At noon, Agatha woke Elizabeth with a light lunch and a hungry baby. Ever since the Pearl, they had fallen into the habit of eating lunch together, with Agatha helping Elizabeth to eat while she nursed Jacob. By the time they had all finished, Jacob had fallen asleep again. Agatha put him into his temporary cot (a pulled-out drawer in Elizabeth's dresser, of course) and helped Elizabeth get ready to go out.

"Maggie can stay with him while we go to the shops," she explained to her niece.

"Why are we going to the shops, Aunt Agatha?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well, you have an apology to make to our good friend the captain, and men like presents just as much as ladies do. It wouldn't hurt to bring him something when you apologize. What does Captain Sparrow like?" Agatha asked.

"Rum," Elizabeth answered instantly.

"Very well, that's good for a start. What else?"

"The sea. The Black Pearl. Rings. His hat. I haven't seen his old hat for a long time, though. Perhaps he's lost it somewhere."

"You could find him a new one," Agatha suggested.

Sure enough, in one of the last shops they looked in, Elizabeth found Jack the perfect hat. It was a fine leather tricorne that looked quite similar to his old one, only this one was black instead of brown.

"Perfect!" Elizabeth said with a smile. "I'll have this one."

"Oh, very nice," Agatha complimented. "Captain Sparrow will look quite handsome in it, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," Elizabeth agreed. She waited while they found a box and wrapped it up for her, and then mentioned Jack's visit. "We were going to figure out a plan today, but that was when he was still talking to me. Perhaps I'll send him the hat as a peace offering, with a note."

When the note was written, Elizabeth tucked into the top of the hatbox and hired a dock hand to row it out to the Pearl for her. The note read:

Dear Jack,

I am so ashamed of myself for what I said to you and the position I put you in, that I can't even express it. Once again, you were right about everything you said, and once again I must offer a wholly inadequate apology.

I am sorry.

Again.

By this point, I must owe you a favor so large it will take the rest of my life to repay. I realize this is only a drop in the ocean of what I owe you, but please accept this gift as the beginnings of a down payment. I hope you like it.

Your friend, I sincerely hope,

Elizabeth Turner Swann

"Turner" had been struck out with a thick, black line of ink. Jack raised a brow at that, and then set the letter aside and opened the box it had come with. Inside lay a beautiful, brand-new, black leather tricorne hat. He whistled as he lifted it out of the box, then grinned when he saw the bottle of rum that had been hiding beneath it. It was good rum, too, much better than he usually drank. No, this would have to be saved for a special occasion.

Not the hat, though. This was a wonderful hat. He might even have to clean up a little before he wore it, just to do it justice. For that matter, perhaps he ought to clean up a little anyway. If Elizabeth were both unmarried and apologetic, perhaps he could begin his own pursuit. But—he wrinkled his nose—no. It was still too soon. She'd had time to grieve over Will's absence, but now she needed some time to grieve the dissolution of her marriage to him.

Jack would go and see her, though. She was still his friend, and if nothing else, they still had to come up with a way to find and deal with Angelica. And he would clean up a bit and wear his new hat for her.

He left Gibbs in charge and rowed to shore. He was a man on a mission. First, bath. Second, barber. Third... Elizabeth.

The bathhouse was small, but the room was private and the tub was large. Jack stripped down and sank into it, exhaling in hedonistic relaxation. He sometimes visited a hot spring or two among the islands, but rarely more than once or twice a year. What baths he did take were infrequent and usually in salt water. Lying up to his neck in steaming, clean, fresh water was an untold luxury, and he sighed with pleasure. Might have to think about doing this more often, he told himself. He undid his large plait in back while he lay there, and washed his hair with the soap. He'd specifically requested unscented soap, and he wrinkled his nose at the harsh lye scent-but figured it would be better than smelling like a perfumed lady. He took advantage of the opportunity to wash thoroughly, not knowing when he would next be able to avail himself of this amount of luxury. At any rate, he thought ruefully, Elizabeth oughtn't to complain about his hygiene.

When the water had cooled, Jack stood up and dried off. He rummaged through his duffel for the clean outfit he'd packed up and brought along. He pulled out the fresh linen shirt and was about to put it on when he noticed his old linen shirt on the ground. He picked it up and compared the two.

He'd thought his old shirt was white—until he compared it to a clean one, and then it looked brownish-grey. He grimaced and threw it back down. "Have to have Simon see to the laundry a bit more often," he muttered, pulling on the fresh shirt. His trousers were subjected to the same scrutiny and dismissal, and he pulled on the clean pair, followed by his boots. Nothing to be done about them, but his sash could definitely use some repair or replacement. He hadn't paid attention to his clothes for ages, but now that he looked at them he was dismayed. They were looking extremely tatty. He'd have to see what he could find after he found the barber.

The barber, a dignified-looking older man with a tidy silver queue in back, raised a pair of rather skeptical eyebrows at the sight of Jack's bandana, dreadlocks, and trinkets. "Ye want to keep it all?" he questioned Jack's directions. "In that case not sure what I can do for ye, lad," he said.

"Aye, I want to keep it all. Just tidy it up a bit. Leave the locks alone, comb out the rest, re-plait the small plaits, and trim it so it's all the same length. Savvy? 'S not hard, is it?"

"Aye, I can do that. Shame about the locks, though," the barber mourned. "Ye'd have a fine, handsome head of hair if ye hadn't let it lock up like this."

Jack shrugged. "If it locks up, I don't have to comb it."

"Aye, but not combing it is what makes it lock up on ye," replied the barber.

Jack shrugged. "Failin' to see the problem, mate."

The barber just sighed and did as he was told. Jack was pleased with the results, and borrowed the barber's mirror to string his trinkets and beads back on, and to tie up his marlinspike again. He went back to the duffel for a fresh bandana (dark purple this time), and tied it on, carefully pulling out his new trinket and the marlinspiked bunch before re-plaiting the hair in back to keep the bandana on. "There!" he said with satisfaction, reaching for the new hat. He admired himself in the mirror for a moment; the black hat needed breaking in, but already he liked it just as much as his old brown one that he had (sadly) left behind in London a year ago.

"Very fine, captain," the barber remarked.

"Aye," Jack agreed. He squinted at his reflection. "Don't suppose you have any kohl?"

"Sorry, no."

"Ah, well, no matter. Sun's going down anyway." Jack paid the barber and left for his father's house, stopping only once at a clothier's barrow to trade in his sash for a less ragged one with blue and purple stripes.

He stripped off the old sash right there at the barrow, and the clothier started to complain until Jack glared at him and pulled out his pistol. The clothier's mouth closed with an audible snap, but all Jack did was put the pistol down on top of the barrow, along with his belts, baldric, sword, and other effects. He knotted on the new sash, then put the belts, sword, and pistol back into place.

"Many thanks," he told the clothier, flipping him a coin to pay for the new sash, before swaggering up the street to his father's house.