THE MISPLACEMENT of a decimal point in the border coordinates between the Principality of Vestovia and the Republic of Ostravya—longitude 48.2731° rather than 48.2371°—occurred on Tuesday, March 17, 1952, during a light rainfall that caused cartographer Leopold Himmelweiss’s fountain pen to bleed on the official survey document. The pen—a Pelikan 400 with tortoiseshell barrel, purchased in Vienna on the occasion of his forty-third birthday—had been refilled precisely seventeen minutes prior with Ostravyan Treasury Black No. 17, the official ink of international border documentation since the Cartographic Accords of 1937.
Leopold, who had never committed a single surveying error in his twenty-five-year career and maintained a collection of two hundred and twelve antique compasses (each mounted on rectangular mahogany stands with brass nameplates denoting provenance, previous ownership, and documented expeditionary usage), did not notice the dot had bled approximately 0.7 millimeters eastward on the slightly damp Richter & Sons surveyor’s paper (90 lb. weight, off-white with watermark).
The document was subsequently filed, without customary secondary review, in the Territorial Administrative Archives of Vestovia, where it would remain unchallenged for seventy-nine years, four months, and twelve days. During this time, the document would be referenced forty-seven times for various administrative purposes, photocopied eleven times (first on a Kodak Verifax Copier in 1958, and most recently on a Brother MFC-L3770CDW in 2021), and would serve as the definitive resource for seventeen separate printings of the Official Vestovian National Atlas (Standard Edition, cloth-bound with gilt lettering).
The three-acre parcel of land affected by this cartographic anomaly—consisting mostly of alpine meadow, six hundred and seventeen spruce trees (tallied in the Vestovian Forestry Survey of 1963), and a natural spring located at its geometric center—would, as a direct result of this single misplaced decimal point, be erroneously administered, taxed, conserved, and culturally claimed by the wrong microstate for almost eight decades.
PART II: THE RYMKOWSKI FAMILY INHERITANCE
The Rymkowski family had occupied the modest stone farmhouse on the southern edge of this disputed territory since 1887, when Maksymilian Rymkowski the First established a small dairy operation consisting of twelve Alpine goats and a cheese-making facility housed in a copper-roofed outbuilding that would later be converted into a mineral water bottling workshop.
Maksymilian Rymkowski the Third—who maintained his grandfather’s leather-bound ledgers in the same hand using a succession of identical fountain pens special-ordered from a Zurich stationer—received his mail from the Vestovian postal service every Tuesday and Thursday, paid taxes to the Vestovian Ministry of Rural Affairs, and displayed the Vestovian flag (azure blue with diagonal white stripe and five-pointed star) on national holidays. The Rymkowski family’s passports, driver’s licenses, hunting permits, and property deeds all bore the official seal of Vestovia, featuring a stylized mountain ibex above a symmetrical arrangement of traditional alpine flowers.
The family refrigerator contained three bottles of Rymkowski Springs Mineral Water, preserved from the first batch ever bottled on June 12, 1973, with labels designed by Maksymilian’s daughter Elzbieta during her second year at the Vestovian Academy of Graphic Arts. The labels—pale blue with a white mountain silhouette—featured the phrase “PRODUCT OF VESTOVIA” in Helvetica Bold 14pt type, centered above a chemical analysis conducted by the Vestovian Institute of Hydrological Sciences.
Among the family’s possessions was a chest containing twenty-seven identical leather portfolios (each initialed “MR” in gold leaf on the lower right corner) that held every relevant document regarding the Rymkowski property and business affairs, organized chronologically and cross-referenced by a system developed by Maksymilian the First in 1892 and never subsequently modified.
PART III: THE DISCOVERY
Junior Attaché Henryk Borowitz of the Ostravyan Border Commission discovered the error on July 29, 2031, while digitizing historical border documentation as part of the Eastern European Digital Cartographic Preservation Initiative. Borowitz—who collected vintage mechanical pencils and had never distinguished himself in any capacity during his eleven-year career at the Commission—noted the inconsistency while comparing the original 1952 survey with satellite imagery that showed a discrepancy between the documented and actual positions of a distinctive lightning-struck pine tree that had served as a natural border marker since the Treaty of Krizanj in 1919.
