The person in the water turned out to be a boy.
He was holding a large basket of mud.
Coughing, Vinnie climbed back onto the tiny island.
“Who are you?” the boy asked.
“I’m Vinnie. This is my sister, Mandy,”
Vinnie replied, shaking his wet hair.
“Where is your family garden?” the boy asked.
“We don’t have one,” admitted Vinnie.
“We’re just visiting.
Do you need help?”
The boy thought a moment.
“Yes,” he said.
“Collect mud from the lake.
Then pile it on here.”
He pointed to the island.
He had dark skin and was dressed like Vinnie.
“Why do you need mud?” Vinnie asked.
The boy looked at them, surprised.
“It helps the crops grow strong,” he said.
“Corn and beans grow best on this soil.
Our corn was very good last year.
So we are making more floating gardens.”
“What a great name!”
Mandy clapped her hands.
The tiny islands did look like floating gardens.
Each one had a different crop.
For the next hour, Vinnie and Mandy helped the boy.
They piled mud on the island.
Mandy smoothed the mud with a stick.
A canoe went by.
“Look, Vinnie!” she called.
“People use canoes to move from one island to the next.”
“Who are you, little girl?” someone behind her asked.
Mandy turned around.
A man was sitting in a canoe with a big pile of corn.
He had kind eyes.
“We’re friends of . . .” Mandy paused.
She didn’t know the boy’s name.
“Of Mazatl? I see.
Where is my son now?” he asked.
“He’s getting mud from the water, sir,” she replied.
Mandy thought Mazatl looked very much like his father.
“Good,” Mazatl’s father nodded.
“Tell Mazatl I will be at the market.
I want to go early to get a good spot.”
He paddled away.
As Mandy watched him leave, she wondered,
“Where are we?”
When the boys returned, Mandy told Mazatl what his father said.
“I must hurry and join Papa at the weekly market,” said Mazatl.
“May we come with you?” asked Vinnie.
“Yes, but come to my house first,” said Mazatl.
“We can take a bath and change our clothes.”
“Thanks, Mazatl,” Mandy said.
“What a great place this is.”
Mazatl nodded.
She really wished she knew where she was.
“Our gods are good to us if we are good to them,” Mazatl said.
“How are you good to the gods?” Mandy asked.
“We make sacrifices regularly.”
“What kind of sacrifices?” asked Vinnie.
Mazatl stared at them suspiciously.
“Our Aztec gods are offered only the best sacrifices—humans!” he said proudly.
“Aztec? We’re in ancient Mexico?” gasped Mandy.
“Human sacrifices?” cried Vinnie.