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The rice wine was truly and utterly vile.
It took all Roland's effort not to spit all out immediately, and almost certainly would have, if only her vomit tasted even worse. As she was, she forced herself to keep it in her mouth before swallowing, Dyer wearing what had to be a near-identical sour expression.
"Fuck," he said.
"Fuck," she said, too, and then a sound bubbled up in her throat, and she wasn't sure if it was going to be sob or a laugh until it was out of her throat, and it turned out to be the latter, and then Dyer was laughing too. The two fell together, leaning against one another, the exhaustion or drunkenness (could one get drunk after a single mouthful of alcohol?) leaving them suddenly unable to hold their own weight.
It was probably the only reason they didn't fall over entirely when a voice behind them said, "What's all this, then?"
As it was, they leapt to their feet, trying to stand to attention. "Sir," Dyer said, attempting to hide the bottle behind his back.
"Lieutenant Granby," Roland said, seeing that the man was not fooled in the least. "We're not trying to—"
"We only meant—" Dyer said over here.
"There is not much fresh water left, sir, and we thought best to leave it for the injured."
Granby looked between the two runners, and bottle clutched between them, and nodded, slowly. "That is sensible. Just this once," he added, sternly. "Do not make a habit of it."
"No, sir."
"No, sir."
With the siege of the island ended hardly an hour ago, what felt like nearly half the crew laid up on cots, and still no clear certainty when Temeraire nor any other aid may arrive, no doubt the first lieutenant had any dozen of things to attend to, and Roland expected him to move on quickly. When he did not, she had justified cause to feel nervous. But he said, "You both did well today."
Dyer looked down and shuffled his feet. Roland managed, "Thank you, sir."
Granby continued, "It was your first action, yes?"
"Not exactly, sir, but—" And the taste of vomit not quite gone, that was all Roland could manage.
Granby's gaze was not gentle, precisely, but there was nonetheless something comforting in his expression. He lay a hand on each of their shoulders. "It gets easier," he said; a promise or a warning, or maybe both. "You did well," he repeated.
"Thank you," the runners mumbled in unison.
Lieutenant Granby straightened, the moment over. "Get yourself sorted, and then I need you to help tearing up more bed-cloths for bandages. And I meant it; don't drink too much of that stuff!"
In unison, Roland and Dyer said: "Yes, sir!" They each managed one more awful mouthful, and then went back to it, and despite the exhaustion, found it helped to find something that kept the body occupied.