The room at the back of Tia Dalma's hut was small and cramped. It didn't boast much in the way of furniture; a cot, a chair, a low chest of drawers, and above that a mirror that was little more than a sheet of metal that had been polished to a high sheen and hung at eye level.
The air was still and close. No muggy breeze lifted the tattered curtains to relieve the heat.
It would have reminded Will of his room back at the smithy, but for the fact that his quarters had never been so cluttered. There was scattered clothing everywhere, apparel for both men and women, shoes, tins and sacks of miscellaneous items, drying plants that hung from the ceiling. The chest was carelessly littered with bits of things, jewelry, scraps of paper, brushes and combs, jars of bugs large and small.
Will stood in the middle of the room, having divested himself of his baldric, leather coat, and the shirt that Tia Dalma had given him to replace his shredded one. Bare to the waist, he kept his eyes stoically fixed on a large water stain on the wall he was facing, as the obeah once again tended to the wounds on his back.
Before, he wouldn't have hesitated to ask Elizabeth for her help. Now, he couldn't bring himself to let her know that he'd even been hurt. Instead, on that first night, he'd pulled Tia Dalma to the side, asking her if she would help him with them.
She washed the cuts, as she had before, with tepid water and a fairly clean rag. She then set aside the basin and picked up a jar of dark and pungent ointment that she'd sworn would speed the healing. She applied the salve with slow, careful strokes. Although her fingers were gentle, and somewhat seductive, an occasional hiss of pain escaped him.
He could hear the obeah murmur low words here and there as she worked. Will didn't really try to follow what she was saying, his mind far away. He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear her gather up her supplies and leave the room, closing the door behind her, when she was done.
They'd been there for almost a week. During that time, after thinking of and discarding many plans, they'd come up with one to steal a set of navigational charts from Sao Feng, the pirate lord of Singapore. Barbossa knew of them, had often itched at the chance to free them from their current owner. He'd insisted that they were the only way to sail to world's end, whatever that was, and from there find the way to the Locker to rescue Jack.
Barbossa had not been pleased to have Will and Elizabeth as part of the crew, disinclined to trust either one of them, but he'd agreed with rather graceless reluctance at Tia Dalma's insistence that they were to be a part of this venture. A ship had been hired, and supplies had been acquired.
All the while, Will had found himself adrift. Once he'd agreed to the journey, to helping Jack escape the Locker, he'd found himself unable to meet Elizabeth's all too infrequent gaze, to talk with her, or to have much in the way of dealings with her at all. He'd watched her mourn Jack Sparrow, involved in her own private misery, and he'd wondered at how his own life had fallen into ruins. Everything he'd dreamt of, the life that he and Elizabeth had planned and were so close to achieving, was gone.
He was lost in the vast emptiness of a world destroyed. He needed something, anything to fill that endless void. And he remembered the vow he'd made to his father, before he'd left him on the Flying Dutchman.
"I take this with a promise. I'll find a way to sever Jones' hold on you, and not rest 'til this blade pierces his heart. I will not abandon you. I promise."
From that moment, he'd turned his thoughts resolutely away from Elizabeth, and turned them instead to coming up with a plan to free his father. He realized that he would need the Black Pearl, the only ship fast enough to catch the Flying Dutchman. As the Pearl was resting in the Locker, along with her captain, Will needed to be a member of the rescue party, and was thankful for Tia Dalma's insistence that he be part of the crew.
He also knew that he would need the means to take the Pearl, Jack having shown no real inclination to rescue Bootstrap the last time. That would involve a mutiny, something that none of the current crew would be willing to participate in, he was sure. No, he would need to make some sort of deal with Sao Feng, would have to find some means to contact him and complete negotiations for taking over the ship, and having the crew necessary to sail her.
He would need to be the one to steal the charts.
Beyond that, Will had no idea how he would accomplish his goal, but he'd left his plans fluid enough that he thought he'd be able to find a way.
Think like Jack.
He'd laughed at the irony when he'd come to a final, stunning moment of self-revelation. Somehow, somewhere, he had become a pirate. While he had been well on his way to being one before, according to Jack, there was no doubt that he was truly one now.
Realizing that he was alone in the room, he walked over to the chest of drawers, and came to stand in front of the polished metal that served as a mirror. Looking closely at his reflection, he saw the steely gaze filled with determination, the hardness of his features. He turned slightly so that he could see the lash marks on his back, turned back to lean closer and take in the bruises on his face. The metal cast a darkened hue, and a slight distortion, to his face.
Looking down at the cluttered chest, he spied a small, golden hoop. He picked it up, staring at it for a long time, before closing it in his fist. Using his other hand, he sorted through the bits of things until he came up with a needle - a sewing needle. Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, he raised both hands to his left ear and, without hesitation, pushed it through the lobe, not even wincing at the pain. Dropping the needle, he fitted the gold hoop into his ear.
Taking a step back, he stared at his reflection again.
"Pirate," he told the man in the mirror, before turning away. Picking up his shirt, he slipped it on. Gathering up his coat and baldric, he left the room.