The Ostravyan Ministry of Foreign Affairs dispatched communication via diplomatic courier to the Vestovian Embassy in Ostravya City at 9:00 AM on August 3, 2031. The letter—printed on watermarked ministry letterhead using a typeface developed specifically for international correspondence—was delivered in a red leather diplomatic pouch that had been in service since 1984 and bore the scratches from an incident involving an embassy dachshund that no one had ever officially acknowledged.
Minister of Foreign Affairs Tomas Navratil stated, “It has come to our attention that Coordinates Section 17-B of the 1952 Border Survey contains a transcription error that has resulted in the incorrect attribution of precisely 3.14 acres of sovereign Ostravyan territory to the Principality of Vestovia.” The letter was accompanied by seventeen appendices containing historical documentation, comparative cartographic analysis, and international precedent for border rectification.
The Vestovian Minister of Internal Boundaries responded with a nineteen-page document asserting “the unimpeachable sovereignty of Vestovia over the disputed territory based on consistent administration, cultural integration, and the principle of established usage trumping technical errors.” The document was hand-delivered by Deputy Minister Katarina Schröder, who had spent seven years composing a definitive history of Vestovian border disputes that remained unpublished due to a disagreement with her editor regarding the appropriate citation format for eighteenth-century land surveys.
PART IV: THE SPRING REVELATION
Three days after the initial diplomatic exchange, the Ostravyan Geological Survey revealed that water samples taken from the natural spring at the center of the disputed territory contained 7.3 times the mineral content of ordinary spring water and showed remarkable similarity to the internationally acclaimed “Rymkowski Springs Mineral Water” that had been bottled and distributed as a product of Vestovia since 1973.
Maksymilian Rymkowski the Third, upon being presented with documentation regarding the border discrepancy by a delegation consisting of representatives from both nations’ boundary commissions, opened Portfolio 19 (labeled “Property Surveys and Geographic Documentation, 1950-1959”) and removed a yellowed envelope containing a receipt for a water sample analysis conducted by the Ostravyan Hydrological Institute in 1971—two years before establishing the bottling operation—that had been addressed to “M. Rymkowski, Ostravya” and delivered to the property despite the family’s documented Vestovian citizenship.
“We have unknowingly been citizens of the wrong country for seventy-nine years,” stated Rymkowski, adjusting the Vestovian flag pin on his lapel (which he had worn every day since receiving it as a prize for perfect attendance at the Vestovian National Youth Summit of 1982). “And we have been selling Ostravyan water with Vestovian labels for precisely five decades.”
PART V: THE BUNKER AND THE BROTHERS
The land survey team dispatched to officially remeasure the disputed territory discovered, on August 17, 2031, a prior undocumented underground structure beneath the northeastern corner of the meadow. The entrance—a steel hatch manufactured by Ostravyan Defense Industries in 1962 and installed without any official documentation—led to a concrete bunker containing twelve filing cabinets of classified diplomatic correspondence dating from 1962 to 1988.
Cabinet 12, Drawer 4 contained a dossier labeled “Operation Alpine Clarity” that documented a clandestine intelligence-sharing program between mid-level bureaucrats of both nations during the height of the Cold War—a relationship that violated the official neutrality policies of both governments and appeared to have been conducted entirely within the disputed three-acre territory specifically because of confusion over which nation’s surveillance teams had jurisdiction.
The final document in the file, dated November 9, 1988, was a personal letter written on paper without a letterhead in identical handwriting on both sides. The left side, signed “Nikolai Rymkowski, Attache to the Ostravyan Foreign Ministry,” contained the phrases “my dearest brother” and “our family divided by the Vestovian-Ostravyan Partition of 1952.” The right side, signed “Sebastian Rymkowski, Deputy Clerk, Vestovian Ministry of Internal Affairs,” included the sentence: “Though placed on opposite sides of this arbitrary border by our parents’ divorce and subsequent diplomatic postings, we have, through this peculiar geographic anomaly, reconciled our dual nationalities into a singular purpose.”
