched it. The ship. Or did he build it? I don’t remember.”

“Abel seems to say a lot,” the man said.

“Yes,” said Micha, and she sounded proud. “He’s my brother.”

“I know, Micha.” The man sighed. “I know.”

“You know?” Micha asked. “Who told you? And how come you know my name?”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the man replied. “I’ve been waiting for a long, long time. I knew you would find me one day. Maybe you really can come sailing with me this summer. I have been very lonely without you.”

In his voice, there was the sadness of all the lonely men of the earth. Anna didn’t like the taste of this sadness. There was too much cunning in it. She walked a few steps farther. The man was sitting at the stern. Micha stood beside him in her pink jacket, looking at him with big eyes, not really understanding what he meant. Anna could see that Micha felt sorry for a stranger. She was the kind of little girl who would take pity on a lonely man. She was the cliff queen, after all. She had healed the melancholy dragon.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” The sadness in the man’s voice moved back and forth, deep and low, like a swing hung from a very high branch of a beech tree. Or—a rope. The sadness was faked, Anna thought. Definitely.

“No,” Micha said. “Who are you?”

“Oh, Micha,” the man said. “My little Micha.” He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, and Anna could see that there was a tattoo on his bicep.

“But … that’s my name!”

The man pulled her gently, onto his knees, onto the swing of sadness. “Of course that is your name,” he said. “I am Rainer. Do you know who Rainer is? Rainer Lierski?”

“I’ve heard that name before,” Micha answered. “Who is that again?”

“Your father, Micha. I am your father. I wasn’t allowed to see you for a very, very long time. They forbid me to. Your mother and … Abel. He hates me. I don’t know why. Your mother … she’s gone, isn’t she?”

Micha nodded her head. “She’s on a trip. But she’ll be back soon.”

“Until she comes back you could live with me,” the man said. “I have a nice, big apartment. You’d have your own room there, a nice, big room with tall windows that let in lots of light … The apartment seems very empty at the moment. It’s sad to live in an empty place all by yourself, you know.”

Micha stood up. “No thank you,” she said politely. “I’d rather stay with Abel. Abel hasn’t gone away, you see, and he won’t, not ever, not without me. Promise not to tell my mother, but I love Abel best. Can I … can I go on a sailing trip with you, without having to move?”

“Sure,” the man said. “I’d be happy to have you along. But you still have to think about the nice, big apartment. I happen to know your apartment. It’s really tiny. I lived there once, you know. Only for two years. But you wouldn’t remember that. You’re going there now? Home? Do you want me to come with you?”

“I can find the way myself, thank you,” Micha said. “But … could I have a look at your ship before I go? Like … could I see what the cabin looks like from the inside? I’ve never been in the cabin of a ship.”

“Certainly,” the man said, getting up and putting an arm around Micha. That was enough. Maybe Anna had misjudged him; after all, it wasn’t his fault that he had a name like Rainer. Maybe she was sticking her nose into something that had nothing to do with her—but just the same, she didn’t like this guy. Everything about him seemed artificial, fake, creepy: his badly tailored jeans, his sneakers, his sweater beneath his thickly padded winter vest, even his hat. Through and through, Rainer Lierski seemed to be from a sale at Aldi. Anna doubted he owned the boat. Anybody can board a ship, especially in winter when no one’s around.

He was a liar.

“Micha!” she called out. “Micha!”

Micha looked up, and Rainer looked up, too. In his eyes, there was something like anger at being caught. His arm was still around Micha’s shoulders. “Who is this?” he asked.

“Oh, that is Anna.” Micha sounded as if it was the most natural thing in the world that Anna was here, as if she’d known Anna for years, which made Anna hurt with a strange pain from deep inside.

“You forgot your key!” she said. “I’ve got it with me! I’ll explain it to you later. Come on! It’s cold!”

“I just wanna look at the cabin!” Micha said. “I’ll come after that!”

“No!” Anna almost shouted. “You’re coming now. Right now.” She put as much authority into her voice as she could muster. It wasn’t enough.

“In a minute!” Micha said.

“Now!”

“It won’t take long, I promise!”

Rainer Lierski looked around as if someone might be watching them. Then he stepped forward to the dark green railing. “Anna,” he said. “So you are Anna. And who is this Anna who thinks she can tell my daughter what to do? Who are you?”

Anna cleared her throat. Who was she? A girl inside a bubble. The daughter of Magnus and Linda Leemann, from a nice district of Greifswald, from a house of blue air. High school student in her last year, musician, English au pair to be. Gitta’s squeaky-clean little lamb. No. She was someone who didn’t know yet who she was or would be. She cleared her throat again. Rainer in his cheap, ugly sweater from the Aldi sale frightened her more than Abel did. Micha had slipped away from him, but he pulled her back with his long arm and pressed her against his side. “She is my daughter,” he repeated.

“No,” Anna said. “No, she isn’t. Maybe … maybe in a biological sense.”

Rainer snorted. Micha looked from Anna to him and back again, uncertain. “And I don’t believe,” Anna challenged, “that this is your ship.”

“Of course it is,” Rainer said in a low, sharp voice, and his tone confirmed Anna’s suspicions. “Abel sent you, didn’t he? You can tell him that I know about Michelle. She isn’t coming back, that one. Gone for good. Run away. I’ll take care of my daughter like every father should. And if he wants to hear that from me in person, he can come himself.”

His arm was still bared, and Anna saw him flex his muscles under his tattoo. And then she knew. She knew what it was she had to say. She found the ace up her sleeve.

“Micha,” she said, “do you remember what the white mare told you? Before the island sank?”

She saw Rainer’s expression glide into incomprehension. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked angrily. “What is this? Some kind of stupid code?”

“The white mare?” Micha asked. “She said I’d die … oh, that part was horrible … and that I must run fast, to the highest cliff … and if I meet a man who’s wearing my name …”