Maksymilian Rymkowski the Third, upon examining this document, removed from his inside jacket pocket a gold pocket watch (Vestovian manufacture, 1943) containing a faded photograph of twin infants labeled on the reverse: “Nikolai and Sebastian, born April 17, 1946—before the divorce and the border dispute.” He announced, with characteristic care, “My father had two brothers that our family never discussed, both apparently employed by their respective governments to conduct unofficial diplomatic relations within disputed territory that technically belonged to neither nation but rather to our family, who technically belonged to the wrong nation.”
PART VI: THE RECALIBRATION
On September 12, 2031, the Foreign Ministers of Vestovia and Ostravya signed the “Treaty of Rymkowski Meadow” establishing the disputed territory as an autonomous binational heritage zone administered by both microstates. The document—printed on specially commissioned paper containing fibers from both nations’ national trees—established the spring as shared natural resource and the Rymkowski farmhouse as a cultural landmark.
The mineral water operation was reorganized as the “Borderlands Spring Company,” with new labels featuring both nations’ flags in perfect symmetry on either side of the spring’s coordinates—now expressed to four decimal places and independently verified by cartographers from eleven nations. The bottles—redesigned with a distinctive shape reminiscent of the copper-roofed outbuilding—were marketed as “a product of diplomatic precision and historical reconciliation.”
Leopold Himmelweiss’s original survey document with its bleeding decimal point was removed from the archives and placed in a specially designed display case at the newly established Border Rectification Museum housed in the former bunker. The cartographer’s collection of antique compasses was donated by his grandniece—herself a specialist in digital mapping technologies—and arranged in a perfect circle around the document, their needles pointing uniformly toward the true location of the border.
Maksymilian Rymkowski the Third continued to receive his mail on Tuesdays and Thursdays, though now delivered alternately by postal carriers from both nations. He maintained his ledgers with the same meticulous detail but added a new portfolio—the twenty-eighth—labeled as “The Correction,” containing the complete documentation of the error that had inadvertently placed his family in a seventy-nine-year state of mistaken national identity while at the same time creating the exact conditions that would reunite a family fractured by the very borders they had helped administer.
On the Rymkowski family refrigerator, three new bottles stood in perfect symmetry with the three original ones—identical in every respect except for the updated label and a caption reading “PRODUCT OF DISPUTED TERRITORY, ESTABLISHED 1952 THROUGH CARTOGRAPHIC ERROR, RECTIFIED 2031 THROUGH BUREAUCRATIC PRECISION.”
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Incredibly imaginative and vivid, Daniel. Great job !
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Thanks Alexis!
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This is a clever and original story that makes bureaucracy surprisingly gripping. It’s both an entertaining satire and a thoughtful look at how history can be shaped by the smallest mistakes. A memorable piece that stays with you!
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Thanks Cynethea! I totally agree about how history can be shaped by mistakes, even small ones!
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This is hysterical! Loved it! The style reminded me of Kafka. Hopefully, they removed all monuments of Leopold Himmelweiss.
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LOL! I hear they're building a statute of the dachshund! :-) The statuesque dachshund maintains the exact posture that was captured in Security Camera 4B's last functional frame before the magnetic tape mysteriously degraded. ;-)
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Details matter.
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They do indeed! Especially those that involve an embassy dachshund. :-)
Thanks, Mary.
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Thanks for following.
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The details are superb. I find it interesting how several characters had their own, unique writing utensils, which also marked distinct personality traits. There was a similar border dispute between KY and TN with the survey finally being corrected. I think TN came out better in the deal. Part of the area in SEKY was actually called Kennessee for a while and later shortened to Kensee. Fascinating story. I'm just glad it didn't end in bloodshed. Congratulations on the win from last week!
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Thank you David! I didn't know that about KY and TN. Sounds like it has the makings for a good short story! :-)
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